Falkirk's pulsing emotions nudge me through our twin bond. He's inquisitive and quickly growing worried. But I have no reassurance for him. I stagger to Daniel's bed and sink down onto it.

What is this pain?

Why is this pain? I've functioned on no pity and no remorse for years. Why am I like this now? Pressing my fingers into the leather of my jerkin, I massage my chest over my heart.

I feel Fal gathering his manna as his worry spikes.

"Don't come." I whisper. Try to push some reassurance at him. His worry fades somewhat. His manna settles.

As I try to push this pain away, a single tear rolls down my cheek. I reach up and touch it, then bring my fingers down for inspection. I stare at my wet fingers for a moment.

I'm crying? For what? Daniel?

Or, perhaps, for the pain I've caused him. My breath hitches and I gasp, still fighting to keep my emotions hidden from Fal. I know he can feel them, but right now it's just a muted version I'm showing him.

I try to summon anger to drive away the pain. After all, why should I care what Daniel thinks of me? Why should I care about what any of them think of me? The only one I care about impressing is Falkirk. I clench my hands in my lap, curl the one fist around my tear.

The truth is... I don't know. I don't know why I care what Daniel thinks, but I do. I don't know when I began to do so. I exhale in a rush.

I don't want this. I don't want this.

But the anger fails to surface. The pain is still there, stabbing sharp. My hold on my emotions is slipping. I slowly uncurl my hands in my lap. Stare into my palms. My vision flickers, and suddenly my hands are once again covered in blood. The coat of red is thick; I cannot see my skin through the liquid staining me. My breath catches in my throat as I gasp and stand.

"No, no, no." I whisper. Stare at my dripping hands. Drop my gaze to the floor, expecting to see the flowing blood staining the boards. There is nothing. I return my gaze to my hands, my breath shuddering in my chest. The blood there is... well... it's there. Not disappearing. Definitely dripping. Definitely real. I clench my fists again, feeling the slick wet between my fingers. I close my eyes, shudder, swallow hard as screams rise in my mind. Faces too. Somehow that door in my mind has become unlocked. Somehow, Daniel unlocked it, opened it.

I should hate him.

I can't.

Right now, it's all I can do to wrestle the memories back inside and slam the door shut once again. I lock it again. Open my eyes. The blood is gone. Mostly.

A faint, red haze hovers around my hands, a ghost of the stain. The remaining wetness from my tear tints red in the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. I take in a slow, deep breath. Let it out, just as slow. Shuddering.

The sounds of shouts and hooves and jingling metal outside catches my attention. I step to the window. My eyes widen. A long column of armed horsemen is cantering down the street toward the inn. A fierce drow rides at their head, steel helm glittering in the sun. There is only one man that could be, besides the fact that I'd recognize him anywhere.

Amyry.

The scum who'd almost killed me a few years back. A long, knotted scar crossing my lower spine suddenly aches, and I reach a hand up and back to finger it through my jerkin. I fight rising fear, my breath coming faster.

Footsteps pound in the hallway, but I cannot turn away from the window. Amyry looks up at me, recognizes me, grins. He lifts his hand in a mocking salute that is half wave. Then he puts his fingers to his mouth and blows me a kiss, mage-fire gathering on his palm. Malice glitters in his smiling eyes. Horrible memories cascade through my mind.

"Ava!" Daniel dashes into the room, wraps his arms around me, and yanks me away from the window just as Amyry's fireball explodes into the window frame. Daniel and I crash to the floor together, his body covering mine, as burning shrapnel and liquid fire rain down around us. Daniel grunts in pain and jerks slightly as a flying piece of flaming wood embeds itself into his upper arm. I wriggle out from under him into smoke and heat. The inn is filthy and dry as drought. It's going up in flames much too fast. I stand, reach down and haul Daniel to his feet. He grimaces in pain as he yanks the large splinter from his arm. Blood quickly stains his sleeve. The room around is quickly being enveloped in flames.

