Fireborne (The Aurelian Cycle, #1)

by Rosaria Munda

New Pythos has been rumored to harbor survivors from the Three Families that escaped the Palace Day massacres, but its military might is known to be negligible.

“Indeed?” the girl says, her eyes still traveling my face. “Well. Congratulations again, Antigone.”

He could think of no way to request news about the Three Families that wouldn’t seem suspicious, and instead he just said: “Everything.”

Some of the dragonborn were missing. The article suggested that they had survived. That, their identities hidden, they had escaped to New Pythos and been given refuge. Though the boy’s name was not on the list of missing dragonborn, others he remembered were.

He assumed that she was feeling the same sorrow he felt as he watched the once-great beast be humiliated.

That dragon attacked her village

“That dragon killed my family.”

I blame him for the fact that I still want to trust him. I want it so hard, it hurts.

Friendship will not justify treason.

The kind of smile—carefree, unstained by old memories—that she’s never given me.

I’d hardly dared to hope it was you in that first tournament. But now my joy is confirmed. Find me in the Drowned Dragon, Cheapside, on Midsummer, at three hours past midnight. Leave your stubbornness for the night: Midsummer is a time for family. Julia

And then, in that blank, I remind myself: I spend Midsummer with Annie.

I spend the next two days preparing myself to spend Midsummer without her.

No children, no family, no marriage.

But the realization I most regret, the one I hate and resist most of all, is that while I’ve always known what he is, the worst thing is not what he is but who. That even if I’ve never been told exactly who Leo was, I’ve begun to recognize his maturing face. Lee, Leo, Leon—

What would it be like to serve as Alterna to this boy, whom of all people I should refuse to serve? And what perversion of upbringing or nature makes that easier for me to envision than becoming his superior? A revolution was fought to undo these patterns, and yet here I am, unable to picture any future but one where I repeat them. That won’t do. That can’t do. I won’t let it. I will not let Power be right. Not about my people. Not about my desires. Not about me.

My family died at the hands of the old regime. And I would sooner die than see its crimes repeated.”

I slice the dress open down her back; the luxurious fabric rips like paper.

My mind still melded to Pallor’s, I feel his perception of her change on a level that’s immediate and primal. He is suddenly aware of her, in a way he never was before.

Which is your favorite. He comforted me. Lord Leon.

How similar it is to Atreus though… is he any better

I am reaching into my pocket for it as I say this, only to realize I don’t have it. It was the first note from Julia that I didn’t destroy immediately, because it was the first note I’d ever intended to show anyone else. It’s fine. It’s in the office, and you always lock the door.

Here is the rising action to the climax. His mistake.

Try as I might, I can’t remember locking the office door at all.

“I’ve got one,” he says. “If it looks like a Stormscourge, talks like a Stormscourge, and walks like a Stormscourge—is it a Cheapside slum orphan?”

This has no place of being funny but I can’t help but cackle

“Take the boy into the hallway,” Atreus murmured, “and slit his throat.”

What?

“You are assuming Atreus is like you,” Power says. “Willing to forgive the facts because of the feelings. But what if he isn’t?”

Oh. No.