Smolder (Crown of Fae #3) - Sharon Ashwood Page 0,70

Morran died? Perhaps Juradoc could have magically delayed the death until the perfect moment.

Leena watched a ripple of heat and magic swallow the last of Juradoc’s form in the distance. She shaded her eyes, staring at the spot where he’d vanished like a mirage.

He’d urged her to kill Morran again. Was he ready to set his plan in motion, even though Fionn had failed to kidnap Barleycorn?

One thing was certain. The Shade would stop at nothing to make his last, lethal assault on the Flame before the Phoenix Prince could stop him. This was his end game.

Well, at least she’d learned Fionn’s location. She’d look north, just for a minute, and then she’d return to the camp to tell Morran what she’d learned.

Leena searched the north side of the pyramid, but she found nothing, just as before. She was about to surrender and return to the camp when she took one last sweeping look of the desert beyond, spotting something on the cracked dirt. It was a dark smudge that looked like a shadow—perhaps a ripple in the land.

Her instincts said not. She struck out to investigate.

At first, Fionn was so still she thought he was dead. Leena bent to look closer, but she was forced away by the urge to gag. All she could do was stand and stare in shriveling horror. The spell Juradoc had cast to accelerate Fionn’s infection had worked all too well, consuming everything but a few strands of familiar hair.

The hot, dry air smothered her sob to a cough. Leena’s eyes blurred and stung. This was the last of her world crumbling away. She had lost her home, her people, and her parents. Only her brother had been left, and, like everything else, he was gone. Not even Morran’s magic could fix this—ironic when they were this close to the Flame’s heart. This was where fire fae magic was the most powerful.

Steeling herself, Leena knelt and touched the edge of Fionn’s robe—the hated black garment that marked him as Juradoc’s property. She longed to rip it away or use it to cover his pitiful face, but the bone-dry air turned her sob into a cough before she could decide.

It was then she sensed a faint stir of breath. Fionn was not dead yet, but he was dying. And yet, as a priestess of the Flame, she could give a dying man one last gift. She could give him the Flame’s blessing and final rites.

Leena rose, closing her eyes so she could envision the Flame in her mind. Instead, all she could see was Fionn. As a babe, warm and squirming in her arms. As a boy, splashing through Eldaban’s fountains despite the scolding adults. Tears wet her cheeks, but they dried to salt almost at once.

Her brother had finally slipped beyond her grasp. When she’d left for Juradoc’s camps, she’d still hoped to retrieve him, but she’d lost. The only thing left was surrender.

In the Great Temple, she’d felt the source of the Flame, the ecstasy of the leaping fire. Pushing down her sorrow, she conjured the image. Memories of Morran’s arms and lips wove with it, but that fit. The Flame was joy and passion, the wild, trusting leap into the unknown—even if the unknown was death.

All her life, Leena had searched for certainty, stability, a home despite her homeless state. Fear had made her a hard worker, and sheer force of will had kept her and Fionn safe and fed. However, fear would never bring joy. Fear was the opposite of Flame, and that had limited her magic.

Here, now, with the memory of Morran’s kiss and the immediacy of Fionn’s passing before her, Leena understood that fear on a gut level. She’d never taken chances before setting out from Eldaban. That had been the first time she’d defied her belief that she was helpless.

Now, it was time to be brave again and accept what the Flame had decreed. This was the humility and openness the Mother—the real Mother—had spoken of. This was the peace of the Flame that spared the heart even as the world burned.

But how could she accept Fionn’s death? Leena’s tears fell freely now, too abundant for even the thirsty desert wind to steal. She summoned the circle of fire, holding the mystery of the Flame in her mind, but sorrow in her heart.

Perhaps it was careless to set a fire with the enemy nearby, but she was too miserable to care. She whispered her memories and words of