"Come on!" I shout over the roar of hungry fire. Smoke fills my lungs and sets me to coughing violently. I tuck my mouth and nose into the crook of my elbow. Daniel pulls the collar of his tunic over the lower half of his face. He's coughing too. Our eyes stream. I grab his arm and start to drag him to the door. He jerks free, lunges to the corner of the room and snatches up his companion's knapsacks, as well as his own. Then he hustles us out the door. In the hallway, flames lick across the ceiling. I stumble in the door of my own room, grab mine and Eliana's belongings. I am thankful that the half-elf is so tidy. It's a simple matter of just grabbing up our two knapsacks.

Daniel makes me precede him down the stairs, nearly pushing me over in his haste to get us down safely. We stumble into the taproom, racing fire and smoke as the flames of Amyry's mage-fire quickly consume the inn. I am coughing all the while.The tavern patrons are rushing for the door, nearly jamming the portal in their haste to flee. Raeldon is using his staff to maintain some order. Anthony is frantically searching the small crowd for Daniel; his gaze lights up when he sees us. He hurries over to us as Eliana and Willah dash from the kitchen, Willah's arm slung over Eliana's shoulders. The kitchen is a maelstrom of swirling smoke and hungry flames.

How many fireballs hit the tavern?

Anger rises in me, battling the fear for control. Amyry is going to pay for this.

Antony reaches us as I stumble, head growing light from coughing and too much smoke and too little air. My throat is raw and my mouth tastes coppery. I spit out a gob of blood as Antony slings my arm around his shoulders, wrapping his free arm around my waist. I am too busy coughing to thank him though. My vision swims and my knees nearly buckle as Antony drags me to the door. I cannot see if Daniel is right behind us or not.

Please let him be so. I do not know to whom I pray. To any one who's listening, I guess. Maybe Daniel's God. Elhim has preserved him before. Maybe He will again.

We stumble out the door into the street, and I drag in a breath of fresher air. Daniel staggers out right after us. Everyone else is already out. We stumble to the other side of the street, turn and watch the inn being consumed by Amyry's flames. We all flinch and cover our faces as the kitchen explodes. The fire has found the cooking oil reserves stored there. Ash, cinders, and still-flaming wood bits rain down on us, like the snow of an apocalypse.

Near me, Willah moans, sinking to her knees. I clear my throat, spitting more blood onto the filthy cobblestones. Amyry's men spur their horses close to us. They had been gleefully watching the destruction; now they look ready for blood. I pay them no attention, instead watching in horror as the fire jumps to the house right next to the tavern, just before the tavern roof crashes in.

The house quickly catches, combusting like dry kindling. The flames, fast as racing horses, spread down the walls and across the roof. Smoke begins to billow from the windows. Screams sound from inside, and a second later, two tiefling women rush outside and join our group. One turns back just as a tiefling child's face peers from a second story window in the burning house.

"Mama!" The toddler screams.

"My baby!" The woman shrieks, covering her mouth with her hands. She makes to return to the house, but her friend pulls her back and holds her fast. She sinks to her knees as keening sobs rack her body. The roof of the house creaks alarmingly.

I do not think. I act.

I break free of Antony and dash across the street, ignoring Daniel's and Antony's shouts and too-late grasping hands. I burst into the open door of the house. Stop cold as smoke obscures my sight and roaring heat batters me. I get my bearings, catch a glimpse of stairs through the billowing smoke. I race up their flaming steps, ignoring the heat, ignoring the burns. Fal's worry spikes again, through our twin-bond, but I have no time for him.

At the top of the stairs is a long hallway, a blistering gauntlet of inferno and smoke. There is no time. I shove all pain away and plunge in.

The child is not in the first room I check, nor the second. My pounding heart beats with panic. Time is quickly running out for both of us. Above, the ceiling creaks. Blood fills my mouth as my coughing pushes my aching throat past rawness.

I barge in a third room and-- thank the stars! The child is here! Collapsed below the window, coughing pitifully. A female toddler, too young to be in this tragedy. Her eyelids begin to droop.

I dash to her and scoop her up; she clasps her arms around my neck as her face and hair are spattered with the blood spurting from between my lips with each cough that is torn from my seared lungs. My vision blurs.

Now for an exit. The window?

