I think of Cress as I last saw her in the dungeon, surviving a dose of poison that would have killed a man twice her size but looking like death had left its fingerprints on her nonetheless. How had she survived? And not just that—her touch hot enough to scald. That, too, should have been impossible, but I saw her with my own eyes and felt those bars with my own hands. Hot as my own touch was just moments ago.
I don’t know how any of that is possible, but I can’t bring myself to believe that my god would see fit to save a Kalovaxian—to bless her with his gift—as thousands of his own people went mad in the mines.
I have to force myself to breathe.
I still feel Cress’s hand on my chest just over my heart, feel the fire of her touch as she turned me to ash. I can’t be sure, but I could swe
