Flame of Ruin (Spark of Chaos #2)

Chapter 1

Fire sang in her blood. It was a song of rage that licked her skin, but she felt cold and hollow. She blinked in confusion.

Where was she?

Isiilde Jaal'Yasine dangled over an armored shoulder, staring at a kilt, moving boots, and the ground. Not stone, but moss-covered earth.

For a moment, she was back on Isek's shoulder beneath the Wise One's stronghold, trapped with a group of traitors. She felt the click of shackles around her limbs, the rough wood at her back, the bite of teeth on her neck.

Isiilde panicked.

"It's all right, Sprite," a deep voice rumbled.

Oenghus.

Relief washed over her as confusion cleared, making way for memory: a battle in the bowels of the Spine, a dead end, and a desperate escape through a portal.

Marsais.

Oenghus had shoved Marsais through the portal. Where was he? She didn't even know where she was.

Isiilde slid off Oenghus' shoulder. The moss under foot was comforting, but the night was chilly and the oversized shirt she wore offered little in the way of warmth. She'd burned away her clothing in a firestorm—one of her making.

Isiilde shied away from that memory.

She turned to study the runic portal, but the light seared her eyes and all she glimpsed was a swirl of chaotic runes between two stone pillars.

The portal deactivated, plunging them into darkness. With the blinding blue light gone, the softer moonlight illuminated a forest. The trees were as large as towers, and stone ruins crumbled around the Gateway.

This place felt ancient. Not the ruins, but the trees. The forest was pleased with their intrusion at all.

A nearby fern rustled, and a shadow shifted with a groan. "Marsais," she breathed, rushing to his side. His hands were shattered, his fingers a bloodied, torn mess of bone. They were bandaged and useless, but then that had been the point—to ravage his hands so he couldn't weave.

She could feel his pain, lurking beyond the veil of their Bond—a bond of intertwined spirits.

Oenghus stood on a fallen pillar, with war hammer and shield in hand as he searched the darkness for threat.

"Oen, you must heal him."

"Not yet," he growled. "It's not safe."

Something stirred in the shadows between trees. Despite her own exhaustion, she put a shoulder under Marsais and helped him stand.

Staggering under his weight, she retreated to Oenghus' side, and then heard a soft scrape and a click that held a rhythm of movement.

They weren't alone in the forest.

The air between pillars rippled, runes flared to life, and a winged-imp shot out of the portal, flapping away with a squeal of delight.

Luccub was free.

Deep in the ruins, a flash of icy light blinked and disappeared.

"What was that?" Isiilde whispered.

"Void," Oenghus growled. "You're bleeding all over the place, Scarecrow."

"It's not like he can help it," Isiilde shot back. She could smell the blood on Marsais, seeping from the spear wound on his side. His duel with the Hound seemed a lifetime ago.

As the portal's blue glow faded, Oenghus wove a rune around his shield. It erupted with light, pushing back the darkness of the surrounding forest. A tangle of shadows moved unnaturally to the sides.