All That Burns

by Ryan Graudin

I look up. The light of a cloudless, morning sky drips down Anabelle’s face, as rich as the egg yolk. Bringing out every part of her beauty. Her torn.

  For a moment I’m afraid to say. I’m afraid the roof will cave in again.

  But I think of how the roof has always held above our heads. The windows stay unshattered. The spells Anabelle performs in our garden sessions are as solid as she is.

  She needs to know. She’s strong enough to know.

  “He loved you.” I say this and her face starts slipping. Along with the light. Tears—smoky with mascara ink—creep and well at the ledges of her high cheekbones. Gray as the clouds which have suddenly crowded the window.

  “That makes it so much worse,” she whispers. Tears keep rolling to the end of her chin. The storm outside breaks open.

  Snow. Real snow. Not rain or hail or paint chips. It floats, twirls, spins past the windowpanes—as graceful as dandelion seeds. Death and life and beautiful: a cold crown over Anabelle’s bent silhouette.

  She sniffs, wipes the wet from her face. But the snow outside keeps falling, new tears and what ifs dew Anabelle’s eyelashes.

  “It’s silly, really,” she says. “I only knew him for a few days.”

  I reach across the table and grab her hand, where the rune scabs are still healing on her wrist. “It’s not silly. It’s real. It’s okay to let yourself hurt.”

  Anabelle’s eyes meet mine. Her tendons and bones flutter under the cup of my palm. Outside the storm howls: white, white, white. So I can see nothing else.

  “He never said good-bye.” Her words are ghost thin, as pale as the world outside the window. “He promised he would.”

  I hold her hand tight, but it’s not enough. So I leave my plate, come to her side of the table, so she doesn’t have to be alone.

  We sit together. Her tears flow into my shoulder and the snow piles in drifts against the window. Sky’s sorrow and winter’s heart—covering everything.

  A few minutes pass and Richard comes swinging into the dining room like the first child awake on Christmas morning. “Did you see? There’s a bloody blizzard outside! In November! Oh—”

  He spots his sister—curled in my arms—and stops short.

  Anabelle peels her face out of my shoulder. Smeared and wet and raw. Sniff, sniff, wipe. The flakes outside grow smaller. Sun starts to peek through lacework clouds, frostwork windows.

  Richard comes and sits in the chair beside us. He places a hand on Anabelle’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, sis.”

  “I’m not,” she says with a voice of rust and nails. “We wouldn’t be here if . . . if it wasn’t for him.”

  Kieran fought his fate so that we could be here to live through ours. I look across the princess’s shaking shoulders, meet Richard’s eyes. They’re a strange mix of fresh, sad, and serious.

  Richard leans in to hug his sister, so she’s crammed between us. “Whatever you need, Belle. We’re here.”

  “It will pass. In time.” Anabelle straightens up and wipes her face again. The sun burns strong through the clouds—gray wisps away, bursts into a dazzling white—and I know she’s right.

  Richard squints out the bright, bright windowpanes. “You’ve just made some schoolchildren rather happy.”

  Anabelle turns, seeing the snowfall for the first time. The after-storm light gleams on her wet face. A glow which reminds me of the Ad-henes’ scars. She takes in the unmarked white with a laugh twisted into a cry. “But—what about our training session in the garden?”

  The hours in the garden are just as much for my instruction as for the royals’. Learning how to use Richard’s blood magic as my own is a frustrating process. The spells don’t always work the same—many times it feels as if I’m trying to mold fine china out of Play-Doh. But slowly I’m getting a handle on it. Anabelle and Richard are too.

  “It’s just a bit of snow.” I look out into that wide stretch of white. “But we could practice inside if you’d like. I think we’re safe enough now!”

  The princess shakes her head and eyes her brother. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that Christmas you ambushed me with snowballs at Balmoral Castle.”

  Richard raises his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge I hear?”

  Anabelle stands. Seeds of a smile pocket the corners of her lips. “Little did you know I’ve been working on my snowball-throwing arm for years! I will have my revenge!”

  She says this as she runs, tears for the door. Her hair streams gold behind her, lashing free, the same way it did that dawn on the boat. When her brother was lost and she stayed strong. When Kieran first saw her and fate’s course changed.

  “Outside it is.” Richard looks at me. “Care to join in our epic battle?”

  I follow the siblings onto Buckingham’s portico. The new cold of the air catches me and I pause on the final step, watching Anabelle and Richard tumble through the snow. Make their marks.

  I stand here and think of Kieran. Sitting under the dawn on that boat, with sorrow in his voice and a spark in his eye.

  It is behind us now. We can only look forward. Hope for better things.

  And we will. She will.

  Ice and cold explode across my neck. Stinging like a spell. A swear slips from my lips as I try to shake off the pain of the snowball—now fluff and dew across my blouse.

  Anabelle stands several meters away, dusting her palms off. “You made it too easy, Emrys!”

  Across from her Richard is laughing, packing snow into his hands. Ready for a fight.

