Page 108 of Ashen Wings

The world tilts, and a shoulder juts into my abdomen. I gag on the blood sputtering from me as my anonymous rescuer flings me over her chest and hauls my dying ass back toward the inn.

“Who are you?” I manage, choking on saliva.

“A survivor like you.”

46

“She needs a healer!” my rescuer cries as we pound through the tavern door. Jace and Isra appear in the corridor, both pink faced and gaping. “What are you two standing around for? Hurry the fuck up!”

Chaos ensues as the two men leap into motion. Isra draws his blade, aimed right at the woman. Jace lunges for me and inspects every inch of my skin for injuries.

“What happened?”

“Who are you?”

Their demands for answers are simultaneous as I’m rocked on to a nearby table.

“Saphine Sunwither. I’ve been tracking those Smoke fuckers since they arrived a week ago. Didn’t think I’d find another Sovereign survivor, though.”

“Do you mean Samkiel Ashar?” Isra asks, his blade still aimed toward her.

“I don’t know his name, but he’s an ugly blonde asshole.” Saphine raises her palms.

Amidst the haze of death, I take in her features. Sharp pointed chin with a nose to match. Loose silver strands framing a slender neck. My breath hitches when I catch the scar bisecting her brow…just like mine.

“Y-you wear the mark,” I murmur, but none of them hear me, still engrossed in frantic interrogation.

“She killed off most of his men, but the slimy fuck got away. I stepped in just before they could open her throat.” Her violet eyes dart from one to the other.

“Fuck, which way did he go?” Jace growls. His hands press in on my wounded abdomen. Agony pours out of me with a cry. Fuck, it’s been a while since I’ve been stabbed like this. I forgot how much it hurts.

“Down the street, I lost sight when he got a block or two toward the harbor.”

My weary gaze follows Jace, as he gestures to the door. “Isra. Now.”

Isra nods and bolts for the entrance, his emerald cloak curling around the threshold as he disappears into the night.

“Jace…” My lips are dryer than parchment and my head spins. I don’t need a mirror to know I’m paler than snow. “Am I going to die?”

His dark vibrant eyes snap to me, and my chest threatens to fracture. “No starling, not if I have anything to do with it.”

I’m no stranger to that look, though—furrowed brow, withheld panic. It’s the same look Finnick wears when confronted with a job gone awry.

I attempt to raise a palm to his cheek. If I can touch him one last time, feel his warmth against my frost-barren skin, maybe death won’t be as terrifying. But my hand falters and falls back to the table.

“Try not to move, I need to get the bleeding under control,” he says. A black curl falls over his brow as he leans over my abdomen, ripping the tunic open.

I’m not concerned with the first puncture wound, that one I’m certain was clean, but the second stab wound…

His relief escapes in a short burst. “Just barely missed anything vital.”

My solace is short-lived, though, when my vision blurs around the edges. I’ve lost too much blood. Tonight might truly be my time to meet Morvayne, and by the hand of some dumb fuck Smoke soldier fresh out of basic training.

Perhaps I imagined my death to be an epic falter in battle or a tragic conclusion to an earth-shattering fight, but this is far from glamorous. The soldier was a stranger, and I’d made a simple, rookie mistake.

“Tell me everything. Who you are. Where you came from. Why you were tracking Ashar,” Jace says, venom coating every word. His hands move fast as he rips his tunic sleeve. Agony sinks its teeth in when he rolls me to wrap the makeshift bandage around my torso.

“We’re wasting time. I’ll fetch a healer first.” Saphine starts for the door.