Crystal Storm (Falling Kingdoms #5)(32)

“Yes, you do.”

Finally, and a bit reluctantly, Amara slid her hand away from Nerissa’s and placed it lightly on her goblet. “You may leave me now.”

Nerissa bowed her head. Amara watched her stand up gracefully and move slowly to the door. She paused and glanced over her shoulder. “I will be nearby if you need me. Whenever you need me.”

Without another word, the girl left the room.

Amara sat there for some time, considering the conversations she’d had with the intriguing Nerissa, as she finished the wine in her goblet.

Alone in her quarters for the first time all day, Amara stood and went to her wardrobe. She slipped her hand into the folds of her emerald-green gown and pulled from it the greatest treasure she’d ever possessed. Cradling it in both hands, she stared deeply into the aquamarine orb.

The water Kindred.

“An exact match for Cleo’s eyes,” she said, realizing this about the crystal’s brilliant blue hue for the first time. “How annoying.”

She watched the black, shadowy strand of pure water magic swirl within the orb.

“Does Lucia know how to release you?” she whispered to her prize. “Or are you nothing more than a rock, as disappointingly useless as you are tantalizing?”

Something warm brushed against her shoulders. She gripped the cool crystal and scanned the room, her brows drawing together.

“What was that?” she said aloud.

There it was again: a warm breeze sweeping by to caress her, this time from the opposite direction.

“Empress . . .”

Her heart rate quickened.

With haste, she returned the orb to its hiding place. She circled the room, searching for the source of the eerie voice and the hot breeze that made the hair on her neck stand on end.

She heard a deep rumble from the fireplace in the corner of the room. Amara whirled around and gasped. The fire that the servants had lit at dawn had dwindled to embers. Now, it was once again blazing, more gloriously than she’d ever seen it before. Amara’s trembling gaze then drifted above the fireplace. Dancing atop the wick of each and every candle on the mantelpiece was a flame—the candles had somehow ignited themselves.

Amara sucked in one desperate gasp of air and then forgot how to breathe entirely. The vision she had on the ship that brought her here reappeared in her mind, vivid and clear and haunting. Ashur, the brother she’d killed, returning from beyond death to avenge her.

“Ashur . . . ?” she ventured cautiously.

“I am not Ashur.”

Amara went as still as a corpse at the sound of the deep male voice that echoed through her mysteriously fire-licked room. It was a voice that came with no body—the one thing Amara could be sure of was that there was no one else in the room with her.

“Who are you?” she managed.

“You possess the water Kindred.”

Amara’s spine froze as if pierced with a dagger of ice. Now she was sure of it: The voice, not the least bit muffled, the way it would be were someone speaking from outside her heavy steel-and-wood door, was coming from inside the room.

Pushing past the thrum of her pounding heart, Amara managed to say, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t insult me with lies.”

She wanted to cry out for help, but from what? No. First she needed to know what she was dealing with. “Tell me who you are and what you want,” she said, puffing out her chest. “I am in command here, and I refuse to be intimidated by a bodiless voice.”

“Oh, my little empress,” the voice taunted. “Trust me, there is far more to me than a mere voice.”

Without warning, the flames flared up, and Amara slammed herself against the wall. The fire blazed so brightly that she had to shield her eyes against its blinding white light.

“Come and see for yourself.”

Thankful for her layers of skirts, which helped hide the quivering of her knees, Amara moved closer to the flames. With more caution than she’d ever applied to any task before, she peered into them. Seeing nothing but all-consuming flames, she moved closer, until she could feel the heat threatening to singe her skin. Then . . . there it was. She swore she could see something—someone—looking back at her.

A shriek escaped her throat as she scrambled back from the fire. She reached for the chair behind her to keep from toppling over.

“I am Kyan,” the face in the flames told her. “I am the god of fire, released from my amber prison. And I can help you find what you seek.”

Amara’s whole body trembled. She was certain this had to be an illusion, a dream. She tentatively reached toward the flames, feeling the palpable heat, and tried to speak with the boldness she needed to shield her fear.

“You . . .” she began, her voice hoarse. “You are the fire Kindred.”

“I am.”

Amara felt like her entire world had shifted. “You can speak,” she managed to say.

“I assure you, I can do much more than that. Tell me, little empress, what is it that you want?”

It took her another moment to gather herself together and try to take hold of the situation. “I want to find Lucia Damora,” she told the face in the flames.

“Because you believe she can release the magic in the crystal you currently possess. And with that magic you will be more powerful than you already are.”