Born of Ashes (Guardians of Ascension #4)(42)
Author: Caris Roane

He sighed, his lips pinched inward. Finally, he said, “I’ve never wanted to rule the world. Again, this is about survival and being able to call the shots in my own life.”

At that she lowered her arms and leaned up on her elbows. “Then surely you can understand how I feel. I’ve been in this dump for a century with no way out. Why don’t you have compassion on me, remove this ankle guard, and let me slip out the side door.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Why should I do for you what no one has had the slightest interest, ever, in doing for me? Your job is to take care of Marguerite. Mine is to make sure Owen Stannett has the life and future he wants.”

“Fine.” She lay back down. The funny thing was, she kind of agreed with Stanny on this one. Besides, her head had begun to ache.

She relaxed her mind and drew in a deep breath. She didn’t so much find the future streams as fall into them. Her Seer power was enormous, just as Stannett said.

All the ribbons of light were spread out in front of her in a glorious array of shimmering color. If she hadn’t despised the process so much, she would have enjoyed the light show.

Still, she shivered at the thought that today, after all this time, she was going to lift the skirts of her own future.

Whatever.

She focused on herself and a ribbon lifted up a few inches, shimmering in a color she had not seen in over a century—the most beautiful shade of cherry red. At exactly the same moment, she felt Stannett’s presence as he mentally joined her, the perverted voyeur.

In previous years, she would pick up the future stream ribbons, as if by hand, then examine them. Lately, however, she’d made more of a game of it and dove within. The funny thing was, when she entered the future streams, she also saw the past events of the person belonging to the light ribbon. How strange this time, to see flashes of her own life wink at her: quick-moving images of Thorne and Sister Quena, of Grace, of her really wretched parents who visited her once a decade, of her life before her internment, full of men, lots of wonderful men. Oh, yeah, good times.

Then the present arrived and she saw herself reclining on the slatted wooden chaise.

Suddenly the future rushed at her, the deep cherry swirling over her and around like a great wind.

The wind caught her up from beneath her and forced her into the air higher and higher, a warm wind. No, a hot wind.

She glanced down. Not wind at all, but fire, black at the base and red flames rising. She knew the colors well, two of her favorites, red and black. She still moved up, into the air. She shifted her gaze in front of her and saw a vast swirl of blue deep into the sky, but she didn’t know what it was. On and on the black and red flames pushed her, catapulting her into the swirling blue vortex.

But the air was thin and she couldn’t breathe. The vortex sucked her up and up. She flailed in the air with no wings to mount, no levitation to keep her up, no way to even fold out of the terrifying event.

She screamed and screamed, crying out for help, but no help came.

When her lungs failed her, she passed out.

She awoke some time later, in her cell, strapped on top of her comforter, unable to move. How clever of sister-bitch. Endelle might have given her the comforter, but Sister Quena still made it impossible for Marguerite to be warm.

She stared up at the ceiling, her mind caught up in the strange future vision. She couldn’t imagine Stannett gaining anything from what he might have witnessed.

Then she heard the words whispered through her mind, obsidian flame.

* * *

Jean-Pierre savored these few minutes with Fiona, watching her work so diligently with Alison to throw hand-blasts that she somehow channeled through Alison. After much bickering, the room’s security system had been disconnected and Seriffe had given his permission for the fireworks to continue.

He felt pride. Perhaps he should not. Perhaps he was being foolish, but he was proud of Fiona and her power and the delight she took in learning her new skill.

After launching a sparkling emerald firework to the ceiling, she danced around beneath the green sparks. When the most recent light show ended, Fiona tilted her head at Alison. “So you think my specialty somehow involves channeling?”

“I think so.” She glanced at her watch. “Just as I thought. I have to leave now but before I go home I’m going to have to give Endelle a report.”

Jean-Pierre watched, again savoring, as Fiona thanked Alison for her help. The women embraced then Alison left the makeshift training room and headed to the right toward the landing platforms.

“I don’t even know what to think about this,” Fiona said. She stood near the center of the room, hands on hips, and staring at the floor. After a moment she lifted her gaze to Jean-Pierre. “Channeling? Have you ever heard of a Second Earth preternatural power like that? Channeling?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I am not even certain it is in Philippe Reynard’s book on ascension. But perhaps it is a gift of Third or Fourth ascenders. Given all that we know, anything is possible.”

“I guess. But how would this work? What would the benefit possibly be of me being able to channel a power like making fireworks with my hands?”

Jean-Pierre moved closer to her. “Do but think, Fiona. If you were ever in a difficult situation, you could channel this ability in possibly anyone. You could therefore throw a hand-blast to save yourself. I think the applications have great potential.”

She nodded again, but this time her nostrils flared. “I could take Rith down.”

At that he chuckled softly, and because he was close enough, he lifted her chin with two fingers. “Easy, tiger.” He smiled.

She returned his smile. “I do seem to have a one-track mind.”

“That is not a bad thing.” He still touched her chin, and the contact both eased him and excited him. In all the time that she worked with Alison, her delicate croissant scent was a constant pressure on his senses.

But standing here now, the delicate scent deepened. His breathing faltered. The pheromones, meant just for him, assaulted his nose then his brain. “Fiona,” he whispered, his voice now deep and very rough.

Café-au-lait, she sent, her nostrils flaring.

Seriffe appeared in the doorway, and Jean-Pierre let his hand fall away.

“You gotta see this, Fiona. Bev thinks she’s found another anomaly.”

“You’re kidding. So soon? That’s fantastic!” She headed for the doorway and before Seriffe could move out of the way, she pushed past him.