Empire of Flame and Thorns (Flame and Thorns #1)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

B right light from the clear blue sky outside shines in through the large windows and illuminates the massive room around us. The high-ceilinged hall looks to have been some kind of grand reception room, or maybe a fancy meeting chamber, but it’s almost bare now. The only pieces of furniture in the room are two elegant chairs, which have been placed on the slightly raised stone dais along one of the walls. Empress Jessina and Emperor Bane are seated on them.

I study them as they sit there and watch all of us file in through the doors. Because of the way that the chairs are built, neither of them has their wings out. Instead, they are in their human forms. I flick a glance over their bodies. They’re wearing different clothes today, but her dress is still silver in color just like yesterday. And so is his fancy shirt. I briefly wonder which dragons had to carry all of their trunks of clothes and other supplies when they flew here. Probably one of their servants.

Shifting my gaze, I glance at the people standing behind them on the pale stone dais. All the other dragon shifters who flew in yesterday appear to be here as well. The leaders of the eight other dragon clans are spread out across the platform, along with other shifters who must be advisors or soldiers or servants or something, but my eyes immediately go to the man who is standing to the right of the two chairs.

Draven Ryat.

As opposed to the Iceheart monarchs, he is wearing the same clothes as yesterday and he also has his wings out. His imposing black armor seems to swallow all the light around him, and that, combined with his massive black wings, makes him look like a dark storm in the middle of the otherwise bright room.

His dark brows are furrowed, and his eyes are sharp as he scans the room as if he’s searching for something. Or someone.

I stand close to one of the walls so that I’m not right in the middle of the crowd, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult to remain unnoticed because everyone else is giving me a wide berth. All the other contestants who are positioning themselves on the floor below the dais are standing relatively close to one another. But not to me. They leave at least five entire strides between me and them when they come to a halt. It makes me stand out like a lone island in a churning sea. I try not to let it bother me, but there is a dull ache in my chest and a rolling nausea in my gut that I can’t entirely block out.

Draven notices that strange formation on my side of the room, and his sharp eyes at last flick in my direction.

Frustration and disapproval flash like lightning in his eyes as he locks them on me. Meeting his furious stare, I just lift my shoulders in an unapologetic shrug. He scowls at me.

A strange burst of laughter threatens to escape my throat. Did he really think that I would just obey him and drop out of the whole Atonement Trials simply because he told me to? Damn, that guy really has an inflated sense of self-importance.

“Silence,” Emperor Bane’s commanding voice suddenly cuts through the room.

The faint murmur from the crowd of contestants and the gathered shifters stops immediately.

“You have all made it inside the walls, but that does not guarantee you a spot in the first trial,” Bane continues, his black eyes sweeping over the gathered fae.

Several people around me shift their weight and some exchange nervous glances.

“Despite your heinous crimes against our people, Jessina and I have generously decided to give you this chance to atone for your sins.” A small smile, full of malice and wicked amusement, plays over his lips as he watches us. “So first, you need to prove to us that you actually deserve to be here.”

“Indeed,” Jessina picks up. “During this first test, you only have one simple objective. To impress us.”

She brushes her long white hair behind her shoulder in a highly impatient move and then flicks her wrist at Imar. The tournament administrator quickly breaks away from the group of dragon shifters and instead positions himself on the floor in front of the raised dais. But he is not facing his monarchs. Instead, his blue eyes are turned towards us.

“The rules are simple,” Empress Jessina continues. “When your name is called, you will approach Imar alone. Then you will show off your power by making him move.”

A ripple goes through the crowd since most people didn’t know about this. But thanks to my sneak interrogation during breakfast, I have known for hours and have been able to plan my strategy already.

“Once you have displayed your power, we will decide whether or not you move on to the actual trials,” Emperor Bane finishes.

On the floor before us, Imar twists slightly and looks up at the Icehearts. They give him a firm nod.

Turning back to us, he clears his throat and then looks down at the writing board in his hands.

“Alistair Geller,” he reads, his voice echoing through the now dead silent room.

On the other side of the crowd, Alistair straightens his spine and starts towards the administrator. Since we’re all standing behind, I can’t see the expression on his face when he comes to a halt a short distance in front of Imar, but based on his body language, he seems more eager than worried.

Without barely a second’s hesitation, he raises a hand and throws a fireball right at Imar’s chest.

Imar throws himself sideways a mere second before it can slam into him.

Rage and indignation pulse across Imar’s face as he straightens and locks eyes with Alistair again. Atop the dais, lots of other shifters narrow their eyes at the blond fae man as well. Gremar Fireclaw, the leader of the Red Dragon Clan, which Imar belongs to as well, clenches his fist as he glares down at Alistair.

“Approved,” Emperor Bane announces.

Alistair bows his head in acknowledgement and then walks towards the other wall that Bane is pointing at. Right before he turns fully to take up position before the wall, I manage to catch sight of the smug grin on his lips.

