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Back The Ones We Burn Save as PDF
Chapters (93)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Part One: Skra: Sixty Days Remain
  5. PART ONE SKRA SIXTY DAYS REMAIN
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4 Two weeks later
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. Part Two: Monster: Twenty-Five Days Remain
  25. PART TWO MONSTER TWENTY-FIVE DAYS REMAIN
  26. 19
  27. 20
  28. 21
  29. 22
  30. 23
  31. 24
  32. 25
  33. 26
  34. 27
  35. 28
  36. 29
  37. 30
  38. 31
  39. Part Three: Butcher: Six Days Remain
  40. PART THREE BUTCHER SIX DAYS REMAIN
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. 43
  53. 44
  54. 45
  55. 46
  56. 47
  57. 48
  58. 49
  59. 50
  60. 51
  61. 52
  62. 53
  63. Part Four: Bloodwinn: Coup Successful
  64. PART FOUR BLOODWINN COUP SUCCESSFUL
  65. 54
  66. 55
  67. 56
  68. 57
  69. 58
  70. 59
  71. 60
  72. 61
  73. 62
  74. 63
  75. 64
  76. 65
  77. 66
  78. 67
  79. 68
  80. 69
  81. 70
  82. 71
  83. 72
  84. 73
  85. 74
  86. 75
  87. 76
  88. 77
  89. 78
  90. 79
  91. 80 EPILOGUE Three months later
  92. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  93. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For the first time in her life, she was making the right choice. The hard choice.

She just hoped she wasn’t too late.

59

IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG FOR Ranka to find the scent she hunted. Though half of the palace had collapsed into smoke-streaked, wine-drenched ruins, she could have navigated it with her eyes closed. As a witchling, when her magnified sense manifested as scent instead of sight like Vivna’s, she’d been so distraught. She’d always wanted to be a perfect copy of her sister.

But now the air told a story—one of smoke, blood, and ruin mostly, but beneath that swirled something more. A maid hiding in the kitchen, a drunk witch hopelessly in love with another, a guard bleeding in the corner.

And there, ahead, that familiar scent, the one she’d have known in any lifetime.

Ranka put on an extra burst of speed. As soon as Ongrum could muster even the barest grunt, she would send the witches after Ranka. And they would not be taking prisoners.

Ranka rounded the corner.

Two witches stood in the hall. Before them, kneeling on the floor, was Percy Stone.

They’d beaten him again. Percy sagged, blood trickling from both of his ears, his left eye swollen shut, lip split down the middle. Yet even now there was an edge to him, a whisper of something older and more powerful, from before witches had ever walked these lands.

“Not much of a smart mouth on you now, huh?” one of the witches taunted. Ranka’s heart lurched. It was Tafa. Her knuckles were bloodied. She looked small and slight against Percy’s long, lanky frame.

The other witch leaned against the wall—a Murknen, by her moss-pleated shirt. She reeked of red wine.

“You’re lucky the Bloodwinn wants you alive,” Tafa told Percy. “Or I’d cut your throat right here.”

“Yes,” Percy slurred. “I’d say this is the luckiest I’ve felt, ever, in my entire life.”

Tafa hit him again. Percy reeled back, coughing up blood. He glanced at Tafa, and Ranka saw it—a flicker of gold, a pulse of scales. Then it was gone.

Percy was holding back. But why?

You know why.

Because Percy, unlike Ranka, had learned from his mistakes. Percy was loyal to Aramis even now. If there was even a sliver of a chance he could save her, he’d use it.

Tafa raised her hand—and Ranka stepped into the hall. “Having fun?”

Percy flinched at the sight of her.

I’m sorry, she wanted to say. You were right. I’m going to fix it. Instead, she barely looked at him, schooling her face into what she hoped was a mask of indifference. Her heart pounded as she strolled forward, the image of Ongrum frozen in her tranquilizer-induced stupor flashing behind her eyes.

They had ten minutes at best. Less if Ongrum’s body processed it faster.