  I jump off the step, into the snow. Into the fray.

  Thirty

  The Highlands have always been beautiful—hills rolling like songs, fog balleting over black waters, ruddy skies which catch the sun’s fierce and spread it over wide wilderness—but now it feels like a dream. Its slopes are unmoored; violet crests of stone rise from the valley’s evening shadow. The setting sun flares amber over the hills, lining them so their edges shine like new copper.

  It feels like a dream, yet Richard and I are both very, very awake. Hiking from our lochside cabin to where the hills reach their highest note.

  I breathe deep. Fill my lungs with the clean, almost-snow silver of the air.

  “We could’ve tried flying up, you know.” Richard lets out a huff and leans against a boulder that’s twice his size.

  “I think we could use a bit more practice before we risk levitating ourselves hundreds of meters off the ground. It’s a long fall.” I look back down at the valley we’ve risen from. Our cabin is as small as a biscuit crumb by the spilled-tea loch. “Besides, I’ve never actually hiked up a mountain before.”

  “Glad I could give you a new experience.” He laughs.

  “You’ve given me plenty of those.” I smile at him.

  “I hope the majority of them were more pleasant.” Richard’s skin is glowing in the last efforts of the sun. He wipes his face, looks up the rocky trail. “We’re almost there. Trust me, it’ll be worth the climb.”

  Beautiful, hard things always are.

  We stand by a bend, where the path wraps around the hill. I can’t see what lies ahead, but I know. I can already hear the music.

  I reach out and take Richard’s hand. His fingers are cool, like the air around us, like the traces of last week’s snow which lurk in the boulder’s crevices. Autumn—the dying season—is nearly gone. Winter is ready to sweep over in sheets of gray and freeze.

  Before I might have been cold. But holding Richard’s hand sends a fresh swell of blood magic through my veins. Swirling heat and life.

  “We will try flying,” I promise him. “When we’re ready.”

  “I can’t wait.” He pulls me forward. We conquer the last few steps together.

  It’s everything I imagined and more.

  We’re at the top of the world. Standing on the crest of the tallest peak. Everywhere I turn the land is on fire, painted by the sun’s tangerine rays. We stand in the middle of a castle’s ruins. Its broken walls rise and fall like a diving K
elpie’s back. Faery lights are stuck in the crevices, shining their phosphorescent glow on to the real vision. Dinner for two, still steaming. Strawberries and beef Wellington. On another table sits Richard’s turntable. A familiar song is pulling from the speakers, echoing long past us. Into the hills.

  Richard pulls me over to the table, reaches out to the candelabra centerpiece. Its candles stand proud, unlit.

  “Aile.” He summons the fire, like I taught him. In the fashion of the Ad-hene.

  I watch the flames dance across his hand, drip from his fingers like lava, all the way to the candles’ wicks. Behind me the sun dips low. The shadows of the valleys rise, spread up the hills, and plume into the sky. Far, far off, just above the crest of a hill, the first star peeks through.

  Richard walks up beside me, slides his arm around my waist. His palm is still hot, tingling from the lick of those flames. “I know it’s not so much a surprise . . .”

  “Surprises are overrated,” I tell him, thinking of all the ugly twists of the past month. “I’ve had quite enough of them to last me a good long while. It’s nice to have a bit of stability. Dependability.”

  “I really thought we were gone. Otherwise I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

  “We were gone.” I keep staring at first star. It has the same silver glare as Kieran’s scar. The same hint of hope.

  I don’t think I’ll ever look at Polaris the same way again.

  Richard’s thoughts must be straying along the same paths. “Do you think Morgaine will find a way out of the tunnels?”

  I find his hand on my waist, hug it tighter against me. It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times over. Every time I see a sewer drain or pass an Underground entrance, a chill washes up my spine. She’s down there, somewhere. Looping, plotting, raging. Walking in never-ending circles, calling out for the Ad-hene who no longer exist.

  “No. She’s trapped.” I say this to the valley shadows which are growing, spreading. The stars blooming on the far horizon. “Besides, even if she does find a way out, we’ll be more than ready for her. Our magic is getting stronger every day.” I think of our training sessions, how every day the spells come more easily, the magic flows and binds us closer together. A magic so strong that the Fae still depend on it for sustenance. Once we master it we’ll be able to gather the world at our fingertips.

  “We’ll be a force to be reckoned with,” I add.

  “We’ll have to be, with all that’s ahead. There’s a lot to rebuild.”

  He’s right. My thoughts drift to Anabelle and the rubble left by Phoenix Night. Things starting to piece back together, yet still not whole.

  From this point I can see it all. The valleys and the mountaintops. The gain and the loss. Some things have been lost altogether: my old magic, Guinevere, Kieran.

  Yet so much has been saved.

  I turn to Richard. Put my back to the stars and the memory of the price that was paid. The costs which led us to this moment.

  He’s worth them all.

