Page 23 of Ashen Wings

“You can’t keep doing this, Jace. You’ll get yourself killed out there.” Roe’s quiet voice is stern in the rising morning air. Seated beside her, undressed to the waist, is the King of Shadow. His back is painted with open gashes all too reminiscent of claw marks.

He sighs and wades into the well—a pool filled with blood-red liquid. It’s just the mineral and sediment that taints the water red, I tell myself, but my resolve in that fact wavers.

“Who else will defend them, Roe? My people are dying…more and more by the day,” Jace says, bracing himself against the well’s edge. I don’t dare breathe. If I were to be seen—my stomach knots at the various ways either of them might kill me.

“Your people need their king to stay alive,” Roe replies, enunciating the words with her sharpened teeth.

“There won’t be anyone left to lead,” Jace says, and I swear there’s a somberness in his tone that splits my chest. Even amidst the panic of being mere breaths away from being caught, I find myself almost sympathetic.

The cold, cutthroat king who’d interrogated me is no longer present. Only a leader desperate for his people’s survival. But from what? There’s been no reports of invasion attempts recently across Smoke’s border. Maybe the other factions finally came to their senses about Shadow? Storm is a neutral party in the factions’ war games, but Sea, perhaps?

“Look at this land? These woods? They’re fucking dying, Roe. The continent needs a guardian. The egg needs its rider.” Jace lowers his chest into the well, wincing as each cut across his back disappears beneath the waterline. Bathing in blood-tinted water is slightly jarring, but I steady myself against the column and lean closer.

“She’ll never admit it. You have to know that. Besides, maybe there’s another survivor out there. We don’t know it’s her,” Roe says. My scalp prickles and I turn my attention to the little she-demon seated cross-legged beside the well. Another survivor?

The continent needs a guardian.

My vision tunnels. Do they think I’m the guardian rider? That’s not possible. Guardian riders are only born to noble houses. My parents were lowborn, and besides…I’m from Smoke…or so I’ve said. During the war, Sovereign’s nobility—House Ceti—must have fled. If the dragon egg hasn’t yet stoned, then a surviving descendant is out there somewhere, and it sure as shit isn’t me.

“We just haven’t used the right tactic yet,” Jace says, before plunging under the water’s surface. My lungs risk bursting, and I’m forced to exhale. Roe’s eyes dart toward the column. Fuck. My muscles lock, my jaw clenches, and time stops. The rush of blood to my cheeks is dragonfire on my skin.

Roe’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes the shadows. I pray to Astora, to Morvayne, to the rest of the pantheon, that she doesn’t see me.

Jace breeches the surface, pulling Roe’s attention back and I release a silent breath of relief.

“I still say torturing her is our best bet.” Roe chuckles, her canines flashing in the moonlight. Jace tosses her a look before wading out of the well. My gaze catches on his chest—curves of muscle with a trail of midnight hair leading to his low-rising trousers. Gods, one glance at a beautiful body and I’ve forgotten they’re discussing the best methods to torture me with.

Jace flashes Roe a devilish grin but shakes his head. “We won’t be torturing anyone.”

Roe shrugs and rises to her feet. “Well then, what’s your plan? To hold her captive until we all die? She’s a mercenary for Morvayne’s sake. She won’t break.”

A sick little sliver of pride wells in my chest. She’s damn right I won’t spill my truths.

“I can be very persuasive.” Jace’s lip curls into a smirk as they disappear into the shadows.

11

Icling to the column until their footsteps fade and the early morning stillness takes its reign. My head spins with every drip of information Jace and Roe unknowingly offered. Shadow’s at war with an unknown adversary vicious enough to claw at Jace Ashborne, even with his bonded Blightfang, Tenebris.

They’re searching for a guardian rider to claim the Astralwing egg. They think it’s me. Me.

The lowborn, nobody mercenary from Smoke. I’m in deeper shit than I expected. All the more reason to find the dragonstone, break the ward, and get the fuck out of here.

My palms tremble as I approach Morvayne’s Well, its blood-red water lapping gently against the stone walls. Energy shivers down my spine as I skim the surface with a hesitant thumb. It’s frigid to the touch, but the depths call to me. Something ancient and familiar whispers my name—just as Finnick’s rune did.

The icy water numbs my joints as I plunge in deeper. Even when my hands are beyond function, I sink further until the surface is well past my bicep, nearly to my shoulder. The garnet water curdles with disturbed sand and sediment, turning its color a sickening shade of brown. I fight the cold, shivering and skimming my hand across the stone bottom. With the way Jace relaxed into the well, I thought it would be as warm as bath water.

Minutes pass and the murky bottom provides nothing of interest, save for a mistaken pebble or two. The temperature is unbearable—any longer and I risk losing a finger to an icy fate.

My skin is blotchy and cherry-red when I pull back, cradling the half frozen limb close. There’s no visibility through to the well’s bottom, and I’m out of time. Fuck.

I suck in two shallow breaths then release a long exhale before plunging my face under. The water is fresh without minerals or salt to aggravate my open eyes. Only sand and red moonlight, beaming in from the surface, greet me. My whole body clenches around the shock, jerking me back toward the surface, but I force myself still until a numbness takes control.

The bottom is cut from various sized stone, mortared together and sealed by a coated sheen. At first glance, there’s only pebbles and fragments of sediment, but just to my left something glints in the ambient light. Yes.

I pull myself from the depths, wiping the droplets adhered to my skin before they freeze. When my hands fall away and my eyes open, my heart drops to my knees.

Seated just opposite me with pale, spidery legs and a cloak of black threads is a creature more beast than man. His lips stretch into a wide grin, revealing rows of needle sharp teeth and a tongue split down the center. I stand slowly and really fucking regret leaving that scythe back at the gardener’s shed.