All That Burns by Ryan Graudin Read Free Book Online Page A

energy is not enough to assuage his fear of the magical. “These creatures aren’t pixies or Cinderella godmothers. They’re monsters. My wife and I might have died tonight. I think it’s high time King Richard’s motives be called into question. Is he truly doing what’s best for the kingdom? Or is he listening to the siren lure of a certain ginger?”
    The article goes on, but I’ve already crumpled the paper between my fingers.
    Escort? Heated argument? Monsters? Siren lure?
    I toss it aside and collapse into the nearest chair, the muddy remains of my tulle gown puffing out around me. There’s a pounding in my head and an ache in my back, jabbing reminders that I’m coming apart at the seams.
    Immortals do not sleep. They cannot give themselves to dreams. These are things only mortals know.
    The first time I ever fell asleep—after I surrendered my magic to Herne—I was terrified. Nothingness slipped into my mind, as vast and dark as the black around stars. My thoughts became watery, warped. I couldn’t grab them. Couldn’t hold on.
    Then came the dreams. Life which was not life. Conversations, emotions, love and loss, all playing like a movie inside my head. It wasn’t until I woke up and took in the crumpled sheets of my bed that I realized it wasn’t real.
    I know I’m dreaming now because I see Breena—my lifelong friend undone by one of Mab’s final spells, months dead now. We’re on a solitary hill. All around is cloud. Thick and white—like the inside of a seer’s crystal ball. Breena stares into it. Her back is to me, hair an unreal gold against the clouds.
    “Bree?”
    My friend turns. “Remember, Emrys. You have to remember.”
    “What? What do I have to remember?”
    Breena grips my arm, pulls me back to where she was standing. She points into the mist, her eyes keen, focused on something I’m unable to see.
    “Remember.” Breena’s fingers dig into my skin.
    “Bree.” I try not to sound exasperated as I look into the fog. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Remember! Remember!” More voices join: a rough, croaking chant coming from my feet. The ground is black with ravens, their eyes glittering like tiny beetles, their sharp beaks clacking out the same syllables. “Remember! Remember!”
    Breena isn’t talking anymore. She’s just staring. As if she’s trying to tell me something, but can’t.
    And then the mist falls away, crumples like an invisible giant drawing back a curtain. We’re standing over a valley, looking down on death. What was once green is mud— churned and mixed with the blood of a thousand men. Full of flailing horses, snapped spears, and knights carving each other to pieces with crude metal. Just below us—on the long low ridge of our hill—a castle burns.
    It’s been years upon years. So long that the mortals have forgotten it. But I know this fortress even in the thick of sleep. This exact image has lived in my mind for centuries: turrets and stones wreathed high with fire.
    Breena and I stand on the hill, watching as Camelot falls apart. Knight by knight. Flame by searing flame.
    “Remember,” Breena says again.
    “I do.” I feel King Arthur’s fall, tumbling around in my chest: the broken blood magic, the ruined castle, the sink of Mordred’s black blade through Arthur’s armor.
    “No!” Breena’s scream is sharp, a needle jammed into my eardrum. “Remember!!”
    My neck whips around and I’m ready to yell at her. But Breena is gone. The fingers around my arms belong to Guinevere. Those ratted, yellow nails dig into my skin again. Her eyes are as white as the mists—sucking me in.
    I want to tear away from her. But all I can do is stare as her shrieks fall down like rain. “I will show you ruin! Kingdom’s fall! I flipped wrong and the world burned.”
    Heat sears my back, as if the fire from the valley has clawed to where we stand. I try to pull away, but the ancient’s grip is tight.
    A snaggletoothed smile takes