SERA'S POV
My lungs were on fire.
We'd been running through the underground tunnel for what felt like forever. Behind us, the guards' voices echoed, getting closer with every second.
"How much farther?" I gasped.
"Almost there," Mnemora said, not even breathing hard. "Don't stop now."
The tunnel opened into a massive underground chamber. I stumbled to a halt, staring. Glowing crystals covered the walls, casting everything in soft blue light. In the center stood a door—but not a normal door. This one shimmered like water, its surface rippling even though nothing touched it.
"What is that?"
"Our exit." Mnemora grabbed my hand and pulled me toward it. "Hold your breath."
"What? Why—"
She yanked me through the door.
Everything went sideways. I felt like I was falling and flying at the same time. My stomach flipped. Colors I didn't have names for swirled around me. Just when I thought I might throw up, solid ground appeared under my feet.
I crashed onto soft carpet, gasping.
"Welcome," Mnemora said, pulling off her silver mask, "to the Palace of Forgotten Things."
I looked up and forgot how to breathe.
We were in the biggest room I'd ever seen. Shelves stretched up so high I couldn't see the ceiling. But instead of books, they held glass bottles—thousands of them—each filled with swirling silver smoke. Chandeliers made of crystals floated in the air with no chains holding them up. A huge window showed a garden outside, except the flowers glowed in colors that shouldn't exist.
"This isn't possible," I whispered.
"Magic usually isn't." Mnemora walked to a table and poured two glasses of water. "Drink. Traveling through portals makes people dizzy the first time."
I took the glass but didn't drink. "Those guards. Can they follow us?"
"No. This place exists between spaces. They'd need magic to find it, and Malachai's guards don't have that." She drank her own water. "We're safe here."
Safe. The word felt foreign. I hadn't been safe since the night of the fire.
"You said I'm a Flameheart," I said, setting down the glass. "What does that mean?"
"It means you come from a bloodline of people who can control fire. Real fire, not the fake stuff nobles make with their machines." Mnemora pulled out one of the glass bottles from a nearby shelf. "Fifty years ago, there were hundreds of Flamehearts. Now there's just you."
"Because they were all killed?"
"Yes. The Noble Council decided magic was too dangerous. Too powerful. They couldn't control it, so they decided to destroy it instead." She held up the bottle. "I've been collecting memories of what they did. Hunting Flamehearts down like animals. Burning entire families."
My hands clenched into fists. "Duke Malachai?"
"He's the one leading the purge. Has been for twenty years." Mnemora's face hardened. "Your parents knew what you were. They gave you special potions to hide your magic, to make you seem normal. It kept you safe. Until—"
"Until the fire." The pieces clicked together in my head. "They found out anyway."
"Someone told them. Someone close to your family." She set the bottle down carefully. "I don't know who yet. But I will."
A traitor. Someone my family trusted had sold us out to murderers.
"Why are you helping me?" I asked. "You don't know me."
Mnemora smiled, but it was sad. "Because I know what it's like to have your whole life stolen. To wake up one day and not remember who you were before." She touched her temple. "I have no memories from before I was fifteen. Someone took them from me. So now I take memories from people who deserve it—corrupt nobles, murderers, liars. And I give back memories to people who lost them unfairly."
"Like me."
"Like you." She pulled out another bottle—this one glowed brighter than the others. "This memory belongs to one of Malachai's advisors. In it, he discusses the real reason they wanted you dead. Want to see?"
I did. I desperately did. But something made me hesitate.
"What's the catch?"
"Smart girl." Mnemora's smile turned sharp. "The catch is this: I'll show you everything I know. I'll give you a new identity so you can enter the Clockwork Capital. I'll even help you get close to Malachai. But first, you help me with something."
"With what?"
"Tomorrow night, there's a noble staying at an inn two towns from here. Lord Garrett Voss. He's one of Malachai's money men—helps fund the Flameheart hunts. I need to steal a specific memory from him. Information about where Malachai keeps his most important secrets."
"You want me to help you rob someone?"
"I want you to help me take back what was stolen." Mnemora's eyes flashed. "These nobles have taken everything from both of us. It's time we take something back."
