That’s what made it a target, most claim.
That’s why, five years ago—on a harrowing night we now callEmberfall—a horde of dragons descended upon this city,reducing it to a pile of charred rubble and leaving less than three hundred survivors.
Survivors who have been trying to scratch a living out of the dust and debris ever since.
Now, where the vibrant center market once stood, there are only stones. Over two thousand white stones arranged across the space, polished smooth and shining in the first rays of sunlight coming over the distant hills.
Most of the dead were reduced to nothing but ash, or otherwise mangled and melted so horribly they were unrecognizable, so these are memorials to the lost, more than actual burial plots. Names and family symbols are etched and painted into each one, the marks centered in the white stones making me think of eyes. Countless eyes watching me carry on, doing the things they can’t. The weight of their stares gets heavy, at times; I just hope I’m making them proud.
I make my way to a few stones in particular, lined up beside a thorny rose bush that stubbornly continues to bloom, even though most of the vegetation in this scorched area died long ago. Three names await me here:Eiden Vhale. Tomas Vhale. Malachi Sorn.
My mother, my father, and the man I loved with all my soul—all of them gone in a single, fiery night.
Kneeling, I wipe the dust from my parents’ stones, then bow my head to say a quick prayer. To whom, I’m not sure; the gods have a lot to answer for if I should ever come face to face with them. But I find comfort in the ritual, even if the words feel hollow.
On Malachi’s marker, I leave a few bundles of verbena flowers that I collected on my way home—the same kind offlowers he gave me on the day he proposed. The ones I’d planned to decorate the altar with on our wedding day.
My hand closes around my left wrist, where another important symbol is carved, opposite of the Ashwalker badge on my other arm. This one is simpler, just a golden circle with six tapered points bursting outward.
It was the symbol of Malachi’s family.
He carried the same mark, in the same place, and together they were the external proof of the bond we shared. Of the ultimate vows we intended to take.
And this is why I hardly flinched when Briar killed those soldiers last night. Why I wouldn’t have cared if that entire Mouren camp had gone up in flames, incinerating everyone inside of it in the process.
Maybe those soldiers had families. Maybe they had futures. Hopes. Plans. Dreams.
Well, I had those things once upon a time, too.
But no longer.
And sometimes the pain gets so suffocating, so unbearable, that I have to pass it on to someone else to keep myself from going insane.
Briar has no family marked by these memorials; she was an orphan even before that hellish night, left in the shadows of Halvgate’s walls and taken in by Old Marta—and Marta was one of the few who survived Emberfall. But she waits for me while I pay my respects, sitting on the ledge of a large fountain and watching over the horses as they graze nearby.
The fountain itself no longer functions. The basin is still intact, though, and some of the Burn’s inhabitants take turns keeping it clean and maintaining filters so it can serve as a receptacle to catch rainwater. We don’t get much of that,usually, but the past week has been unusually damp, so I help myself to a refill of my waterskin when I catch up to Briar.
“So, a successful job, all in all,” she says, rubbing and rolling the tension from her left shoulder—the shoulder she’s broken twice; once when she fell off her horse as a child, and, more recently, in a bar fight. “Though our dragon-slaying skills need work, I guess.”
I focus on securing my water, avoiding her gaze.
“Doesn’t matter about that last part, though. There’s no way it survives the night, right?”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s probably already dead.”
“And good riddance,” she says with a yawn.
I quickly agree. She has yet to realize I didn’t actuallyfailto slay that creature. That I could have easily finished it off, if only I hadn’t frozen at the last moment.
I still don’t know why I let it live.
The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced it was magic, some manipulating spell the stupid thing used against me.
I should have been prepared for that, I guess.
“Let’s talk about something less dismal than dragons,” I suggest. “That whole experience left a bad taste in my mouth.”
“Fair enough.” Briar cups water in her hands, stepping away from the fountain before splashing it into her face and giving her light brown skin a quick scrub. Without the road dust coating her, she somehow manages to look fresh-faced and bright-eyed.
