Page 8 of Empire of Flame and Thorns

My powers would randomly activate without me even realizing it, making me manipulate my parents’ emotions. I triedto control it. I tried to master my magic faster than any fae had ever done before, but it simply wasn’t possible. It takes time. And training. So my parents continued to be influenced by my magic for years. It made them question what was real and what wasn’t, and it led to problems in their marriage that still remain to this day.

They didn’t want me near them. They didn’t trust me not to mess with their emotions. And they started resenting each other too because of all the fights that their magically increased emotions led to.

So their dream of a happy family was destroyed by me. Not only because of the problems in their marriage that I unwittingly caused, but also because they couldn’t simply try again. Since we fae have such long lifespans, we can only give birth to one child. So my parents wasted their one shot at having a perfect family by having me. The daughter who ruined it all.

So I sit there on the chair and quietly wait for my parents to finish arguing.

Once it has died down, I look up from my lap and meet their frustrated eyes again.

“I… I just wanted to tell you that I registered, so in a few weeks, I will be in the trials,” I say before trailing off.

Mom puts the pants and the needle and thread down on the scratched wooden table in front of her while Dad shifts his weight by the counter.

“Thank you for informing us,” she manages to press out, but the words come out sounding stilted and unnatural.

I just nod in reply.

“If you win, don’t contact us,” Dad says, turning eyes full of warning on me. “We don’t want the dragon shifters to think that you’re some kind of rebel. Thatweare some kind of rebels.”

“She’s not going to win,” Mom interjects with an impatient sigh and an annoyed look at Dad. “She’s a fish cutter with emotion magic.”

“You know damn well the damage she can cause.”

“To a relationship! Not to an opponent in battle.”

“Who says it’s going to be a battle?”

“What do?—”

Their arguing is interrupted by the grating of wood against wood as I quickly stand up and then push my chair back in underneath the table. My heart aches and I need to leave before I drown underneath the weight of it.

“I just wanted to tell you that,” I repeat uselessly before clearing my throat. “I need to go and eat now before all the food places close for the night.”

“Right,” Dad says, still sounding flustered. “Yes.”

Mom nods.

I wait for them to wish me luck. To tell me to be careful.

They don’t.

So I lick my lips, swallow, and then walk back towards the front door. Only silence follows me.

Once I open the door and take one step across the threshold, I can hear their argument start back up inside the kitchen again. I close the door behind me and try to keep my heart from fracturing as I walk away from my childhood home and the family that I ruined.

I had planned to go to my usual tavern, but I only make it a few streets before I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take one more second of simply walking alone with my thoughts, so I duck into the nearest tavern.

Just like most of our city, it’s in desperate need of repair. But at least it’s warm and brightly lit by a hearth and several faelights along the walls. The faelights are white gemstones that glow and produce light without giving off any heat.

I scan the dark wooden tables as I step across the threshold. The room is packed with people. Some of them sit alone, but most are crammed together around the tables in pairs or groups as they eat and drink. I note an empty table by the wall while I head straight for the bar.

Reaching into my pocket, I pull out the meal ticket that I received at the end of my workday. I stare at that piece of paper while I wait for the tavern keeper to finish up with the customer before me.

The dragon shifters control everything. Even our ability to eat. We’re not allowed to own or produce money, so we can’t simply buy the food we need with our wages. Instead, we receive one meal ticket at the end of each workday. One ticket that can be exchanged for one meal at any tavern in the city. Even the people who work in those taverns only receive one ticket. Though I’m sure they’ve figured out some kind of system to stealthily eat some more while they work.

But the rest of us have to make do with one meal a day. The hunger is meant to keep us weak and to keep us so distracted by our empty stomachs that we can’t find the energy to resist.

“What can I get you?” the tavern keeper asks from behind the counter.

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