Beside Ruby, the Darkling lay in his black kefta.
Who had tended him? I wondered, feeling an ache rise in my throat. Who had combed his dark hair back so neatly from his forehead? Who had folded his graceful hands on his chest?
The Inferni struck their flints. Flame leapt in bright arcs, circling and diving between the birches like darting birds, licking at the tinder until it smoldered and caught.
The fire grew, flames shimmering, the shaking leaves of a great golden tree. Around me, the moans and weeping of the crowd grew louder.Sankta, they cried. Sankta Alina.
My eyes burned with the smoke. The smell was sickly sweet.
No one knew his name to curse or extol, so I spoke it softly, beneath my breath.
“A l e k s a n d e r,” I whispered. A boy’s name, given up. Almost forgotten
Everyone remembered Ashara in high school, all the teachers had had her, all of them remembered her dance recitals, all of them asked after her health—dreading the answer because what if she tried jumping again? Allyria didn’t think she was anything like Ashara. She was boring in comparison, but then again, everyone was boring in comparison to Ashara—everyone thought so.
The Rage he had inside made him forget what Fear was, and Fear was what made people be in Control.
But Control could be learnt from Need, and need was something he had.
Need for Justice
Need for Vengeance
Need for Things To Be Right Again.
If you hold my hand and take me where you go,
I'll show you the sight that no one knows
When it all comes clear,
when the wind it settles,
I’ll be here, you know.