I take a step forward, then leap back as the ceiling above the window abruptly collapses inward. I turn my body, shielding the child from the flying sparks and shrapnel. Rush back out the door of the room. It's our only exit now. Hoarse, whispered prayers move my lips as I race headlong down the hallway to the stairs, the roof crashing in behind me. I am barely able to keep ahead of it.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Let us make it, Please let us make it." I whisper over and over through chapped, cracked, bloody lips.

We skid down the stairs, through the main room, and out the open door into the smoky sunshine. I slow my steps, the child limp and heavy in my arms. My legs are jelly, my knees threaten to buckle, but I will not let her go. I stagger forward into the street. Daniel and Antony rush to meet me. The mother screams in relief as she sees me holding her child, safely emerged from the inferno. She runs forward, and this time her friend lets her.

Antony relieves me of the child, turning toward the distressed woman. Daniel catches me as my knees buckle at last.

"Ava," He says softly, cradling me. His sleeve is soaked with blood, but he seems not to notice his own wounds. He dabs at my bloody lips with his sleeve as I cough weakly. Soot smudges both our faces, but mine is worse. I turn my head to the side and spit out a mouthful of red. My eyelids flutter.

I am in so much pain. Burns cover my hands, my forearms. My feet feel like my boots have been melted on. My face is singed, my lips cracked. My throat is seared and I do not know what damage my voice has suffered.

I fight to keep my form from flickering. Succeed, but the effort is great.

I moan as Daniel cups my cheek. His face wavers in my vision. His sea-blue eyes are narrowed in concern. I hope it's only concern.

"Ava, stay with me." He orders. His voice is distant, echoing down a dark tunnel. My breath hitches in my lungs. My heart skips a beat. My eyelids droop. I am so tired. It would be so easy just to let go.

My lips move with one silent word: Daniel.

Fal blasts our twin-bond with fear and worry. I feel him gather his manna, and he expends power, shifting through inter-dimensional barriers to somewhere very close by.

At the same time, Daniel pools his own manna and pushes it into me with a whispered word, a prayer.

My eyes open wide and I gasp suddenly as my body prickles all over, burns healing. Singed eyebrows grow back; my hair regains its silkiness. My lungs are clear. My lips, once again whole and smooth.

Suddenly, all pain is gone. A divine Presence swirls almost imperceptibly around us before vanishing. I sit up in Daniel's arms, and he laughs in relief.

>Avalon, what is happening?< Falkirk's voice enters my mind. >Tell me truly and now, or I am heading down there right now.<

>Amyry is here. He burned the tavern we were staying at. The fire jumped to a house. I had to rescue a trapped child.< I answer. I show him images, my memories. Knowing through our twin bond that I am now alright, his attention shifts to the matter of Amyry.

And, speaking of the filth himself, he spurs his horse right up to Daniel and me. Daniel turns, setting me on my feet behind him. His face contorts in anger and a flame-hued mage-whip crackles down from his hand. He snaps it, sending Amyry's horse dancing nervously. Amyry stares down at us and merely laughs. His eye fixate on me, and his lips curl in a smile full of memories.

"Hello, Avalon." He purrs. I blanch, fear overwhelming me. Daniel glances back at me, questions in his eyes. Sees my fear-white face and swings back around, cracking his mage-whip a second time.

"You will pay for what you have done here, Amyry." The paladin growls. Amused, Amyry arches an eyebrow. Smirks.

"Is that so?" He says, his voice low and rich. I shiver. Curse that drow, I hate him. Amyry continues,

"This is my city, paladin. I may do here what I like. Burn what I want. Kill whom I will." With these last words, a silvery mage-blade shoots from his hand and strikes Willah in the heart. She falls back into Eliana's arms, eyes frozen wide.

Eliana screams. I am stunned by fear, unable to do anything. Daniel is pushed over the edge by anger. He steps forward, snapping his mage-whip at Amyry. The drow catches it on his arm; the whip's momentum winds it around Amyry's steel bracer. Daniel tries to pull him from the saddle, but the drow is too strong. It is the paladin who is pulled forward, off-balance and stumbling. Antony, Eliana, Raeldon, and a few others dash forward to help Daniel. The rest of the crowd flee as fast as their feet can carry them, leaving Willah dead in the street.

