Queen of Fire (A Light-Bringer Prequel)

Twenty-Seven

"Where are you going?" asked Elain.

He froze, his hand on the doorknob. "Out."

"You never spend time with your family anymore," she observed. "You've been like this ever since you came back from Friedens. Why?"

He turned to face his wife, her dark brown eyes furious.

"Do you really want to know why?"

"Yes, Miles, I would love to know why," she snapped, crossing her arms.

"Marilyn Pyro is staging a coup tonight—"

"Good for her."

"—and I'm going to do my job, which is to capture and execute her."

"I'll help her odds by clocking you over the head with a frying pan to keep you here if I have to."

He paused. "You know what a great thing about being a Witch-Hunter of my standing is? I can so easily let a false accusation slip that you're a witch, and no one will question it. After all, haven't you always been trying to get me to 'see' your way?"

Elain's brows furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

He rolled his eyes. "'Miles, this isn't you; you aren't seeing clearly; Miles, you aren't thinking straight...'" As he said each one, he took another step forward. "I'm only going to say this once—nicely—for you, Elain. Stay here with Matias, and this won't end horribly for you."

He was in front of her now, his hand under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at him.

"You're a good man, Miles. Please, don't do this," she begged.

"I could care less if you lived or died," he said coldly. "I'll be home late."

He turned on his heel and walked out the door and into the street.

Let me go! the voice at the back of his head shouted. Stop! I'm still here! I haven't been broken yet! Stop!

He kept on walking.

—

Marilyn halted eight blocks from the square, dismounted, tied the reins to a lamp post, and started running.

She made it another three blocks before she stopped.

Miles stood in the middle of the street, blocking her path, his sword already in his hand. The blank expression on his face told her enough.

"Miles?" she tried anyway.

He didn't say anything.

"Please don't make me do this," she said, drawing Azar.

Miles charged her, his sword raised to impale her throat. Marilyn blocked his sword, the metal glinting in the lamp light.

Marilyn felt like she was back in the courtyard sparring with Miles. The duel of swords could last for hours.

"Witch," she heard him hiss. "You deserve to die for what you've done."

Their swords formed a cross as Marilyn blocked his blade. Marilyn pushed Azar up and then down in a swooping arc, pinning his sword between Azar and the cobblestones.

"Listen to me, Miles!" she shouted. "Ashlynn is using you! I am not your enemy!"

"Liar!"

Miles pulled his sword out from under hers, and started burying her with attacks that she couldn't keep up with. With a flick of his wrist, Azar was out of her hands and on the cobblestones three feet away from her.

Marilyn scrambled back, tripping over a loose cobblestone in her haste. Miles didn't stop, his boots silent on the stones. Marilyn's back hit the wall of someone's storefront.

She was trapped. Miles had finally pinned her. Her best friend was going to kill her.

"Miles, I know you're in there!" she cried out. "Miles, please, you have to fight it! You have to fight Ashlynn!"

He now stood over her—his eyes cold and empty.

It was no use...

"If it came down to it, and it was kill or be killed, can you kill him?" Akaljot had asked her.

She didn't want to remember him this way—as cruel and indifferent. She remembered his laugh, his smile, and the kiss they shared.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed, raising her shaking hands.

Miles raised his sword. "I'm not," he said, a cold grin on his face.

He looked manic, insane—a complete contrast to the boy she remembered.

Flames flickered in her hands. Which method would win, was the question. A painful one that the House of Fire was notorious for? Or the quick, yet bloody, sword through the neck?

"Miles, stop!" a woman shouted.

Their heads snapped to face the woman. Miles looked back down at the woman, scowling.

"I thought I told you to stay home," he barked harshly.

"I can't let you kill your best friend," said Elain Gomez. "You know that this is wrong, Miles. You know that this is what Ashlynn wants. I know you're there, Miles, and that you're listening. Come back to us, please!"

Marilyn looked back up at Miles. She watched her friend wage a war in his mind—in his body. His hands shook, the tip of his sword raising and lowering as he and Ashlynn fought for control.

Miles shakily lowered the sword, seeming to finally recognize her.

Marilyn looked over at Elain, mouthed "thank you," and seized her chance to run. She grabbed Azar from where it laid, and ran east as the gunfire got louder.

—

He had to let the witch get away. He hated it, but there was something more dire that he had to do first.

He let Elain lead them back to their home. He looped his arm around her shoulders, and she gladly supported his weight.

The sound of muskets being fired ahead of them got louder. It was now or never.

Within seconds, he had Elain in a choke-hold, effectively cutting off her air.

Elain struggled against his vise-like hold on her. "Miles," she rasped. "Miles... please."

"He can't hear you."

The voice in his head started screaming. I can still hear you, Elain! I'm still here! Let her go! You can take me, just let her go!

Elain's struggles began to ebb. She was trying to draw a gulp of air down, but was failing.

Her body slumped against his as she lost consciousness. He carried her to the side of the road, set her down, and checked her pulse.

"Sweet dreams," he said.

He stood up, drew his sword, and ran after the witch.