fanqie novel
Chapter 97
Chapter 97: The Heir of Fire
The echoes of our footsteps blend with the distant murmur of flowing lava as we navigate through the labyrinthine tunnels of the volcano. The heat is oppressive, like walking through the breath of a dragon. Each breath feels thick, tasting of sulfur and scorched earth. My mind races, trapped in
o believe whirlwind of doubt and suspicion Pyra leads the way, her posture regal yet tense, a stark contrast to the uneasy flutter in my stomach. I want to in het, to trust she hasn’t led us into a trap, but the seeds of doubt are sown deep
I mean, it’s not like I’ve really known her that long. I’ve come to think of her as a friend in a very short amount of time, but it’s not like I can say I trally, trudy know her.
1 steal a glance at Bloodbane, hoping for a glimpse of reassurance, but his expression is unreadable, carved from stone. The tension between us is palpable; I ache to trach out, to ask him if he feels the same gnawing fear, but the words stick in my throat. Right now, it would be so useful to be able to minil link with him, to be able to silently communicate without words, like I could with Luka when we had the mate bond intact between us. Thinking of Luka makes my heat sink – it’s been so long since I’ve seen him, since I’ve seen Mircea, and Konstantin, and even my own mother. Will I ever see any of them ever again?
I’m pulled from my thoughts by the realisation that the corridors are growing warmer, then hotter, as though we are nearing the heart of the volcano.
lightly on his cropped
Among our escorts, the handsome young fire wraith who challenged Pyra earlier, stands out. The delicate golden crown that rests lightly reddish–blonde hair gleams in the findlight as we walk, a testament to his royal status. Who is he?
My question is answered after the first pair of sentries we pass,
“Priner Vulcan,” they marmur respectfully as they how in deference,
He doesn’t even acknowledge them. His presence is commanding yet burdened with a contemplative shadow. His eyes flicker to Pyra with a frequency that does not escape my notice, filled with a mixture of resentment and calculation.
The maze finally opens into a grand throne room, a cavernous space that feels both majestic and menacing. The ceiling is studded with stalactites, minoring the jagged, chaotic nature of our journey here. Below, a lake of lava bubbles and churns, casting a relentless, fiery glow that bathes the entire chamber in a sinister red light. A bridge carved from volcanic rock spans the molten expanse, leading to a large platform and twin thrones hewn from the same dark, unforgiving stone.
The heat intensifies here, the air shimmering as if alive with fire itself. The walls, touched by the lava’s glow, pulse with a life of their own–every shadow and light seem to dance with the flames. Around the massive chamber, there are various wide ledges that open into tunnels hewn in the rock, and numerous courtiers and officials are gathered there, watching in awed silence as we approach.
Seated upon the thrones are the King and Queen of the Fire Wraiths. The King, with his stern, hawkish features, wears a robe of jet black embroidered with threads of gold and red, his strawberry blonde hair reflecting the same copper tones as his subjects. His crown, a golden halo shaped like flames tipped with sapphire, adds an otherworldly aura to his imposing figure.
The Queen carries her beauty like a blade. It’s a cruel, hard sort of beauty, like Tatiana’s. Her heart–shaped face is marred by a sneer that never quite leaves her lips, her black robe similarly adorned with ornate embroidery. Her crown mirrors her husband’s, but her presence is shadowed by an air of smugness, her eyes like traps waiting to spring.
The phrase “resting bitch face” comes to mind, and I make a note to be e
extra careful of anything I say to her she looks even more dangerous than her husband the King.
Prince Vulcan steps forward, his movements measured and deliberate. As he kneels, he bows to the figures on the thrones,
“Arise, my son. What have you brought
us?” the King’s voice booms, echoing
around the chamber.
“A strange gift, indeed,” the Queen adds, her tone laced with curiosity and a hint of disdain.
“This is Pyra—the daughter of your long–lost cousin, the vanished Princess Cinderfell,” Prince Vulcan announces, standing to face them. His voice
arries a chill of malice. “The rightful heir to the throne.”
The revelation sends a ripple through the room, and I feel a chill despite the heat. Pyra’s eyes meet mine for a fleeting second, and I see a storm barwing behind her calm exterior. The weight of her heritage, her destiny, seems to press down on her, and in that moment, I understand the magnitude of what she faces – but I’m still not entirely sure where her mind is at. Is this part of the plan? Is she really on our side or are we just a Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.
Chapter 97: The Heir of Fire
The moment hangs suspended, thick with the heat of the volcano and the shock of Prince Vulcan’s declaration. As Pyra steps forward to place her palms against the king’s, the air around them shimmers with a golden aura, the intimate ritual confirming her identity to the crowd. The king’s face remains impassive, his eyes narrowing as he processes the implications of her return.
The whispers swell around us, a cacophony of voices rising in disbelief and awe. “Is it true? Is she truly the returned and rightful heir? the crowd murmurs, their voices echoing off the stone walls.
Prince Vulcan’s voice cuts through the tumult, vibrant and clear, “It is true! Rejoice, for she has returned-a new era will begin! His declaration prompts a wave of jubilation, the hall erupting in cheers and applause. Pyra stands stoically amidst the celebration, her face an unreadable mask
The king raises his hand, commanding silence with an authority that quells the noise instantly. His gaze shifts to Pyra, assessing. “Uncle, I have returned for my throne, Pyra declares, her voice resonating with a steely command that belies her calm demeanor. Thank you for keeping the seat warm for me all these years.”
“Be that as it may, you are not yet Queen,” he replies slowly, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “You know our people’s ways. You must be cleansed in the volcanic springs at the mountain’s peak and spend a night in silent meditation in the crypts, to appease the ancestors. Only then may you take your place as Queen.”
“Then begin preparations for my coronation immediately, Pyra commands, her tone haughty.
“Of course,” the king agrees, though his eyes flicker with an unreadable emotion. He turns his attention to Bloodbane and me, his expression souring. “But what of these two blood wraiths?”
The queen looks at us, her nose wrinkled in disgust. Servants of the Blood Scribe,” Pyra interjects dismissively. “I tricked them into believing we were on a mission to steal our people’s most prized relic. Gullible fools. They gave me the excuse I needed to come back to this place, without the Blood Scribe growing suspicious. Once I am crowned queen and I gain the ultimate control of fire bestowed only unto the true heir, I will return to the blood scribe’s temple, and she will welcome me in with open arms. And then I will burn her and her mongrel servants to the ground.”
The crowd cheers, a raucous roar that fills the chamber with bloodthirsty anticipation.
I feel the blood drain from my face as I process her words. The sense of betrayal is palpable, a bitter pill that threatens to choke me. I glance at Bloodbane, seeking a clue, a sign that this is all a ruse, but his face mirrors my horror and confusion.
“Throw these two in the dungeons, Pyra commands, her voice cold.
Rough hands seize us, dragging us away from the throne room.
My heart is pounding as fiercely as the roiling lava beneath us. The air crackles with the crowd’s jubilation, their shouts echoing off the cavernous walls. I’m still reeling from Pyra’s words, the bitter sting of her betrayal slicing through me like a blade. Was everything she told us a lie?
As guards grip my arms tightly, Bloodbane and I exchange a look of disbelief. The weight of chains seems negligible compared to the weight of our shattered trust. The clamor of the crowd grows louder, a tumultuous sea of voices chanting for a new era under Pyra’s rule.
As we are hauled through the winding corridors towards the dark bowels of the volcano, my mind races. Could Pyra really have deceived us so completely? Was her friendship, her struggle, all a facade?
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