Shelly Thomas - The Burning Sky

“And just so you know, I am going to annihilate you at tennis.”

She laughed even as she wiped at her eyes. “You can try, Your Highness. You can always try.”

TITUS WAITED.

Cape Wrath was beautiful this time of the year. The sun shone bright enough to turn the sea from its usual moody gray into a deep, dark blue. A few sheep, their biscuit-colored wool still short after the spring shearing, grazed on the green headland. The lighthouse glistened, white and serene.

But he was no longer capable of appreciating the loveliness of his surroundings.

She was late.

She had left school two days before he did. She knew the exact hour she must meet him here, at the only remaining entrance to his laboratory. It was now past that time.

If he did not leave now, he would miss his train.

He continued to wait, a black pain strangling his heart. He could no longer imagine life without her.

They had perhaps thirty seconds left.

Twenty.

Fifteen.

Ten.

“Sorry! Sorry! Don’t go without me!”

It was her, valise in hand, hurtling toward him. His heart almost bursting with joy, he grabbed her hand. They sprinted together toward the lighthouse.

Explanations spilled from her. The train from Edinburgh to Inverness had been delayed en route because a section of the tracks had been covered by a small-scale landslide. She, the great elemental mage of their era, who could now move tons of soil at a snap of her fingers, had to remain in her seat while railroad workers cleared the tracks with shovels. Shovels!

But all he heard was poetry, verses of hope and friendship and courage and everything else that made life worth living. She was here. She was here. She was here.

She panted with exertion. “And I couldn’t leave the train, since I had to get within a hundred miles of Cape Wrath before I could vault. More than that on my own in a day might kill me.”

“You cannot vault a hundred miles at a go.”

“I split the distance into four segments, and did some blind vaulting in the middle.”

He pushed open the door to the laboratory and thrust the potions at her. He was turning her into a tiny turtle this time—just in case anyone still wanted to confiscate his canary. “Blind vaulting, are you mad?”

She threw aside her valise and gulped down the potions. “Of course I am. I am here, am I not?”

He was choked. “I am—I am glad you are here.”

She smiled at him. “Ready?”

Perhaps she was only asking him whether he was ready for her to transform. But when he answered, he answered for all the possible futures that awaited them.

“Yes,” he said. “I am ready.”

Kristin Nelson, for the six drafts we went through together.

Donna Bray, for knowing the way to perfection. It’s a destination that one never reaches, but I had no doubt she set me on the right path.

Everyone at Balzer + Bray, for their incredible dedication and expertise.

Colin Anderson, for the smashing cover art.

Erin Fitzsimmons, for the genius art direction.

Janine Ballard, for the invaluable read.

Flannery Keenan, for her honest opinion.

Dr. Margaret Toscano, for the fantastic Latin spells.

Maili Ryan, for her peerless fact-checking skills.

Ivy Adams, for all the laughter.

My family, for giving me both the support and the space I need. A special thank-you to my firstborn, the most unwavering champion anyone could ask for—and a pretty darn good fanboy besides.

And if you are reading this, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.