Page 45 of Ashen Wings

“How much is this one?” I place the pendant in her hand. She tucks a loose auburn curl over her ear and leans in to examine the stone. Her thumb slides over the swirls and curves of Sovereign’s remembrance token—a constellation of six points, bisected by crossing swords.

“Zero imperfections in the opal. Imported from the faction you hail from, I’d imagine.” She washes her gaze across Jace’s black tunic embroidered with House Ashborne’s signet. “4000 stipen.”

Jace’s jaw ticks, but he retrieves the amount from his pack.

“Now we are no longer strangers…” I say, smiling.

She pockets the stipennote with a smug grin. “Yaris frequents the marketplace a few blocks down from here. With the storm blowing in, he’ll be helping the locals secure their wagons. Big, silver-haired, burly man. You can’t miss him,” the merchant says, wrapping our purchase in cloth. “And keep this safe, my dear. Storm’s a sanctuary state, but there’s always someone watching from the back alleys.”

With a quick nod I tuck the pendant into my pack’s outer pocket. “Thank you.”

We leave the merchant to her wares and follow the street further into the shipping district. Roasted, nutty aromas wisp through the beeeze—plums, squash, and sea bass. My stomach grumbles in reminder of the measly traveler’s meal Jace and I shared this morning before our trek into the city.

“I believe that’s our man,” Jace says, interrupting my daydream of fish platters and cheese boards. He nods across the bustling street to a flash of silver hair in the overcast light. My heart flutters. The man, even with his back facing us, is familiar, like a memory I can no longer place.

We serpentine through passing vendors and merchant carts to approach him. He kneels against a cart, one hand securing a canvas tarp just below the wheel. Each finger of his palm is ringed in silver.

My stomach jumps.

There on his index is a thickly banded signet ring. One I just barely recognize—House Ceti. Freedom is sweet on my tongue as we approach. This is it. Only those of the noble blood wear the signet. Rings such as those were rarely crafted, made only when a new noble babe came into this world. He has to be the guardian rider.

“Yaris?” Jace asks, interrupting the bustle of the merchants. The man glances over his shoulder, and his eyes go wide. Not when he looks upon Jace or the Ashborne signet stitched across his chest, but when his violet eyes land on mine. He jumps to his feet, a grin spreading over his thick, greying beard.

“Gods be good, Nova!” Yaris Lightbrood throws his arms around me and tucks my chin into his collar. “You’re alive. Thank Astora, you’re alive.”

20

“Tell me everything.” Yaris leans toward me and retrieves his steaming mug from the table beside him. “Your life, who you’ve become. I want to learn it all.”

I glance about the room, scanning shelf after shelf of leather-bound tomes—the last surviving pieces of Sovereign’s histories. Singe marks lick up some of them, water stains others. The library smells like smoke-soaked parchment and lavender—warm, and safe.

A quiet fire crackles next to us, casting shadows over the silver lettering on each spine. I sigh and take a slow sip of my own tea. Elderflower and honey.

I don’t allow myself to linger on the memories its aroma wells up—my mother, seated in the back gardens, a cup resting lazily on her thigh. The vision roots before I can pluck it. It’s one of the few memories not tarnished by the war. This sort of softness stings like an open flame across my palm. I place my mug on the table, recoiling from the burn.

“There isn’t anything to tell. I was only a child when Sovereign fell. I was raised in Smoke. Trained under Finnick Derald. How do you know my name?”

Raindrops patter against the sill, nearly in time with my heartbeat, as Yaris looks me over. A sad smile spreads over his bearded lips. “The astral faction was smaller than you’d think, dear girl. Of course I know who you are.”

“I don’t remember you, I’m sorry,” I reply, a bitter taste souring on my tongue.

“How could you? You were what—seven or eight when Sovereign fell?” He sips his tea.

“Six.”

Jace watches from a velvet armchair across the room. His damp tunic clings to his chest, molding over each curve like chiseled marble. Tousled, rain damp hair hangs effortlessly across his brow. My throat dries when I lock on a rain drop trailing his jaw.

Yaris sighs and braces his elbow against the settee arm rest, his brilliant eyes glazed with an aging somberness. “I hope your upbringing there wasn’t too harsh.”

My lips part, but the false reassurance adheres to my tongue. Here sits, perhaps, the last known survivor from my home faction. My closest connection to the family I lost. Yet how can I tell him of my life? The pain, the trauma, the wounds both given and endured?

He’s welcomed us into his home, offered us shelter from the blistering thunderheads. I cannot lie and say I lived well—came into womanhood without bearing witness to the horrors of this world—but how can I offer the truth instead?

“We’ve come with a rather sensitive matter, Yaris. I apologize for my bluntness, but it’s urgent we speak with you.” I watch him, gauging the weight of my words. “I have so many questions for you, just as you do for me, I’m sure, but let us discuss the topic at hand first.”

Yaris draws a heavy breath, eyes flicking to Jace. “Of course. Tell me, why have you come all this way?”

Jace stands and paces to the fireplace. “Well, firstly, Tanner Pyris—the thief that stole a good chunk of your wealth—has been…taken care of. You should be receiving your lost property in a few weeks’ time.”