Page 55 of Slayer

I angle toward the shoreline, aiming for the same stretch of coast I landed on the last time I was here. I’ll rest there first. Then I’ll confront the prince.

I’m desperate to know about his rebellion, how he built it, and how many of his subjects stand by it. I want to see the structure beneath the whispers, the shifting allegiances. I want to know how he plans to take the king down. Above all else, I want to know why he wants to burn the throne he was born to sit upon. What did he see—what did he lose—that twisted his loyalty from his own blood into something so volatile?

No one turns against their own throne without good reason. I don’t trust him, but I want answers. Especially if my plan is to end that bloodline and claim the throne for myself. Revolution is coming, and I’d like to be the one leading it. It’s time these lands were forged into something new, something for those with magic in their veins who have spent their lives hunted, studied, broken. For the women who have been beaten down and silenced. I’ll build something new from the ruins.

The familiar ancient tree comes into view, its roots clawing into the cliffside as if it refuses to be dragged into the sea below.

I stay low, wings folding tight to my body as I slip through shadow. I descend toward the highest branch and curl my talons around it.

For a breath, I balance there. Then I shift.

The return to human form hits harder than the initial change. Pain slams into me instantly, radiating through muscle and marrow. My bones ache deep within me, my limbs too heavy for my own frame. Exhaustion settles into my chest like a stone. A two-day flight always leaves its mark.

I brace myself against the trunk, forehead pressing to bark as I force air into my lungs. In. Out. In. Out.

The world tilts for a moment before steadying. I sink deeper into the shelter of the branches, pulling my cloak tight around me like a bat with its wings. The fabric traps what little warmth my body can summon. Slowly, sensation returns. It’s enough for now.

The tree creaks softly around me, branches swaying. I pray to whatever gods can hear me to grant me a rest free of nightmares. My body finally gives in.

Chapter twenty-two

The Burning

The voices of soldiers wake me. They drift upward through the branches. I remain still, cracking one eye open and parting my cloak just enough to peer down at them.

A royal guard complains bitterly about a woman he bedded the night before, his tone sour, his pride bruised. I can’t help but smile. Good for her.

The others laugh, boots crunching through fallen leaves as they make their rounds through King’s Grove. Their noise feels small and temporary. I wait until the sound fades completely. Only when the last echo dissolves into the trees do I move.

Slowly, I ease the cloak from my shoulders and stretch. My bones crack in quiet protest, muscles pulling tight before loosening again. The ache is still there, deep and familiar.

I scan the grove, senses sharpening as the air shifts cooler around me. An amber sunset paints the sky. It’s nearly nightfall. I’ve slept through an entire day.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the piece of bread I grabbed while passing through Magda. Still slightly warm from my body heat.

I tear into it with my teeth, the stale crust tearing, flakes breaking loose and falling against my cloak. My eyes flutter shut. It’s rich in its simplicity, still a bit soft at the center.

I chew slowly, savoring it. Letting the simple comfort spread through me, anchoring me to this moment and this body. As I eat, I watch the sunset through the surrounding branches.

Perched as still as possible, I wait. When night finally sets in and the palace grounds grow quiet, I make my move.

My boots meet the earth with a soft crunch, autumn leaves scattering beneath my weight, red, gold, and burnt orange strewn across the ground. Beautiful but loud, making every step a calculated risk. The king’s gardeners have been neglecting the fallen leaves.

I spot the castle wall I climbed last time, but this time I want to surprise our Cinder Prince in his own bedchamber. From my surveyal of the area, I know his quarters are on the opposite side of the castle, overlooking the sea. I’ll use the night to my advantage.

I slip through King’s Grove, keeping to the cover of the shadows until I reach the castle walls. They tower overhead, stone stacked upon stone.

I press my back to the cold surface. The chill bites through my leathers, seeping into my skin. I swear the stone hums faintly beneath my palms, as though it’s alive in ways I do not want to consider.

I know what dark magic feels like. I was born from it. It coils inside me to this day, restless and volatile, seeping out into my nightmares. This castle hums with the same current. It’s sickening in its familiarity, and I can’t shake the unsettling feeling that I belong here with it. The thought tightens my jaw and I refuse to entertain the thought any further.

I start toward the wing closest to the ocean. Then the noise reaches me. Shouts echo through Coral Haven, raw and furious. Voices layered over one another, rising in protest. The king’s town is loud tonight. It takes only a moment for understanding to settle.

There’s a burning. Witches and pirates, captured and condemned, will lose their lives tonight. I’ve heard rumors of these events, but have never seen one with my own eyes. Anger slams into me. My thoughts race through impossible scenarios, ways to save them. Ways that will get me killed. Fuck.

The prince will have to wait.

I still, forcing myself to breathe as I take in my surroundings. The moon hangs full overhead, pale and watchful. Power stirs in my veins in response, restless, eager. The magic inside me always answers a full moon, swelling until it’s almost too much to contain.