Trial by Flame

Chapter 7

The rest of Quinn's morning was eventless, dining with Iada until the rest of the group showed up. At some point, Eithien slipped away, and Trelisti took his place. Tellik, Mirtis, and Elyria all joined after that, and after a few more minutes Quinn left to speak to Maenas.

She went over everything with him, from the demonic form to summoning Hjerti and the light she'd used to escape the underworld. She answered every question as best as she could, gave him time to let his shock settle into belief. The only parts she skipped over were the ones she felt no reason to tell—her memories of Iryn and the underworld illusions weren't crucial to the story, and all they did was sting. They'd best be forgotten.

Still, she felt her eyes set on Maenas' arm while she told the story, a silent question prying at them. She could see the scar, where skin had been melted and fused together to create a rippled line. It was hard to ignore the obvious burn. The chance another firebrand would make a mark so deliberate was thin, even more the case considering Maenas' strength.

Did that mean Hjerti's vision was true?

She didn't ask today. She wouldn't. While she was sure the words would come out eventually, it wasn't something she could bring up so soon.

The talk lasted over an hour, and when Quinn finally left, she was drained. But it reminded her of everything else she had to do—prepare travel supplies, plan the journey's next steps, figure out what the hell was going on with her light magic, and a dozen more not-so-small tasks—with the most immediate being to try to repair her bow. Maenas recommended Mara for the job.

So Quinn took a short detour to her room to grab it, surprised when she opened the door to see Trelisti sitting at the edge of her bed. He was fidgeting with a dagger.

"Took you long enough," he griped, tucking the blade into its sheath and standing up. "I'm surprised I didn't grow a beard waiting for you all to finish."

"Ugh, I'm terribly sorry," Quinn drawled, words dripping with sarcasm. "Y'know, most people just come by later in the day. And knock."

"And when have either of us been most people?" Trelisti ambled to her dresser, messing with his hair. "Besides, I needed a break. I've been entertaining your friends all morning."

"My friends?" she asked, raising a brow. She joined him by the dresser, avoiding the mirror in favor of the bow leaning against it. "Aren't they your friends, too?"

"Acquaintances at best," he responded. "But that's not why I'm here. There's something that's been on my mind."

"Something on your mind? That's terrifying," Quinn teased, though a hint of worry really did cease her chest. There was a genuine inflection in his voice, an edge of actual concern. If Trelisti truly cared about something, there was good reason to be afraid.

"It scares me too, honestly," he murmured, in a way that didn't sound like he was joking.

The room faded to silence. Hesitation. Quinn stared at him expectantly, then saw the conflict in his face.

"When we were in Embrias," he said, starting slowly. "I noticed it. I know you did, too—and everyone, eventually, once Iryn killed the one we saved. The Lintibeil are treated like monsters. Like they're just inherently evil. She was an obvious case, but I saw it in the others as well. How most of the villagers refused to look me in the eye, and the way Vindi scorned the first time he saw me."

Quinn could feel the direction of his sentences before he ended them, fill in the blanks with what she'd seen firsthand. Somewhere, deep down, she thought she might have expected this to surface. And a part of her was relieved it was finally mentioned. For now, though, she stayed quiet while he continued.