All That Burns Read Online Free PDF Page A

of Man.
    Anyone the Faery queen deemed dangerous or unlikeable was doomed to at least a time in the endless weave of corridors. Assassins, thieves, would-be usurpers. Spirits morepowerful than the entire youngling Guard put together. Cursed to centuries of iron bars and darkness.
    Thousands of immortal souls. Hundreds of years. And not one of them has ever escaped.
    Until now.
    “Queen Titania ordered us to escort you to the Isle of Man,” Ferrin finishes. Her fingers tighten into the water-spirit’s mane.
    The beast glares at us, eyes slit and bloodshot. It whickers, bares its long, yellowing teeth.
    My voice is still weak, sapped dry by anger. “Helene, will you tell King Richard I’ve been called away? I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    “Of course.” Helene nods.
    I grip the Kelpie’s mane and heave myself onto its back. Beneath me is all muscle, power, and magic. Ferrin climbs onto the creature’s back as well, the presence of her own magic a steadying ballast in front of me.
    The Kelpie isn’t even moving, but already I feel its speed, ready to carry us the entire length of Albion. Faster than any car or train ever could. I look back toward the yacht and wish I could see Richard, tell him good-bye. Tell him I love him.
    But the Kelpie is already galloping, leaping across cabsand buildings and buses—a starless patch of motion and dark on the wind—so fast that for just a moment I can close my eyes and pretend I’m flying. The way I once did. In and on the air, leaving London far behind.

Three
    W e travel all night. First by Kelpie: through cities, fields, and sleepy townscapes ruled by Gothic belltowers. Then by sailboat, its tarp sails billowing full with Ferrin and Lydia’s magic. Their spells cut us swiftly over waves of salt. Double our time.
    The sunrise’s glow spreads over the sea by the time we reach the island. Castle ruins crown the coast like slumbering giants. The cliffs beneath them stretch into the sea, misted by bridal-veil waves.
    Our boat shudders against the rocks. Remnants of night shadow flicker in my eyes—shaping into the form of a person. I crane my neck, stare up into the jutting crags. The Ad-hene crouched against the stones looks more gargoyle than man. His eyes are a strange combination of fierce and dead—fire and slate—as he watches our boat. Even his hair seems woven from shadows, twisting black around his face. A vicious wind licks the coast, but these curls hang still.
    “We’re here on Queen Titania’s orders!” Ferrin calls up to the motionless spirit.
    The Ad-hene keeps staring. I begin to wonder if he isn’t a statue after all when his eyes shift to my end of the boat.
    “What is this?” His words rain down like kicked gravel. “Mortal?”
    I want to shut my eyes, block out his words. But my irises stay locked with the Ad-hene’s. Green meeting gray.
    My thumb digs tight against my ring.
    “This is Lady Emrys. The one Queen Titania sent for,” the youngling tells him.
    The Ad-hene doesn’t look at her, doesn’t break our stare. He hasn’t moved, but something in his eyes has shifted, changed. They glimmer, become more sterling than rock. He’s looking more closely—a study which makes every muscle in my body tighten.
    “Lady Emrys.” My name rolls off his lips like an ocean wave. “The faagailagh .”
    Richard’s ring burrows deep into my skin. I keep staring at the Ad-hene, but the spirit is unreadable. Hard as stone.
    He stands slowly, looking less like a gargoyle and more like the warrior saints which stand guard in a cathedral’s stones.
    “ Foshil! ” he commands the rock face in the language of the Ad-hene. I feel the power of his spell from here—all crackle and shiver through the earth. Strong. Hairline cracks appear in the cliff. Stone melts away to reveal the shape of a door. The sheer slope of shale next to our boat becomes crudely carved steps.
    The younglings stay in the boat, watching as I gather my ruined evening gown and