Page 41 of The Ember and the Emerald

“Secrets never stay dead,” Jasher intoned softly, earning glares from the men. He didn’t care. “You can glean the information from the one who wrote it.”

He wasn’t wrong, and I appreciated the offer of comfort. When I smiled at him, he pursed his lips.

As the sun set on the horizon, we came to an iron bridge that stretched over a roiling gorge.

“We’re here,” Captain Rourke breathed out.

Relief swept over the soldiers while I battled a jumble of dread and excitement. I might be mere minutes away from meeting my father. Seeing my mother again, now even younger than before.

The bridge led to a wall of smoke so thick I couldn’t see past it—until I could. My jaw dropped as our surroundings gelled. A wall of riveted iron and gold bricks. Countless murder holes and archer slots. Armed guards stood along the top. They even crowded the ground before it.

When shouts of “the monstra has arrived” rang out, it was clear the scout the captain sent ahead had arrived. My dread intensified.

Soldiers readied their weapons, keeping my companion in their sights. Jasher maintained his bored demeanor as I moved closer to act as his shield.

“Your hero complex is getting ridiculous,” he muttered.

Please. “Your supervillain routine is already exhausting. And stop flirting. This is a serious moment.”

He gave the barest snort. His second of the day.

The entrance slowly opened, allowing us to enter without pause. Soldiers cast us menacing looks, not even trying to hide their disdain. I kept my head up.

Strategically positioned within the remains of a once-thriving market stood more armed soldiers. I recognized this spot. I gasped. From my vision. The battlefield where Morris had climbed the hill and Andrea had risen in the sky.

Crumbling wooden stalls with torn, faded canopies lined the cobblestone streets, where weeds sprouted between the cracks. Rusted lanterns hung from crooked poles, swaying gently in the breeze, casting eerie shadows over long-forgotten wares. Tattered bolts of silk, broken crates of spices, and shattered dishes were all coated in dust. A sad sight.

Beyond the empty stalls, a great castle rose. An imposing citadel of stone and steel, with towers piercing the sky and walls reinforced with slanted slats of metal. In the fading sunlight, its sloped roofs shimmered with shades of silver and blue, reminding me of the scales Jasher developed when he went full monstra. Catapults loomed atop different tiers, and banners bearing the insignia of King Ahav snapped in the wind. Arrow slits lined various walls.

The City of Lux. Where Ian, known by most only as the Guardian, would one day rule. Though the palace didn’t sit on a mountain. Not yet.

As the soldiers dismounted and passed their horses into the care of stablehands, a heavy weight settled over me. In minutes, I would stand before King Ahav, my birth father. To him, I was a stranger. A curiosity coughed up by the tide, able to command a single monster. No doubt my mother waited somewhere within these walls as well, unaware that the “oracle” she was soon to meet carried her blood.

Trepidation, elation, and terror tangled in my throat as we marched forward.

12

DISCOVERY DAY

My knees threatened mutiny, but I held them steady as I glided forward.

Captain Rourke led our procession into the palace proper, where the air changed instantly. Ash and damp leaves waned, giving way to incense and old stone. Smoke rose from wall sconces, coiling around the arches.

Each step echoed off marble, only to be swallowed by a cavernous hush. Tapestries of woven knights hung, beautiful but doing little to stifle the cold drafts seeping from the walls. More of my mother’s artwork was displayed here and there, most portraits of her beloved husband. I tried to take it all in, but a low hum of water came from somewhere deep in the keep.

We climbed a spiral staircase, the soldiers’ armor clanking a rough counterpoint to my quickening pulse. The higher we went, the more the atmosphere shifted. Less smoke, more salt, as though a churning sea hid within the walls.

Jasher walked beside me, still wearing the hat, emanating welcome heat and a scent straight from heaven. His wings whispered against the stone.

He kept his chin high, as if he owned the place. It was a good look for him. Very good.

At the landing, a massive set of doors waited, carved with the kingdom’s symbol: a sun half-swallowed by waves. My pulse tripped.

We strode through them, entering a grand chamber teeming with warriors. A war room, with an enormous wooden table covered in sprawling maps, miniature battalions and tactical markers. Flickering torches and chandeliers twined light and shadow across stone walls adorned with banners and weapons of past conquests.

A throne-shaped chair occupied the head of the table, though no one sat in it. Everyone stood along the sides, in tense discussion about battlefield reports and scouting scrolls.

I spotted Guardian Ian right away. My hands balled.