Page 86 of Poison Sun

But I will defend myself if I have to.

“Fine.” He scoffs, stepping back and reining in the magic rippling over his skin. “Later.”

“Thanks.” I turn to look at the crystal palace, and then, it hits me again.

The wind.

We should be out of the storm. It’s only a breeze, if anything.

Still, it whispers in my ears, begging me to listen.

He hates you, it says. He’ll never forgive you for this. He’ll kill you for what you are.

I march forward, unable to look at Blaze… and unable to block out the wind.

Because it’s right. He does hate me. I hear it in the way he’s talking to me—the way he’s looking at me. And I don’t know if he’ll ever find it in his heart to forgive me.

Before I realize what’s happening, my hand inches to the dagger tucked into my waistband.

That’s right, the wind goads. Stop fighting it. Do it.

I’m shaking. It’s like I’m not actually here—like I’m watching us walking toward the crystal palace, seeing this happen to someone else and not to me.

But I can’t let myself get distracted. Soon, we’ll be at the witch’s cottage. From there, hopefully, we’ll get the quill.

The Crimson Quill.

The reminder of our mission hits me all at once.

We need the quill. We need Blaze’s magic to get the potion out of Amber’s body. If we don’t help her, the Shadow Lord could take over the city.

If he does, it will give the Blood Coven more power. If the Blood Coven has more power, they’ll be more likely to fully raise Ambrogio. And if that happens…

No, I fight against it. I can’t hurt him. I need him.

“Morgan?” Blaze asks, pulling me out of the wind’s spell.

“What?” I look at him, holding my breath, disappointed to see he looks as angry as before.

“You’re reaching for your dagger.”

I glance down, finding my hand an inch away from pulling it out of my weapons belt.

“Oh,” I say, yanking my arm back to my side and scrambling for an explanation—one that doesn’t involve confessing that the wind is speaking to me, urging me to kill him. “It doesn’t hurt to be too on guard around here. We never know what’s going to jump out at us next. It’s the Valley of the Vanished, after all.”

“Right.” He nods, although he doesn’t look convinced.

He suspects me.

Hopefully the wind isn’t talking to him, too. I can’t imagine what awful things it would be telling him by this point.

“Sorry,” I say again, although at this point, I’m not sure which exact thing I’m apologizing for.

Everything and anything, probably.

“Sure,” he says.

A non-answer. But it’ll have to be enough for now.

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