All That Burns by Ryan Graudin Page B

“Thequeen of the Fae is right, Lady Emrys. Your choice has been made. You must live it.”
    Go and dance. Be with your king.
    I keep watching Richard. The way he waltzes. The smile on his face. I haven’t seen it in such a long time. Not the way it is now, dancing so carefree in a nameless woman’s arms. Wide and laughing, reaching all the way to his eyes.
    I haven’t seen it since the night he pulled away.
    Will he ever let me be with him?
    My throat is scratchy, dry sandpaper. “What if I did ask?”
    “You think you chose wrong?”
    “No,” I choke out quickly. “No. I don’t think that. But if I could get my powers back—just for a time—I could fix things. Make sure Richard stays safe.”
    “You doubt Queen Titania?”
    I let my silence answer.
    “I can give you your magic back,” he says.
    My breath trembles like butterfly wings.
    “But—” Herne goes on and the beautiful insect inside dies as soon as it’s born. Spins down to the pit of my stomach. “It would not come without a price. Your magic was a payment. Part of a vow. If you were to take it back,the balance of things would shift.”
    “And what is your price?”
    “This choice must be your final one. If you take your magic back, you must never give it up again.”
    A second chance. A final choice. Richard or magic.
    I look back through the window. The thought of giving Richard up, even for magic, is like a knife to my heart.
    Richard. The one price I cannot pay. Herne knows this; of course he does. He wants to keep my power.
    Cruel, cruel woodlord.
    “You cannot live two lives,” Herne growls on.
    I try to ignore the death throes in my gut, force myself to look straight into Herne’s eyes. “You were the one who told me I should never forget what I was. You left me some magic.”
    “I did.” He nods.
    “Why? All it does is torture me. It pulls me apart.” That’s not the whole truth. It pulls us apart. Makes me jump off boats and out of Richard’s grasp. Makes Richard end our kisses with a breath full of fear.
    The woodlord’s eyes sear—orange, too hot. He does not offer any answers, only waits to take them.
    “Take the rest of it.” I close my eyes, but I can still see his. Twin stars in my black vision. Relentless. “You wantit to be all or nothing. Just do me a greater mercy and take it all.”
    Silence.
    I hear the distant strain of the string quartet. Laughter which sounds like Richard’s: deep and rich as oak.
    The woodlord is gone when I open my eyes. Shadows flicker through the moon’s gaze: streaks of black over wide white. The hounds are howling. Herne’s Hunt has begun and I’m alone.
    Herne the Hunter never was a creature of mercy.
    I should go back inside, dance and be with my king. Instead I stand here frozen, staring through the window. Outside looking in. On mortals and Frithemaeg alike.
    The night goes on, with dinner and dancing and wine from Windsor’s cellars. Even the Frithemaeg start to loosen up after a few hours, blending more freely with the stunned mortals. The crowd is no longer oil and water but an estuary. Two worlds meeting and mingling. Titania even shares a dance with Richard and it seems—to my delight—that Julian Forsythe has left the ball early.
    Well past the toasts—during the final dances—Richard whisks me off the floor, whispering, “We can still play hooky,” in my ear.
    It’s almost too cold to stare at the stars, but we do it anyway. Night wind cuts like ice over Windsor Castle’s rooftop, burrowing into my hair, under my skin. There’s a thick cashmere blanket draped across my shoulders, and Richard’s arms wrap tight around me.
    We haven’t been this close since the night he pulled away.
    I bury deeper into his embrace. My cheek slides from his shoulder down to his chest, where I hear the bass line of his heart. Growing quicker just for me.
    “Remember the last time we were on a roof? Stargazing?” Richard asks.
    “How could I forget?” I stretch my hand out,