Finally, after waiting for what felt like an eternity, another sound reached Sarien’s ears, the door up above opening. His white flame flickered weakly in his outstretched palm. He feared extinguishing it for even for a second. Sarien knew that he grew weaker the longer that he kept his flame burning, but he couldn’t sit in the dark. Not after what happened.

Soft footfalls echoed off the stone walls. Was it Madge coming back to finish what she started?

“Sarien?” a soft voice called out.

“Tre!” Sarien shouted. “I’m down here.” His voice sounded rough, crackling as he spoke.

Tre’s small figure came bounding down the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“What does it look like?”

He laughed. “I mean, why did they put you in there? Bjorn said they had kicked you out of the tower. Thought you were on your way back to that estate or whatever.”

“They lied”

Tre fingered the lock. “Right.”

“It’s Madge,” Sarien said. “That old bitch cut me open and wants to continue experimenting on me. Bjorn said I wasn’t an ember anymore so they could do whatever they wanted to me. The directors are deciding my fate as we speak, perhaps they’ve already did if they told you I had left the tower.”

“Fire’s breath,” Tre gasped. “I knew that old woman was weird, but nothing like this.”

“Can you get me out of here?” Sarien asked. The favor would jeopardize Tre’s entire future as a pyromancer and possibly make him a target for Madge. Sarien would understand if the boy couldn’t help him escape.

Tre bought his hand to the lock. A small flame flickered into life, burning bright and hot. Sarien looked away quickly away.

The metal lock began to glow in a bright orange before cracking and a melting onto the floor.

“There,” Tre panted. “Done.” Beads of sweat covered his forehead, and his cheeks were flush. The boy hadn’t hesitated at all.

“Thank you,” Sarien said, stepping out of his cell. “What time is it?”

“Middle of the night. Had to wait for the oldies to fall asleep before I got down here. Yari, the bastard, wouldn’t let me go before then.”

“They’re asleep?”

“That’s right.”

Sarien nodded. “I have to leave this place.”

Tre shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked down at the floor. “What are you going to do?”

“If my father isn’t in the tower, then he’s out there somewhere. I’ll find him, whatever it takes. You should come with me.” Sarien surprised himself with the offer, but it felt right.

Tre shook his head. “The oldies here are crazy, but I can’t just leave. I’m leader of the embers, you know? They need me.”

“What about adventure?”

Tre grinned. “There will be plenty of time for that. By the time I’m your age I’ll be running this place. I’ll stay and make sure it doesn’t burn down.”

Sarien took a step forward and put a hand on Tre’s shoulder. “I understand. You should head up to the embers’ chambers, so they won’t suspect you when they realize I’m gone.”

Tre blinked. “Hadn’t thought about that. You’re probably right.” He started back up the stairs. “See you around, Sarien!”

“Tell Yari thanks from me!” Sarien shouted, following up behind. Tre had vanished by the time Sarien made his way up the stairs. Only the sound of quick fading footsteps echoed in the corridor.

A bag lay by the door. Water and food, even a small bag of coins and some less conspicuous clothes than the ember uniform that Sarien still wore. He stilled when his hand brushed against something he didn’t think he would see again.

Apart from Sarien, there was not a soul in the corridors or stairways. He took the wrong turn a few times but eventually found the objective. Sarien pushed the door open, and he slipped inside. He’d brought one item from his pack, clutching it tightly in his hand.

Four lanterns flickered, one in each corner of the large chamber. They were not powered by some unfortunate ember, but instead relied on wicks and oil. Books were stacked haphazardly on every surface. Jars, and all manner of strange contraptions, cluttered the tables and shelves. A thick cloth draped over an opening in the wall that led into a separate chamber. Faint snoring came from that direction.

Sarien moved with care across the littered floor, careful to avoid disturbing a pile of books. With as much grace as he could muster, he snuck into the room where Madge lay sleeping. His heart raced as if he was running for his life. But he wouldn’t run. Not now when he had the information he needed within arm’s reach.

A trickle of light from the first room penetrated the cloth separating the two chambers, giving him just enough light to see the outline of a massive bed and the small frame of the director of research in the center. She slept easily for a madwoman. The glint of insanity he’d seen in her eyes the last time they met made him shudder, but he didn’t stop his silent approach.

At the head of the bed, he stopped, readying himself.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

The blade was small but sharp as he held it against Madge’s neck. His grip was surprisingly steady around the carved wooden hilt. With his free hand, Sarien slapped the sleeping woman across the face.

Madge yelped, but before she could cry out, he placed his handover her mouth and pressed the knife against the thin skin at her neck.

“I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth. If you scream, I’ll cut you like you cut me.”

Sarien removed his hand from Madge’s mouth but kept the knife where it was. The lack of light made it difficult to know how far into her skin the blade dug, but it was enough to keep her docile.

“What do you want?” she hissed.

“Tell me everything you know about my father. Where is he? Who is he to you?”

“You really don’t know?”

“Just tell me!”

“He’s Trym the Pyromancer, one of the most powerful firemagi we’ve ever seen. Somehow, he’s always managed to keep out of the tower. He didn’t train here as an ember, never worked for the guild. That man comes and goes as he pleases, and it is rare indeed for him to show his face here. To think that his son appeared broken and useless on our doorstep.”

A pyromancer, his father? To think that his father trusted him so little that he wouldn’t share such a secret.

The even greater mystery was why he had been so content to work as a huntsmaster when he carried such power inside him. And Madge was right, Sarien really was a terrible son, a broken mess. A thought flashed. What if he’d left because he was so horrified that his own flesh and blood couldn’t even produce a warm flame?

Sarien gritted his teeth. “Where is he?”

“He isn’t here,” she snorted. “Spoke to someone and then left that very same day. Why would we incarcerate one of our own, even if he won’t acknowledge our authority? You, on the other hand, will burn for this. You’ll never see your precious father again!”