Imar brushes a hand down the front of his clothes before calling the next contestant. And then the next. And the next.

I study them all closely.

Not only is this test a great way to see what kind of magical powers that I will be up against, it also helps me put a name to the faces I’ve seen.

When that gorgeous brown-haired woman with the scar and the pink and purple eyes steps up and makes Imar move by growing a tree right underneath him, I learn that her name is Lavendera Dawnwalker. And the muscular guy who I tried to manipulate at the gate, and who called me out at breakfast, apparently possesses some kind of enhanced physical strength, because he simply picks Imar up and then sets him down two strides away.

While the muscular guy, whose name I now know to be Tommen, walks over to the other wall to take his place next to his friend Alistair, I hear another name that I already know.

“Isera Shaw,” Imar calls across the now thinning crowd of contestants.

Isera walks straight up to Imar and, without even breaking stride, summons a block of ice and hurls it at his face. He dodges it, and it slams into the edge of the dais instead. The rectangular block of ice splits in two, one part hitting the floor with a thud and the other sliding along the dais instead. It stops two strides away from where the two monarchs are sitting.

Empress Jessina clenches her jaw and squeezes the armrests of her chair so hard that I’m surprised that I don’t hear the wood crack. Next to her, Bane’s expression darkens as he looks from the block of ice to the fae woman responsible for it.

Isera simply looks back at them, her face a blank mask.

Another two seconds pass.

Then she flicks her wrist, and the two lumps of ice vanish into nothingness.

Emperor Bane works his jaw and flexes his hand. With his dark eyes locked on Isera, he declares, “Approved.”

Isera dips her chin in what can barely be classified as a nod, let alone a bow. But the Icehearts don’t call her out on it.

“Maximus Moonsinger,” Imar calls once Isera has taken her place by the wall.

One of Alistair’s other friends, a guy with blond hair and eyes that are yellow and green, steps forward. I recognize him but I don’t know what kind of magic he has, so I pay close attention when he comes to a halt in front of Imar.

A cloud of green smoke appears in the air. Imar tries to dodge it, but Maximus has already thrown a second one. It hits the administrator in the face.

He sucks in a choked gasp.

I start in surprise as his knees suddenly buckle and he crashes down on the floor while reaching for his throat.

Up on the dais, Bane slashes a hand through the air. “Enough.”

Maximus makes no other moves, but Imar stops clawing at his throat and instead drags in a deep breath. His blue eyes are dark with anger as he staggers back to his feet. I don’t need to feel emotions with my magic to know that Maximus made an enemy here today.

“Approved,” Bane says.

Maximus bows. Ignoring Imar’s dark looks, he walks straight towards Alistair and his other friends by the wall. I study his back while trying to determine what kind of magic that was. It might be air magic. Or some kind of poison. Or something else.

After dusting himself off, Imar picks up the writing board that he dropped earlier.

“Selena Hale,” he calls.

My heart leaps into my throat.

I knew that he was going to call my name soon, but it somehow still manages to surprise me. Drawing in a deep breath, I try to calm my suddenly racing pulse. I’ve got this. There is no need to be nervous.

With my spine straight and my chin raised, I stride through the thinning crowd and towards Imar. I’ve already determined which types of emotions he will no doubt be feeling, especially after that stunt Maximus pulled, so this is going to be easy.

Stopping two strides away, I draw in another breath and reach for my magic.

“I’ll take this one,” a commanding voice suddenly declares.

Losing my grip on my magic, I whip my head up to find Draven stalking across the dais. On the floor, Imar frowns in confusion and looks up at the Icehearts. Jessina just waves a hand.

Behind me, a ripple goes through the gathered fae.

I open my mouth to protest, but Draven has already reached the edge of the dais. With one graceful step, he drops from the raised platform and lands on the floor before me with a thud. Imar takes a step to the side.

My heart jerks and then starts up a nervous pattering as I stare at Draven while trying to reformulate my strategy.

“Well,” Draven taunts, a smirk full of challenge lurking on his lips. “Get on with it then.”

I suppress the urge to scowl at him and instead simply reach for my magic. It doesn’t matter that it’s him. I can make this work anyway.

Magic surges through me as I study the ruthless commander in front of me while trying to figure out what he’s feeling right now.

Anger.

He’s probably angry that I’m still here.

I reach towards him with my magic and push at the pale red spark of anger that should be there.

Nothing.

The realization stuns me so much that I actually blink in surprise.

He’s not angry. At all.

While trying to wrap my head around that realization, I reach out again and push at the orange spark of smugness that must surely be there at least.

Once more, my magic meets only an empty void.

I stare at him in disbelief, and then push at the gray spark of boredom.

Nothing.

The Iceheart monarchs shift their weights and raise their eyebrows expectantly, as if wondering whether or not I have already started.

Panic pulses through me.

With desperation surging through my veins, I throw my magic at more emotions. Tiredness, joy, impatience, fear, hunger. Anything I can think of.

And every time, I’m met with nothing but a cold and dark void.

