Page 113 of Between Life and Death

“There is no fire.”

“What?”

“When we showed up and you weren’t here, I knew you must be close. I needed a way to draw you out, so I planted the image in your mind that the forest was on fire. I knew you would come looking for Ezra.”

“But I saw the flames—” I sputtered, unable to form words. The heat of it. The smoke. All of it, it was real . . . Wasn’t it?

“Turn around,” Soren instructed, his voice sounding so incredibly unfamiliar. It was harder, older, and so unlike the boy I once knew.

“Please,” I pleaded, my mind frantic. I couldn’t do this again. The three of us had just been reunited, and now . . .

“Turn around!” he screamed, angling the knife, threatening to make it bite.

“Okay, okay, I will. Just please don’t hurt her.” My eyes lingered, tracing Ezra’s face, memorizing the laugh lines and all they represented, inhaling it all, as if it were my dying breath, before I complied and turned around.

“Walk out the door.”

I did, my steps slow, uncertain. When I opened the door, when I stepped outside, it was hard to trust my eyes.

The oak trees stood, slumbering peacefully, untouched and whole. The sky was an azure blue, dotted with white, cottony clouds. They drifted leisurely, as if they had all the time in the world. The birds tweeted their songs as if it were just another day.

There were no flames. No fire.

What I was seeing warred with the blazing inferno replaying in my mind, the destruction, the chaos I had just witnessed. The two separate realities flickered back and forth, fighting—real or not real? One was a lie and the other was truth. And yet, I could not select which was which. My head started to throb as the battle continued, but what started as a dull ache quickly amplified. It built, an ice pick striking my mind, chipping and hammering the pieces away, one by one.

I gripped my head, slumping to my knees. A shrill scream tore through my mind, loud enough to chase the tiniest shadow mouse out of its hole.

My eyes flared wide, realization dawning.

“Enough!” I screamed at Soren, who stood behind me.

That was all it took to restore clarity, to end the internal war, as Soren relinquished his control, the shadow mouse returning to its hole.

“Why?” I panted, chest heaving. My hands fisted the dead grass, the strands anchoring me in place, keeping me from doing anything foolish, like turning around and blasting Soren, which would ultimately risk Ezra’s life—something I was not willing to do.

“After everything that happened with Fallon and Ryker, the Elders forbid breaking the unconscious mind barrier, which meant I was never able to explore this part of my Curse, to test it limits, as I did with you just now. I was curious how deep my Curse went. Now, I know,” Soren stated, his voice as blank as I presumed his face to be right now.

“What happened to you,” I gritted. It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement. The Soren speaking now was not the one I once knew.

“I told you. I refuse to end up like my parents.” He paused. “No one wants to admit it, but we have been stuck on the losing side for years. With each battle, our numbers dwindle. The Cursed will never defeat the Crown. And now I know it is easier to submit than to fight.”

“Just because it is easier does not make it right,” I stated, my words sinking in. I was giving in right now, just as I had for so many years. I had been complacent, hiding my Curse because of fear—fear of what might happen to me if my secret was found out. Even now, I was still being complacent because I feared what might happen to Ezra if I did not obey Soren’s demands.

I was sick of fear.

Sick of the power it held over me.

And yet, as much as I wanted to fracture its hold, as much I wanted to break free—I could not risk Ezra’s life.

The steady rumble of armor-clad footsteps was birthed from the trees. Soldiers emerged, fully armored, from metal helmet to polished boot. Some carried their swords, more than ready to strike, while others carried crimson banners decorated with the Crown’s royal emblem—stainingmy forestin the color of blood, in the colors of the king.

“Don’t fighthim,” Soren said, his words tainted with magic.

I heard the steps come from behind, the screech of improperly fitted armor. I tried to move, tried to do something, but my arms and legs were anchored to the ground, my body feeling as though it did not belong to me. The weight of something cold and hard snapped around my neck, dozens of little spikes drilling themselves in.

My eyes widened as I winced in pain—the iron collar.

My Curse dried up, evaporated.

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