He pressed down on the dagger. “Keep your voice down! Where did he go?”

“I don’t know!”

“Tell me! You have to know something!”

“All I know is that someone heard him speak of a friend that he had to go visit.”

“A friend? Who and where?”

“What will you do? Slit my throat? Kill the director of research? How do you think that will go for you? What kind of life might you live after that?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, truthfully. “But it will be in a world where you don’t draw breath! Now speak!”

Madge glared up at him. “Tyriu,” she answered finally.

“The kingdom?”

“That’s it. In the capital, Tyralien. I didn’t hear it myself, but he has a friend there called Mohalim, a smith.”

Sarien wet his lips and glanced at the exit. How long did he dare stay? “How would you just hear of something that specific?”

“First you demand answers and then you doubt me. You have a knife to my throat!”

“It’s too much to just overhear!”

“Fine!” she yelled. “We found who he was meeting and then we tortured the wench to get it out of her!”

The venom in her words stunned Sarien for a moment, but then he gathered himself. The woman spoke the truth. He believed her. “Who was she, the friend?”

“A nobody! Not eldborn. We wouldn’t do that to one of our own.”

“Her name!”

“Her name was Kendra!”

“Was?”

“We don’t keep insects around after we’ve studied them. You’d do well to remember that.”

Sarien had heard enough. Without another word, he slid the dagger home, burying it into her throat. Madge choked on her own blood as Sarien watched to make sure she never saw the light of day again. When the gurgling struggles for breath ceased, he wiped the dagger on her clothes and exited the room.

He stopped for a moment, looking at his hands. No blood, but they trembled even as he balled them into fists. His cheeks felt wet and he wiped at them with his sleeve. Tears? Couldn’t be, not for her.

About halfway to the door, he bent over and emptied what little he had in his stomach over a stack of books.

The smell of blood clogged his nose and no matter how many deep breaths he took, his heart would not slow from its galloping pace. Sarien hurried through the empty corridors and stairwells.

His thoughts flashed back to Madge in a puddle of her own blood. His hands just wouldn’t stop trembling.

Sarien stopped at the gate. Guards. He’d forgotten about the guards. The sound of footsteps rang out from behind him in the corridor, so he did the only thing he could think of. With his back held stiff and his shoulders pulled back, Sarien stepped out from the shadows and spoke with feigned arrogance and authority.

“Open the gate.”

The two guards looked at him, then at each other, and then back to Sarien again. “I’m sorry, but the gate is locked for the night.”

“Then unlock it.” Those behind him in the corridor were running now, the sound of their feet quickly approaching. “Unlock it now!” He couldn’t help but bark the order. Even then, his voice was shrill and anxious.

“Stop!” a voice yelled out. “Do not let him pass!”

Hands grabbed at him. A short struggle and a quick walk later, Sarien was tossed through the doors into Bjorn Elden’s office.

“After all that deliberation and effort to save you, this is how you choose to act? Escape?”

Sarien stood and glared at the director of embers. “Did you just expect me to sit and wait to see if you’d kill me or not? Or perhaps you wanted me to die of thirst and hunger first!”

A last flicker of hope stoked in Sarien’s chest, however meager. They didn’t know about Madge. Not yet.

“Watch your tone with me!” Bjorn yelled, stepping in close. “Who helped you escape? Tremalian?”

“Helped me?” Sarien asked, a look of feigned surprise on his face. “I let myself out. Couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Do you think me a fool?” When Sarien didn’t reply, Bjorn continued. “Show me. If your flame awakened somehow, you could become an ember again.”

Sarien shook his head. “I don’t know how I did it. Like with the healing, remember?”

The doors opened up, admitting a short, fat, and bald man Sarien hadn’t seen before.

“What now, Archibald?” Bjorn sighed. “Don’t I have enough to deal with?”

“I apologize,” Archibald said, glancing at Sarien. “Perhaps we could speak in private?”

Sarien’s breath froze in his chest. They’d found her.

The director of embers waved a lazy hand. “Just go on.”

“We have a visitor.”

Bjorn looked up. “I’m assuming it’s someone we can’t just shut out, since you brought it to me?”

“Afraid so.”

“Then who is it?”

“Goslin of House Steerian,” Archibald answered.

Sarien saw the old man roll his eyes. “What does the noble want?”

“He’s invoking the Eldi agreement and says that he requires a pyromancer to join him on his grand quest.”

“Send the fool away,” Bjorn said.

“You know we can’t do that. This young Goslin may return to the king,” Archibald said. “We’re not ready yet.” He gave Sarien another glance. A worried one.

“But we don’t have anyone to spare for such a moronic reason,” Bjorn said. “It’s only the directors and a few others here! And the embers, but we can’t send any of those. All the intermediates were sent away.”

“I’ve spoken with the directors I could get a hold of already,” Archibald said, fidgeting. “We were actually hoping you could send one of the embers. We’d go through the process of elevating whoever you pick. You can spare one, can’t you? They’re not that important in the grand scheme of things.”

“They are the most important thing in this damn tower. We’re not sending one of them!”

“Then who?” Archibald yelled back. “We have no one.”

Sarien cleared his throat and raised his hand timidly. “I’ll go.”

Both old men turned to stare at him. At first, he thought they’d burn him where he stood and turn him to a real ember, but then Bjorn Elden gave a tired smile and nodded. “You’ll go. I’ve had enough of you. Give him an emblem and put him in a robe before sending him into the arms of that noble pest.”

“What about the director of research?” Archibald asked. “You can’t just decide for yourself. The directors…”

Bjorn Elden just stared at Archibald for a long moment. The short fat man withered under the older pyromancer’s gaze. “I’ll see to it.”