I thought about my parents. About Thomas. About three hundred people who died because some duke decided their lives didn't matter.
"If I do this," I said slowly, "you'll teach me how to control my magic?"
"Yes."
"And you'll help me get to Malachai?"
"I'll do better than that. I know someone in the capital who might help us. Someone powerful enough to stand against the Noble Council." She paused. "Someone who hates Malachai as much as you do."
Hope sparked in my chest for the first time in months. "Who?"
"Lord Cassian Vyredge. The Mad Duke."
I'd heard that name before. Merchants sometimes gossiped about him—a young noble who acted crazy, building weird inventions and saying strange things. Most people thought he'd lost his mind.
"Why would a crazy duke help us?"
"Because he's not actually crazy. It's an act." Mnemora leaned forward. "Seven years ago, his little sister found proof of noble corruption. They poisoned her for it. Cassian's been hunting them ever since, hiding behind a mask of madness so they don't see him coming. Sound familiar?"
It did. It sounded exactly like what I was doing—hiding, waiting, planning revenge.
"So the plan is: steal this memory from Lord Voss, then you introduce me to this duke, and together we take down Malachai?"
"That's the simple version. The actual plan is more complicated. But yes." Mnemora held out her hand. "Do we have a deal?"
I stared at her hand. This was crazy. Yesterday I was starving in ruins. Now I was making deals with a memory thief in a magical palace to rob a noble and team up with a fake-crazy duke.
But what choice did I have? I couldn't fight Malachai alone. I needed help. I needed allies.
I needed revenge.
I shook her hand. "Deal."
This time, no fire sparked between us. But I felt something else—a connection. Like we were bound together now.
"Good." Mnemora pulled me to my feet. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow I'll teach you the basics of thievery. The day after, we steal from Lord Voss."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that." She started walking toward a hallway. "Come on. I'll show you to your room. Oh, and Sera?"
I turned. "Yeah?"
"There's someone else here you should meet. Someone who's been waiting for you."
My heart jumped. "Who?"
Before she could answer, a door at the far end of the hall opened. A figure stepped out—tall, broad-shouldered, but moving strangely. As it came closer, I saw why.
The person was made entirely of metal.
Not wearing armor. Made of metal. Gears and plates instead of skin. But the face—the face looked almost human, with glowing blue eyes that seemed sad and kind at the same time.
"Lady Seraphina," the metal person said in a deep, gentle voice. "I have waited a long time to meet you. My name is Ferris. I was a knight sworn to protect your grandmother before she died."
I froze. "My grandmother?"
"Yes. Lady Cordelia Ashford." Ferris bowed his head. "She made me promise something before she passed. She said that one day, her granddaughter would need protection. She made me swear to guard you with my life."
Tears burned my eyes. My grandmother had died when I was little. I barely remembered her. But she'd known. Somehow, she'd known I would need help.
"Thank you," I whispered.
Ferris straightened. "I failed to protect your family six months ago. I was too late. But I will not fail you, my lady. I swear it on my honor."
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Instead, I just nodded.
Mnemora put a hand on my shoulder. "Get some rest, Sera. Tomorrow, your real training begins."
I followed her down the hallway to a beautiful bedroom. It had a real bed with clean sheets. A window looking out at the impossible garden. Safety.
But as I lay down, I couldn't stop thinking about what Ferris had said. My grandmother had known to prepare for this. She'd known I might need a bodyguard made of metal.
How had she known?
And why hadn't my parents told me?
I was still thinking about it when I finally fell asleep. But my dreams weren't peaceful. In them, I saw fire. Heard screaming. And saw a face I recognized—Evangeline, my childhood best friend—standing in the crowd watching Rosewick burn.
In the dream, she was smiling.
I woke up gasping, my hands burning hot. When I looked down, small flames danced across my fingers.
I was so focused on putting them out that I almost didn't notice the envelope that had been slid under my door.
I picked it up with shaking hands and opened it.
Inside was a single piece of paper with five words written in elegant handwriting:
She knows you're alive now.
No signature. No explanation.
Just a warning that made my blood run cold.
Someone knew I'd survived. Someone dangerous.
And they were coming for me.