With a sweep of the lord's free arm, a mage-wind sweeps Daniel and the rest aside, smashing them against the walls of the surrounding buildings, leaving me standing untouched in the middle of the street. Crackling white magic erupts from Amyry's hands, forming mage-bonds that secure my companions where they've fallen. My wide eyes flick from their pain-filled faces to Amyry's smirking, triumphant one. He dismounts and stalks toward me as I am held captive by horrid memories. He sees them lurking in the depths of my eyes, and his smile grows wider.

Fal's white-hot anger rushes through our twin-bond as, still connected to my mind, he sees and hears everything I do-- memories included.

And, not so very far away, a whole lot of manna is harvested and expended all at once, and Amyry's castle's roof is blown sky-high.

The whole thing. Gone. Obliterated by my brother's magic. Little bits of wood and stone begin to patter down around us.

Amyry's head snapped up the instant his castle roof was violently destroyed. As the aftermath begins to rain down, his eyes narrow and his breathing comes angry-fast.

Falkirk was seeking to gain Amyry's attention. Well, he succeeded.

And I am grateful.

The drow abruptly teleports back to his stronghold, and I feel my brother's triumph and battle-joy as he at last meets his foe face-to-face.

I shake suddenly free of Amyry's terror-hold on me. Take only enough time to drain the manna from my friends' fetters before digging out my slate marble and leaving to help my brother. A mere three seconds later, I materialize in the vast throne room of the main castle keep. Bodies of servants and guards lay all about, nothing but husks drained of life. It was their manna that had powered the destruction of the roof. Above me, there is nothing but jagged tops of walls and smoky, blue sky. I survey the room for my brother.

Find him, stalking forward toward a dark body lying in the rubble that covers the floor of the room. A glowing silver-blue mage-spear sizzles in Falkirk's hand as he levitates himself over the debris. Amyry climbs to his feet, wiping blood from his lip and nose. His breastplate is dented, evidence of Fal's strike. The drow quickly flings out a hand, and a silvery mage-knife hurtles straight at my brother. Falkirk bats it aside with his spear like it's nothing. My brother is pulsing with anger, nearly glowing with it as it fuels his power.

>Stay back.< He tells me, not even glancing in my direction. >This is my fight.<

I am content this time to do so, supporting him with my own manna instead of my blade. He sucks it gratefully, flings a mage-wind at the drow, knocking Amyry off his feet again. Amyry rolls, climbs once more to his feet. Conjures a mage-sword. It's a long weapon, and heavy, but he wields it with ease. With a cry, Fal leaps to clash with him. It's a fierce fight, but, even from the beginning, it's clear that my brother has the upper hand. Not only is Falkirk the fiercer fighter, being fueled by anger and a desire to avenge my hurts, but my brother is also siphoning Amyry's manna.

Amyry's eyes widen as he realizes that Fal is halfway playing with him, that the drow cannot win this fight. Desperate, he throws everything he has at my brother. But no trick, no weapon, no magic can best Falkirk. He merely meets it head on, throwing up a quick shield when he needs to, draining the attack of the manna that powers it. Counters with his own: wind blasts, thrown knives, giant icy needles; everything that the drow throws at him, Fal throws it back sevenfold. Finally, he kicks Amyry in the chest, knocking him to the ground for the last time. Stoops and grabs the drow's jaw, turning Amyry's face toward me.

"Do you see her?" Falkirk demands into the drow's terrified face. "Do you see her? Do you remember what you did to her? Do you?"

The scar on my back tingles and aches. I watch my brother exact his revenge, and I do not stop him.

Amryr lashes out with his foot, aiming Falkirk's groin, but Fal merely knocks his leg aside with his mage-spear, then pins Amyry's leg to the floor, the sizzling spear through his calf-muscle. The drow screams.

"Oh, shut up, filth." Falkirk spits out, renewing his grip on Amyry's jaw.

"Mercy!" Pleads the drow. Fal's lip curls.