Disbelief crackles through me. How can he feel nothing? Almost everyone feels something at any given time. Only the people with extensive training can block out their emotions entirely like this. Why would he, of all people, prioritize learning such a skill?

The panic inside me grows into full-blown fear as Jessina clicks her tongue and announces, “You have ten seconds to make something happen.”

So I do something insane. I do the only thing that I think might be able to shock someone like Draven.

I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head.

A gasp rips through the people around me, but I’m not paying them any attention. All of my focus is firmly on Draven as I yank my shirt off.

It startles him enough that he jerks back a little and blinks in shock.

The moment I see his reaction, I shove my magic straight at him. It slams into the brass-colored spark of shock inside him. Latching on to it, I pour everything I have into it.

Draven gasps and stumbles back several steps as he blurts out, “What the hell are you doing? You can’t take off your shirt in the middle of a room full of people!”

I grin at him.

That wicked little smirk reminds him that he wasn’t supposed to react and show any emotions. Which in turn triggers a flare of panic. He tries to block it out a fraction of a second later, but I’ve already latched on to that small yellow spark.

Smug victory pulses through my chest as I pour a torrent of magic at it, blowing his panic far out of proportion.

Draven gasps again and staggers back once more. His eyes are wide and his mouth slightly open.

“Oh fuck,” he blurts out. “I shouldn’t have done that. Shit. I wasn’t supposed to—” He snaps his mouth shut, cutting off his own words, before ending with another, “Fuck.”

All around me, the whole room is staring at the usually so powerful and imposing Commander of the Dread Legion who is now panicking like an untrained adolescent.

After quickly putting my shirt back on, I let a wide grin spread across my mouth as I watch Draven.

It took me almost seventy years to learn how to successfully stack emotions like this.

Contrary to what most people think, I cannot actually create emotions. Everyone thinks that I can change the way they feel. That I can twist their heart and soul into something unrecognizable.

They’re wrong.

I cannot create new emotions from nothing. I cannot make someone angry if they’re bursting with joy. I can’t make someone hate a person that they love. And I can’t make a person love someone that they hate. Or even someone that they’ve just met. I can only manipulate emotions that are already there. I can increase and decrease what they feel, but I can’t make them feel something else. The spark of the emotion needs to be there first.

There are loopholes, or rather techniques , that I can use to get around that problem. One such technique is what I did to Tommen at the gate and to Kevlin at breakfast. I say and do something in order to make them feel a specific emotion that I can then increase. It was the same method I used in order to make Draven feel shock now.

Then I used a technique that I call stacking . I use one emotion to jumpstart another emotion.

I can’t make a person hate someone else out of the blue. But what I can do is to create a situation where the first person feels angry or hurt or betrayed by the second person. Then I can increase those emotions to such an awful degree that it eventually makes the first person hate the second person. Even if just for a second during a moment of weakness or hurt. And then, I can latch on to that brief spark of hatred and flame it into a raging wildfire.

Naturally, it’s very difficult to accomplish. It only works under very specific circumstances and only with certain emotions. Love, for example, is entirely impossible to create. I can increase someone’s lust to the point where they want to fuck someone even more than they want air in their lungs. But lust cannot create love. Love is too complicated an emotion.

But I can most certainly randomly yank my shirt off in front of the most powerful dragon shifter in the army in order to shock him, which I had calculated would then lead to panic, which I can, in turn, fan into an embarrassingly large flame.

All around me, people are staring at the scene before them. Everyone knows that Draven Ryat would never willingly panic in front of an entire room full of other clan leaders and monarchs and lowly fae alike. It can only happen with the help of strong magic.

I sweep my gaze around the room.

It’s displays like this that make people think that I can create emotions from nothing. And I never contradict them. The less they know about my magic, the better.

Up on the dais, a few of the other clan leaders smirk at Draven.

Jessina raises a hand.

I cut off the flow to my magic immediately.

Within seconds, the overwhelming panic that I created in Draven’s chest disappears and returns to its original minor spark. He stops stumbling away and instead freezes on the floor. His chest heaves as he stares at me.

If I pushed with my magic right now, I’m pretty sure that I would now find a spark of humiliation in his chest instead.

He stares at me.

The whole room is dead silent. It’s so deafening that I can almost feel it hum against my eardrums.

From a few strides away, Draven looks at me like he can’t decide whether to torture me into revealing all the secrets of my magic or to simply ram a sword through my heart.

Before he can decide, Emperor Bane shatters the thrumming silence.

“Approved,” he declares.

Relief washes over me.

Twisting towards the Icehearts, I give them a respectful bow in acknowledgement.

And then, just because I can’t help myself, I turn back to Draven and execute a theatrical bow full of smug victory.

A rush of power pulses through me at being so blatantly disrespectful to someone like him.

With a grin on my mouth, I straighten, spin on my heel, and stride straight towards the other wall.

And I’m lucky that I make it there without Draven’s sword through the back of my ribcage.