  “I need you, Emrys. I want you by my side for every step of this journey.” One hand slides up my waist, the other brushes my cheek. Tucks back all of the half-colored hair behind my ear. “I have a kingdom at my feet and the power of Arthur Pendragon in my veins, but I would lay it all down in a heartbeat for you. Because I’m yours. Always and forever. This is my solemn vow.”

  His hands pull away. I watch, breathless, as he gets down on one knee.

  Here we are, caught up in a halo of candlelight. The brightest light on the highest hill. Richard pulls something from his pocket. Something that catches and crafts the light, sings it alive.

  My ring. The one I lost down the sink drain. It’s here, between his fingers. Jade and silver filigree shining even brighter than I remember it.

  “Emrys Léoflic, will you make me the happiest man alive and be my queen? My wife?”

  I think back to the tunnels. How my yes rang endlessly through those enchanted walls. How it’s probably still echoing, around and around and around. Eternal. I imagine it rising from the depths of the earth, the way I did as a newly formed spirit. Flying up, up, up to this mountaintop moment.

  “Yes.” I kneel down. We’re both on the ground now, knees steady on these worn stones. On the same level. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  He laughs. The sounds breaks through the music, draws me closer to him.

  “How did you find this?” The jade of my ring glows bright as a cat’s eye against the candlelight. “I thought it was gone for good.”

  “Ferrin gave it to me. Apparently she retrieved it from the sink just after you lost it.”

  So that’s why Kieran couldn’t summon it. It had already been found.

  Richard goes on, “I had her help me put a bonding spell on it, so it won’t fall off your finger again. Unless you want it to.”

  I slide my finger back into the ring, clasp my hand in his.

  “You’re mine and I’m yours. Always and forever. This ring isn’t coming off,” I promise. “No matter what.”

  Wind gusts up from the valley, raking fingers of ice through my hair. Richard’s flames stay strong. The turntable’s needle keeps grooving into a new song.

  Everything changes, yes, but not everything falls apart. Some things come through the fire stronger than before.

  We’re still on our knees when we kiss.

  This kiss. It’s rage and heat and flame. It’s the shout of life and fight into an empty space. And it doesn’t matter that the song has changed or that the wind is blowing. It doesn’t matter that the cold is creeping in, snaking into the cracks between our bodies. It doesn’t matter that the sky above us is dark and dizzying and endless.

  I’m the spark and he’s the tinder. Night has fallen, black and cold over the world. And winter might still be on the horizon, but together we are burning.

  Acknowledgments

  There’s a rumor floating around in the world of YA authors that writing sequels is one of the hardest things a writer has to do. After working on this book, I can tell you this rumor is one-hundred percent true. Sequels are unmanageable beasts. Hard to coax out of the shadows, almost impossible to tame.

  Thankfully, I didn’t have to wrangle this story alone. My wonderful senior editor, Alyson Day, and assistant editor, Abbe Goldberg, were there to encourage me from the first paragraph to the final period. My tireless critique partner, Kate Armstrong, believed in this story all the times I didn’t and that made all the difference. The Lucky 13s cheered me on while wrestling sequel beasts of their own. Trish Ward was my ever-willing Old English proofreader. Adrian Cain of the Manx Heritage Foundation graciously answered my emails and made sure the Ad-hene conjugated their spells properly.

  Many thanks to my readers, whose enthusiasm for these characters make everything worth it. Many thanks to my family and my husband, who believed in me, loved me, and fed me (it’s awfully hard to cook dinners and tame sequel beasts at the same time).

  As always, my highest and final thanks goes to God, who continues to bless me with stories and places to tell them. Soli Deo Gloria.

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  About the Author

  David Strauss Photography

  RYAN GRAUDIN grew up by the sea, surrounded by oaks draped in Spanish moss. She was perfectly content there until her mother dragged her on a trip to London. Wanderlust has plagued her ever since, an ailment she sates with heavy doses of traveling and writing. Her first novel, All That Glows, was the direct result of both. Ryan currently lives in Charleston, South Carolina, with her husband and is always searching for the next
adventure. You can visit her online at ryangraudin.com.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Books by Ryan Graudin

  All That Glows

  Credits

  Cover photo © 2015 by Amber Gray

  Lettering by Annemieke Beemster Leverenz

  Cover design by Alison Klapthor

  Copyright

  HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

  ALL THAT BURNS. Copyright © 2015 by Ryan Graudin. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.epicreads.com

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Graudin, Ryan.

  All that burns / Ryan Graudin. — First edition.

  pages cm

  Summary: “As Emrys and Britain’s King Richard unite mortal and Faery in their new kingdom, a dangerous force gains strength, threatening their love and the world they’ve built”— Provided by publisher.

  ISBN 978-0-06-218743-7 (pbk.)

  EPub Edition © December 2014 ISBN 9780062187444

  [1. Magic—Fiction. 2. Fairies—Fiction. 3. Bodyguards—Fiction. 4. Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. 5. London (England)—Fiction. 6. England—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.G7724Alf 2015

  2014013836

  [Fic]—dc23

  CIP

  AC

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