"This is mercy, you thrice-cursed scum. You deserve a lot more pain than this. You deserve pain to match that which you inflicted on my sister!" He snarls into the drow's face. Amyry tries to shrink away, but Fal doesn't let him.

"Apologize before you die." My brother coldly orders Amyry, turning the drow's face toward me once more.

"I-- I'm sorry!" The fallen lord screeches as Falkirk's fingers dig into his skin, leaving purple bruises. I say nothing, mutely staring into his eyes. They are filled with pain and fear and hatred. I feel nothing, no remorse, no forgiveness.

Falkirk grips Amyry's throat and drags him toward the wall, where a broken wooden beam juts out high above. The drow gives a choked scream as his leg is ripped free of Fal's spear. He pounds and scratches at my brother's iron-tight hand, but Fal is unrelenting. His free hand conjures up a sizzling silvery-blue mage-whip, which he then flicks up and over the beam. The free end of the mage-whip dangles down to the ground. At a word from Fal, it curls tight around the drow's throat as Fal releases him. Falkirk gives a single heave on the mage-rope, and Amyry is hoisted high into the air. The drow's legs kick and jerk as he claws at the glowing rope around his neck. Choked sounds come from his mouth and his eyes bulge as he runs out of air.

Falkirk merely stands there and watches him hang. Like-wise, I do not move. Every feeling is muted. My face is expressionless. All I know is that my brother has fought for me and won, and I do not pity his opponent.

After a minute or two, Amyry goes limp, twitching and spasming. A mage-blade is conjured suddenly into my brother's hand; he flashes it up, and Amryr's body thumps to the floor, minus the head, which is only a second behind. Falkirk stands there for moment, staring at the corpse. I start through the rubble to him. Fal sighs and turns to meet me. Pulls me into an embrace, his emotions tired while still fizzing with battle-joy. All anger is now gone. For my part, I only feel relief.

I melt into my brother's embrace, secure in his strong arms around me.

"Well, it's done." He says softly in my ear. I hold him tighter, trembling.

"Thank you." I whisper.

"Forgive me," Fal pushes me back slightly, only far enough to look into my eyes. His are sorrowed as he remembers my memories. "Forgive me for not avenging you sooner."

"No..., no." I murmur as I hold Fal tight, leaning back into him. "You have nothing to be forgiven for. What I kept from you... that was my choice. Besides, I am avenged now. It's over. You have released me from a fear that threatened to drown me, Fal. Thank you."

His arms tighten around me. "I love you, Blackbird." He says softly. And I know it. I always know it. Never doubt it. The twin-bond never lies.

"Avalon!" The shout echoes in the distance. Daniel's voice. Fal's arms momentarily clench around me.

But I pull away, though I hate to do so. Fal's arms are the one place I am safe.

"I have to go." I say.

"Again?" He asks sadly.

"You have to go." I tell him. "You can't be seen here. It'd ruin everything we're working on, you know that."

He does. He pulls me in for one more quick embrace, kisses me on the brow, then steps back and fades through the dimensions. He's gone from my sight in seconds.

"Avalon!" Daniel is getting closer.

"Avalon!" Antony and Eliana echo him.

"Here!" I call back, turning away from Amyry's body. I pick my way through the rubble and shove open the doors of the throne room-- not an easy feat given that it's partially blocked by debris. But my companions are there to help. As soon as the doors are open enough for me to slip through comfortably, Daniel grabs my forearms and drags me out. His embrace is just as tight as Fal's; the feel of his arms so similar that my throat closes with tears.

"Are you alright?" His voice rumbles in his chest, against my ear. "Please tell me you're alright."

I nod against him, hearing his heart beat, savoring the pulsing sound.

Why are these people becoming dear to me? I know I should guard my heart, but in this moment, I can't. I'll deal with the pain of separation later.

But not now.

A supporting arm around my shoulders, Daniel leads me out of the castle into the city. There I find that most of Amyry's men are dead. The living ones are prisoners. The city is Daniel's.

I feel a prick of jealousy.

The city should be Falkirk's. After all, it was he who slew Lord Amyry.

But the people are cheering and celebrating, and Daniel is so kind to them, so gentle.

And I cannot deny him his moment.