Page 217 of Emylia

The clearing shattered with it.

Wind screamed as it tore free from my grasp, spiraling into chaos. I staggered. My balance faltered. The cliff edge crumbled beneath me—rocks falling, my foot sliding with them.

I heard Evie scream.

But somehow, I steadied myself–teetering on the edge, a heartbeat from certain death.

“Wow,” I whispered. “That was too close.”

A collective sigh swept through my entourage.

“Fuck Princess–never do that again.” Maalikai took a step forward, his hand reaching for me.

His fingertips brushed mine–barely–when a sudden gust slammed into my chest. Not from behind, but head-on. Like the wind itself wanted me gone.

It knocked the breath from my lungs–and the balance from my feet.

Then the world tilted.

My foot slipped–gravel tearing from beneath my boots–and suddenly, I was falling.

Air rushed at my face, the sky spinning–the world tilting out from under me as I plummeted.

Then, for one breathless second, I hovered.

I clawed at the ground, fingers dragging through dirt, desperate to catch hold of something—anything. Magik shimmered through the air. My body held—suspended—my mother’s power curled around me like a cradle of light.

Then—solid hands. Warm. Real.

Maalik.

Grounding. Wordless.

His hand clamped over mine, steadying me.

“Godsdamn it, Princess,” he muttered. “Commanding power isn’t enough for you—you had to addflyingto your repertoire?”

My smile was instant. “I was inspired by the legends. I wanted to test myself. To see if I could take on a Cindralyx, if it ever came to that.”

Legends claimed the Cindralyx were the most eloquent beasts in the air. They commanded both fire and flight, wings of molten gold and the fury of storms.

They were myths. But so was magik.

And now that I had tasted flight—tasted freedom?—

I wanted more.

ChapterForty-Seven

"Emylia, you’re bleeding."

My mother’s brows knitted with concern.

Scarlet stained my palm, blood dripping in slow, deliberate trails off my fingertips, soaking into the earth below. The dirt clung to it—wet and coppery—like the ground itself was hungry for it.

Well, damn.

So much for a clean escape.

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