Blackflame (Cradle, #3)

by Will Wight

For over five centuries, the Blackflame family held their empire by virtue of unstoppable force. Before facing a single Blackflame sacred artist, an entire sect would surrender. All across the Empire’s lands, rebel strongholds and rival Schools were burned in dark fire. None stood against the Blackflames because none dared; to be suspected of insurrection was to be destroyed. The Path of the Unstained Shield excels in protection, the Path of a Thousand Hands in versatility. The Path of the Cloud Hammer is respected for mobility and force, the Path of Silver Grace for its elegance. The many Paths of the Redflower family grow food and bring rain throughout the Empire, and the Path of Jade Eyes is unmatched in healing. The Path of Black Flame was stolen from ancient dragons. It is the art of pure destruction.

“An Iron child in these woods should have no more pride than a mouse, no more courage than a rabbit. But you have your eyes on the future. You stare only at your goal far away, so you miss the traps before your feet.”

“You were a brother to my son,” Gokren said. “Your enemies are mine.”

“Didn’t you wonder why I’d given him a top-grade Bloodforged Iron body?” “But you can’t get him the aura though, surely, unless you’ve tucked a dragon away…in the…” He trailed off. Horror dawned on him as he realized where they were going. Eithan beamed. “Serpent’s Grave. We’re heading right into the dragon’s mouth, as it were.” …that might work. Heavens help him, but that might actually work. “No,” Cassias said, still refusing to acknowledge the truth. “The branch heads will never allow it. The Skysworn will never allow it. The Emperor will never allow it!” “There’s an old saying about asking forgiveness rather than permission,” Eithan said, “but the essence of it is, ‘I’m going to do what I want.’”

If the Sylvan had grown a little faster, Eithan wouldn’t need to act at all. But Lindon’s scales weren’t the most nourishing food. Eithan ran his thumbs along the glass, tripping a hidden catch and popping open the lid. The Sylvan ran around in circles at the sight, excited, making plopping noises like the drip of water into a pond. Extending one finger, Eithan conjured a spark of soulfire.

It wasn’t unusual for more advanced spirits to start taking on humanoid forms, but Eithan had expected it to look more like him. Evidently Lindon had a strong impression that the spirit was female, which had influenced its shape. She peered up at him with what had been a featureless face a moment before. With one finger, she brushed what looked like hair out of her new-formed eyes and gave him a sharp grin. Then she straightened up, all of four inches tall, and bowed at the waist. Eithan inclined his head graciously in return, and shut the lid.

“I do not fear Underlords,” Orthos said, words underscored by a growl that shook the earth. “Your advancement means nothing before a dragon’s breath.” Eithan drew himself up. “Sir! If this is an issue of respect, we should settle it like proper citizens of the Blackflame Empire. Let a friendly exchange of techniques decide whether you take the reins of Lindon’s training, or whether I kneel to you as my master.” Though the Underlord’s smile had been wiped away by an expression of haughty dignity, a playful sparkle remained in his eyes.

“I’ve never liked betting on hope,” she muttered, but that wasn’t entirely true. When you got swept up in the nets of someone powerful, you didn’t have much left to your name but hope. Hope that they were looking out for you, and not just using you as grain in a mill.

“We settle for so little,” Eithan said at last. “We protect what we have instead of reaching for more. Even when the door is open, we refuse to walk through it.” He clenched a fist in front of him. “Cassias, I can take this family through that door. I can drag the rest of them, kicking and screaming, into a future better than you or I could ever imagine.” He sighed, and his arm dropped back to his side. “But I can only see so far. I think these two could be the sails that carry us far beyond this empire…but what if I’m wrong? I could squeeze this family dry, betting on a glorious payout fifty years from now, and the Jai could devour us tomorrow. “I feel blind.”

Show me what to do, Yerin begged. The Remnant still urged her to attack. The unwelcome guest still pleaded for freedom. And Yerin’s heart bled, because she finally accepted the truth: this wasn’t her master. Breaking him open wouldn’t be a betrayal, it wouldn’t mean abandoning him. If she dug into the Remnant and sucked its power dry, she wouldn’t be losing her master’s voice. She’d lost that almost a year ago, in Sacred Valley. So, as Jai Long kicked her body down the mountain with a bored sigh, Yerin reached inside herself. Her master’s Remnant was just a mass of silver power in her core, but she visualized it as it had appeared when she adopted it: a ghost of silver chrome, armed with six bladed limbs. She reached for that ghost and crushed it with the power of her will.

Lindon killed a Highgold, initiating a rivalry with a young man named Jai Long. Good. Pressure would help him grow. His sister was more interesting: she would have met Lindon in a few more years, if not for Suriel’s interference. The exact nature of their relationship would have changed depending on several factors, but the destiny between them must have been quite strong to survive Lindon’s divergence. A minor point of interest, nothing alarming. Fate adjusted for such small variations as a matter of course. After a few moments of reviewing her Presence’s predicted future for Lindon and Jai Long, Suriel noticed a handful of gaps. She reviewed the data, pulling up extra information, comparing the reports. Finally, she found what her automated requests had overlooked. The Arelius family.