Burning Bright by Megan Derr Page A

cannot think who else would have that type of power to tap without any need for fire feathers.  It was ... stunning." He made a face. "Also humbling."
    Dym's mouth quirked. "It was certainly that. I do not know about you, but I still cannot use my magic.  By the time we have it back, there is no telling where they might be hiding. Unless the others have been able to find them."
    "No," Krasny said, mouth curving in a sneer. "They will not, fearing another outburst. Zholty justifies it by his engagement, of course. I—" He bit the words off, but they were clear. Everyone knew just how much Krasny was against Zholty's marrying his cousin, but the only way to prevent Zholty's becoming Consort was to give in and speak with Zarya—the one thing Krasny would not do. "I am still perturbed the Vessel got away from me. When I found them, they'd nearly managed to sneak out of the cathedral."
    "Do not take offense:  the last Vessels are the strongest. The very last one—well, you have seen what he can do, and that is only a very small taste of Zhar Ptitsa's full power. All of that done in anger ... "
    Why does looking at you hurt?
    Dym scowled at the water.
    "Well, whatever setbacks it has caused us, the display has certainly convinced any doubters or would be rebels that we are doing the right thing."
    "Yes," Dym said softly. The right thing. Was he doing the right thing? He could not afford to think such treacherous thoughts. "Can we at least convince Zholty to cast for the Vessel?" he asked with a sigh. "Even that will give us a direction, and by the time we reach the designated location our magic will have returned."
    "You go argue with him," Krasny said. "I have had my fill today. I am surprised you did not hear the shouting, Holiness."
    Dym turned to look at him. "Shouting? How in the Fires are you able to shout if your head hurts as badly as mine?"
    "Zholty tried to use the lesser throne room to conduct business," Krasny said flatly.
    "Ah," Dym replied softly. So Zholty was already trying to act the part of consort. Krasny was not the only one who would have found that in poor taste. "I can only assume he enjoys antagonizing you and his bride to be."
    Krasny sneered, but said nothing, merely sank down to his chin in the water and sighed softly. "You were right:  the bath does wonders for my head."
    "The minerals are soothing and have some very minor healing properties, or so I have always been told. I have found no reason to argue."
    "How long do you suppose we can hide here?"
    Dym started to answer, but paused when he heard the front door to his chambers slam open and then closed again.
    Krasny sighed. "Not long enough, it would seem. I hope you are not terribly modest, Holiness, because I promise you my cousin is not."
    "It's hard to be modest living in the palace."
    "That is a good point," Krasny murmured, just as Sonya came striding through the dressing room, heels clicking on the marble tiles of the bathing chamber. She walked to the edge of the pool, planted her hands on her hips, and narrowed her eyes at Krasny. "I might have known you would slink off to sulk here, Kolya."
    Krasny rolled his eyes. "I am not sulking, I am saving my own life. Arguing with that scorching imbecile has done nothing to improve my health. If not for the excessive amount of counter-magic powder I already take, then I think you would not have to wonder if I will bother to be around when Zarya dies. If you have come here to pick another fight, Sonya, then I am afraid you will only be arguing with yourself."
    Standing up, Krasny climbed out of the pool—swaying slightly, but at the last moment catching himself. He walked around the pool, keeping close to the wall and avoiding Sonya, as he vanished into the dressing chamber.
    Heaving a sigh, Sonya turned to go after him. Dym listened to them shouting, but blocked the words out, having no energy to spare, for once, for their perpetual squabbling. Letting his eyes fall shut and ignoring his head