Thorns between us

six: The Pyre

The fire was already warm on my face.

Holy iron on my wrists. It ate at the black under my skin.

_“Don’t let them,”_ the voice said. _“Burning won’t kill us. But it’ll hurt.”_

“I know,” I said.

The old priest with the brand stood in front of me. White robes. Hands up.

“By ash and oath,” he chanted. “By light and law. Let the rot be cleansed.”

The others answered.

Low. Monotone.

Wood crackled under my boots.

I looked past them.

Trees. Hill. Nothing.

She wasn’t here.

Good.

_“She’s close,”_ the voice said.

“No,” I said. “Don’t you—”

The air changed.

It went cold. Not wind cold.

The kind of cold that sits in your lungs.

The priests stopped chanting.

One looked over his shoulder.

“What—”

I smelled it.

Blood. Iron. And something else.

Marsh water. Night flowers.

Her.

My head snapped up.

She was at the treeline.

Dionne.

Hair wet. Dress torn. Bare feet in mud.

Eyes black. Not gold. Black.

And she was staring right at me.

The world went quiet.

For half a second she didn’t move.

Then her mouth moved. No sound.

But I knew the shape of it.

_Drayk._

“Move,” the priest shouted. “Circle!”

Too late.

Dionne stepped out of the trees.

Both hands up.

She wasn’t shaking.

She started chanting.

Low at first. Then louder.

Not Elvish. Not Common.

Old. Wet. The language the marsh used when it talked in dreams.

The fire bent.

Away from her. Toward me.

_“Yes,”_ the voice said. _“Let her.”_

“Shut up,” I said.

“Demon spawn!” the priest yelled. “Hold her!”

Two priests ran at her.

She didn’t look at them.

She looked at me.

And she smiled. Small. Tired.

The words got faster.

The ground under the pyre cracked.

Black lines shot out from her feet like roots.

They hit the chains.

The holy iron screamed.

It burned hotter.

It burned me.

I didn’t make a sound.

“Stop her!” the priest with the brand grabbed a torch.

He threw it.

Dionne flicked her wrist.

The torch went out mid-air.

Ash fell on her face.

She didn’t blink.

“Break,” she whispered.

And the chains did.

Not shattered.

Unraveled.

Like someone pulled a thread.

The iron fell off me in pieces and hit the wood.

Hissed.

I stood.

Legs shaky. Chest on fire.

But standing.

The priests were yelling. Arrows were being nocked.

Dionne was already moving.

Toward me.

She grabbed my hand.

Her fingers were cold.

Black was under her nails.

Same as mine.

“Run,” she said. First word I’d heard from her.

Voice was rough. Like she hadn’t used it in days.

I nodded.

We ran.

Behind us the priests screamed prayers.

Light hit the trees. Missed.

One arrow grazed my shoulder. I didn’t feel it.

We hit the treeline.

Dionne pulled me down a slope I couldn’t see.

Mud. Roots. Cold water.

The marsh again.

_“They’ll follow,”_ the voice said.

“Let them try,” I said.

We didn’t stop for a mile.

Then two.

Then she stumbled and I caught her.

We were in a hollow. Water up to our ankles.

She let go of me and dropped to her knees.

Breathing hard.

I crouched in front of her.

Gold eyes. Black veins. Same as me.

“You’re an i***t,” I said.

She laughed. Once. It sounded broken.

“You smelled like fire,” she said. “I thought—”

“I know what you thought.”

She looked at my wrists.

Burns. Black blood.

She reached out. Touched one.

It hurt.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.”

We sat there.

Quiet.

The priests were far. Shouting.

They wouldn’t find us. Not tonight.

Dionne leaned her head against my shoulder.

“I didn’t kill you,” she said.

“I know,” I said.

“Lirael was right,” she said. “Monsters do.”

I put my arm around her.

“Then we’re monsters together.”

_“Finally,”_ the voice said.

“Finally,” I agreed.

Above us the sky was starting to go dark.

No pyre. No priests. Just her. And me. Alive.