Page 69 of The Flame King's Queen

“I’m not a witch,” Anise insists, tears filling her eyes.

“A cry I’ve heard a hundred times from a hundred witches,” he scoffs. “What darkness lurks in your heart, witch? What spells and hexes have you been casting?”

“I—I didn’t do anyth—” Anise stammers.

“Of whom are you jealous?” Kane demands of her. “Who do you resent? The stench of hatred is thick in this castle, and it clings to you.”

Anise gazes up at him fearfully, her body trembling and the whites showing all around her eyes.

I push myself in front of her. “Stop harassing my sister. If Anise says she’s not a witch, then she’s not a witch.”

Both Fiala and Dusan reach for his arms to drag him away.

Kane speaks the word he said to me when he was a prisoner of the Brethren and I saved his life. “Rrus-nahl.”

Once, Master Gaun and his fellow warlocks lined up and shouted that word at Ravenna and me to demonstrate the extent of their powers. We glowed a little, for their powers are not strong.

Light erupts from within Anise and me, and every inch of our exposed skin and hair shines so brightly that, for a moment, I’m dazzled. My bodyguards shade their eyes with their hands.

The glow fades, and Anise bursts into tears and falls at my feet. Kane whirls around and strides away.

I gather my sister into my arms and hold her, trying not to feel hurt that Anise is devastated that she’s a witch. I never imagined that she harbored any dislike in her heart for witches, but perhaps I was wrong.

“It’s not so awful to be a witch,” I tell her. “I thought you enjoyed spending time with me, Ravenna, and Mistress Hawthorne.”

“I do,” Anise sobs. “It’s just that…it’s just that… He’s right, I am envious of you. I don’t know why you were chosen and not me.”

“Chosen for what?”

“Chosen foreverything,” she cries. “You have a dragon, and you live in the capital, and everyone thinks you’re special. Ever since you saved me from the tithing, you’ve been special. I want to be my own person. I don’t to want be a witch.”

She trails off with a sniffle, and her words lay heavily on us. The stone floor is cold beneath my thighs. I didn’t know Anise felt this way.

Anise rubs her nose. “Sorry. I’m so proud of you, Isavelle, but what that horrible man said about me is true. I have bad thoughts. Am—am I going to be arrested?”

I hold her close and tuck her under my chin. “Of course you’re not. We all have unpleasant thoughts sometimes, but that doesn’t mean we’re bad people. Kane makes everything worse than it needs to be. Would it be so terrible to be a witch? All witches are different. Ravenna can do things I never could.”

“Not so terrible, I suppose,” she finally admits. “But it’s not what I want, and it’s not what I dream about.”

“Then tell me what it is you do dream about.”

She glances up at my bodyguards. “I love the wyverns. I want to be a wingrunner.”

I think about all the times I saw Anise searching the skies for wyverns and admiring the wingrunners. A human and a witch who wants to be a wingrunner. Ashton offered to teach Ravenna to ride, but she wasn’t trying to join the ranks of the wingrunners. All the wingrunners I know are Maledinni. Anise doesn’t possess any Maledinni blood, or she would have been killed by Emmeric along with Ma and Waylen.

I glance at Fiala and Dusan for help. “What rules do you have for the wingrunners, and could Captain Ashton be persuaded to allow a human to train to be one of you?”

Dusan crouches down on his heels and smiles at Anise. “If you truly wish to be a wingrunner, then all you need is a head for heights and a reckless heart. There is a bond between wyvern and rider, but it grows naturally rather than fated by the gods like it is between dragon and rider. So you don’t need to be Maledinni.”

Anise sniffles, her face lightening with hope. “Really?”

“Really. If it’s your dream, there’s no reason it can’t come true.”

Dusan’s manner is so kind that I feel my heart glow.

“The training is rigorous,” Fiala tells her. “There are many tests to complete before anyone becomes a full-fledged wingrunner, but training usually begins at age fifteen.”

“I’m fifteen,” Anise exclaims, clutching Fiala’s hand, her tears completely forgotten. “Everyone always said I was reckless, didn’t they, Isavelle?”

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