Page 44 of Ashen Wings

“Decided to own your truths, then?” His voice is low in the dim light. “Thank you for telling me.”

There’s no mocking in his tone, no jests about my lineage being obvious, or hubris-driven remarks, only understanding and a quiet acknowledgment.

“Goodnight,” I say, and roll to my side. Jace’s lingering gaze burns into my back, drawing a warmth on my skin I refuse to admit is far too comforting.

“Sleep well, starling.”

19

After packing up camp, we traverse the remainder of the journey to Storm’s border. The crossing outpost is a stone-laid building with simple turrets at the top of its exterior.

Two guards with emerald uniforms, bearing their faction’s signet, appear from the mason-carved entrance as we approach.

“Crossing sanction and order of business, please,” the one to my left states, fighting a yawn resultant of an early morning shift change. Jace retrieves a scroll stamped with House Raine’s seal and places it in the guard’s outstretched hand. The other Storm soldier goes rigid when his gaze catches on Jace’s golden pinky ring.

“My King,” he gasps. His companion’s chestnut eyes widen as they, too, meet Jace. Neither glance at me.

“Official directives straight from Queen Raine,” Jace says, readjusting his pack.

“Shall…shall I call for an escort into the city, My King?” the first guard asks.

“That won’t be necessary. We have time sensitive business, I’m afraid.”

“Understood. You’re cleared for entry.” The guard cautiously returns the scroll. With a nod, we slip through the outpost entrance and the two men stiff-backed and whispering.

My father’s tomes didn’t nearly do Storm justice in their aged descriptions. What waits at the bottom of a rambling set of granite steps, embedded into the hillside, steals my breath and refuses to return it.

Thunderheads linger on the distant coastline, exciting the air with an electric hum. Scattered throughout the lush forests are canopy homes constructed at varying heights, and at the center stands a massive Motherwood tree taller than the valley itself. We cross a bridge and follow the curve of the street leading down toward Storm’s shipyard.

“If Isra’s directions are accurate, Nimbusport should be a few blocks down,” Jace says, turning over his shoulder. I nod and follow his lead.

The smaller homes bordering each city block are lively and bustling, a contrast to the outer districts in Smoke. Hollowed gourds hang from each sill, bristling in the gentle humid breeze, and autumn squash roasts on open air hearths.

Gods, this place feels peaceful…happy. Breathing is easy compared to the smog, ripe with brutality back in Smoke. There are no armed guards at every corner street. Nor are there decrepit homes or starving children, begging to passing strangers. Storm is a soft-spoken promise of what blossoms without violence or war, and I pray to the gods I eventually will find my way back.

We pass a street performer drumming his fingertips on a flute. The melody is bittersweet but lively all at once, and one I hadn’t heard since childhood. I swallow the knot forming in my throat and trudge on, steeling myself against the crashing wave of memories.

Jace stops beside a merchant’s cart, examining the woman’s wares. Carved stone beads of every color line her shelves—pinks, jades, ambers, each shaped with masterful precision into various emblems.

“Would you like to browse my wares? A gift for your companion, perhaps?” the old merchant asks, wiping her hands down the sides of a stained apron frock.

“These are incredibly crafted.” I inspect a ruby pendant. Two twin tendrils of flames intertwine with one another, carved from the most brilliant of stones. “I’ve never seen dragonstones used in such a manner.”

“And you won’t anywhere but here, my dear. Storm’s stone carvers are the best in the continent.” She plucks another pendant from her cart. “Have a look at this one, it matches those eyes of yours—a gorgeous rarity these days.”

The woman offers me a small amethyst. The carved dragon is no larger than my thumb, but its intricate wings are spread wide and latticed.

“Oh, thank you…” I reply, staggered by the little token of understanding she’s offered. “Do you know where we might find Yaris Lightbrood? We have some updates regarding a recent theft he will be interested to hear.”

“No,” she states, taking a seat on the stool beside her cart. It’s damp and waterlogged from the recent rain. I return the amethyst to her cart and keep my expression friendly..

“Please, ma’am, it’s of the utmost importance that we speak with him. On my honor, we come as allies,” Jace says, placing a hand over his chest. She arches a thick brow at him, the crows of her eyes wrinkling.

“If I had seen him, I wouldn't simply offer two strangers that information.”

My fingers trail over the various polished stones until they land on one that sends my heart leaping. “But we aren’t strangers,” I offer, holding up a small opal pendant. “We’re customers.”

Jace bites his lip, clearly unamused by my interjection.