The roar was deafening. Flames whipped above us in a wild spiral, so hot it burned the air from my lungs. My knees were ready to buckle but I pushed myself up, hands locked forward, pushing against the heat of Arabella’s storm.
I had given every bit of strength I had to the flames, and yet they wavered—splitting, twisting, as if uncertain to which master they belonged. The chamber itself seemed to be holding its breath.
Arabella’s eyes gleamed in the smoke. “Do you feel it?” she shouted. “It doesn’t want to be divided. It’s hungry. It wants to be whole.”
Her words slid through crevices in my mind, pressing on every doubt I’d buried deep. My fire surged in response, then flickered, reaching for hers as moths reach for a brighter light.
No. I bit down hard on my lip, tasting iron. “It do
