Trial by Flame

Chapter 59

He saw glimpses of each—blood on the sand, a well in an underground room—before the visions connected, and all three woke. Warm stone beneath his hand had him thinking this place was real, but a quick glance up told him otherwise.

The space was completely absent of anything but them and an orange terrain; even the sky was a single-color void, so different from the speckled, colorful nights they'd grown used to. Avalon and Tellik took longer to recover than he did, twitching out of a corpselike sleep just to wake to another dream. Had they been in any other scenario, he was sure someone would've asked about it.

But not a single word spilled from any of them. They were all too silent, too stunned, by the secrets they'd unwillingly shared.

Those memories, those messages—they were things not even Quinn knew. Maenas was only aware of fractions of them, and Rowan had somehow found out as much. But they weren't meant for people to hear. Most certainly not to see. And the idea that someone had been picking around in his brain, revealing weaknesses to the others, going so low as to humanize him...

"You...you worked for the pulse industry," Tellik gasped, finally breaking the silence with words he hardly believed. His eyes darted to Avalon. "And you're—"

She tore down the veil before he could respond, a silent anger burning in her eyes. Sure enough, Trelisti's suspicions were confirmed by a partially curved set of ears, shorter and rounder than most elves', but still sharpened at the tips.

"A half-elf," she scorned, as though she expected to hear his hatred. "I'm not supposed to exist."

Tellik was speechless, staring in confusion and awe, before he found his words.

"Don't let anyone tell you that." A sympathetic pain flashed in his brown amber eyes. "And don't think it yourself, either."

Avalon's returning glance was appreciative, but anyone could see the ache underneath. Words couldn't bandage the years of hidden wounds. Her respect as a performer, the careful act she'd been playing in the council—everything she'd built, or been built into, would fall apart if she embraced it.

Though Trelisti was starting to wonder how happy she was in those roles, anyway.

If there was more to be said, they didn't have time to say it. A loud crack sounded in the center of them, and the ground began to shake as a rift split the ground. Yellow light spilled out of the divide, then ignited.

"What's happening?" Avalon asked, giving Tellik a look of restrained panic. The flame grew, granting enough space not to touch them, but still lapping at the edges of their feet. She looked more than ready to douse it.

"Give it a minute. I think," Tellik started, losing his voice in the trembling ground. "It seems divine."

Sure enough, it burned away before doing any damage, a smokeless trail of fire leaving runes scalded in its wake. Each was a tattoo branded against the raw earth, and once again, they didn't need to understand them for the meaning to come through.

"Quench...the flame?" Avalon read aloud, confusion sliding off of each word.

"Light the way," Tellik continued, a confirmation. They both looked around before sending Trelisti an expectant look, concern so visible in each of their faces.

Trelisti felt his own body go cold, a soreness beating against the walls of his skin. He didn't want to speak, didn't want to play this game. He wanted to disappear, to detach himself from the surface and let the darkness swallow him whole. At the very least, he needed time.

But the others' desperation pushed him to read the runes, voice barely louder than a breath. "Grasp the spark."

As if on cue, the center crack glowed, and one final voice sang out of it.