Furysong (The Aurelian Cycle, #3)

by Rosaria Munda

“These mere words, these stupid ideals: Those who don’t have them, underestimate them. They can’t imagine that your tiny flame of purpose could turn into a fire to burn down a world. They can’t imagine that such featherlight words will give you strength to endure the harshest pain. They can’t imagine ideas could be more powerful than dragonfire.

I feel like I’m succumbing to the decadence of my father like a slowly boiling frog.

Atreus’s final conversation returns to me in its entirety: Will you light a lantern and climb, hoping that your light will be enough for those below? he asked. Or will you choose to light the way for someone else? I told myself for a while, cornered and in desperation, that climb I must. But now I remember I was never supposed to climb. The way was always for Annie, for the first lowborn Firstrider of Callipolis, who now flees routed, hunted, and condemned by the regime her people died to overthrow. The light was always meant to shine for her.

“This was Penelope’s favorite riding dress. She always talked about the pockets.” By now I’ve figured out whose clothes Lee’s been pilfering for my wardrobe, but this is the first time he’s said his sister’s name aloud. “Everyone likes a dress with pockets.”

“I just wanted it to be in writing, somewhere. I wanted it to be in writing that it was you. For me. It’s always been you.”

There’s more than one way to win.”

For more reasons than one. It’s been so long since I had this kind of pain in my abdomen, I didn’t at first recognize it. But changing into my flamesuit, I confirm the blood on my thighs and let out what feels like my first full breath in days. Lee’s alive, I’m not pregnant, and I’m going to wipe the floor with Ixion as I bleed. “I’ll get you some of my rags,” Verra says at the sight of it, and breaks for the dorms at a run.

“Were you trying to rescue me?” Delo asks. I’m grinning a bit, myself. “I mean, you’re my damsel.” Still holding the brick, Delo leans forward. For a half second, I wonder if he’s going to hit me in the head with it, too. I am pinned under the dead weight of the unconscious Bassilean prince. “I’m not the one with goliathan slobber on my face,” Delo says. He’s smirking. I wipe my face in horror. And then, before I know what’s happened, Delo leans forward and kisses me, slobber and all.

And after that, we’ll be here to see him rise. I once worried that reading about heroes of the old Houses made me unsuited to the life of one. Now I know it does. In this corner of the earth that is mine, I will read poetry and grow old in love. Let them sing of others.

But maybe they do see it.

Lee holding me and spinning me where we are nothing and no one. He told me once family wasn’t something he wanted, but I remember the way he looked at me when he said that Farhall was mine to come back to, if I wanted it. That he’d wanted it in writing that it was always me. I would have had everything in the world with you. I wish I could have given it to you.

“You came back to me.” “And you came back to me.”

Thank you for helping with the dragons, my dear. It’s been a joy building this life with you.