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“You’re supposed to be dead.” Flora’s voice sounded from somewhere as I rested against the cherry blossom tree, my cheek pressing into the bark, my hands splayed pathetically across it. Our lips parted, and we stared at each other. “I will make a lover of you, Heat Bringer,” Passion whispered, each word seeming to melt like honey into my ear, “for that is how I deal with threats. It was the joint project of Droktin and Arbitrus Gen, before they became enemies.”
“That’s right,” Drask said, quartering the rabbit, “the whole thing was supposed to be powered by a massive furnace, but Arbitrus never
