Page 47 of Ashen Wings

“Our people?” My fingers tighten into fists. “I left Sovereign when I was six, Yaris. The faction is nothing more than a faded memory.”

“Nova, listen to me. Jace Ashborne is everything they’ve written of him. It’s in his blood and perhaps no fault of his own, but you cannot alter bloodlines no matter how hard you try.”

My eyes squeeze shut, fighting tears at the mention of my parents. “Yaris, please. Help us—help me.”

“Have you seen this egg with your own eyes? What proof of its existence do you have?”

My silence is an answer in itself.

“That’s what I thought.” He slumps into his chair, pinching the wide bridge of his nose.

“You asked me about my upbringing. Of my time in Smoke.” I suck in a breath and ready myself against the truth. “It was not easy. Whipped. Tortured. Trained for bloodshed. I’ve been forced into a life not of my choosing. The man standing just outside that door offered me an opportunity for freedom. For peace. As a survivor, I’m sure you can understand that. I swear to you, on my own mother’s memory, Jace Ashborne is not the enemy.”

Yaris scrutinizes every word like I’ve pressed a knife to his throat. The crows of his eyes crease and he twists the signet ring off his finger again. “Your mother gave this to me. In hopes that one day I’d find you again. Where she got it, I do not know, but she wanted you to have it.”

The world stills. “You knew my mother?”

“I wasn’t sure you or I were ready to have this conversation, but here it goes…she’s my sister.” Yaris lowers his eyes with the falter of his voice. “I promised her I’d look after you when she met Morvayne, but I’ve clearly failed her. I’ve failed you, Nova.”

My stomach knots. Yaris Lightbrood is my uncle? The world tilts. Here sits a man, my closest surviving kin, pouring his truths like spilled water, and yet he’s no more than a passing stranger. “I…She never spoke of you in her final days.”

“We were somewhat estranged when I left Sovereign. I thought myself brave, running from the impending war, but in truth it was cowardice that brought me to Storm…and guilt that kept me from searching for you or your parents.” He combs his fingers through his hair. The silver strands are almost gold in the flickering fire’s light. My chest cracks, but it’s not sadness or grief that wells behind my eyes. It’s rage, bitter, blazing resentment.

“My mother died with me in her arms. Sick from a wound left to fester in the slave sector. I was there to hear her last words. To guide her as she walked the path to Morvayne. You sit here now, telling me what? She asked you to protect me? To raise me? To give me some silver ring stamped with a long forgotten signet? I do not need your guidance nor your protection anymore, Yaris. I guide myself. I protect myself. You feel guilty? Good. You left a six year old alone in this world.”

“I should have been there, but I wasn’t, and I’ll regret that until the day I meet Morvayne.” His voice cracks.

Rage keeps a reply lodged in my throat. I don’t look at him. I can’t. Had he fulfilled his promise to my mother, what might life look like? Would I be seated beside him in lavish silks, sipping tea with my nose in a book right now? Would the scars on my back or the tracking link rippling through my veins still exist? I want to offer empathy to the man seated opposite me. He’s a survivor just as I am. His response to the trauma, the loss is valid and justifiable, but I dig my claws in. Call me selfish or cruel, but all I’m able to hold space for is rage, and jealousy for a life lost to me. My head spins. The fire is too hot, too dry.

I need an escape, before I vomit all over this goddamn rug, but we haven’t gotten anywhere closer to an answer of Yaris’s lineage.

“Please Nova, forgive me,” he whispers.

“You want my forgiveness? Give me your honesty. Are you a Ceti descendant? Is there a chance the guardian rider lives?”

He sighs and leans over his seat. “I’m not, but if the egg hasn’t turned to stone, then the guardian rider lives. Give me a few days' time to comb through our histories or what survives of them. Stay in my guest quarters. Find comfort here. There are whispers of survivors living in the other factions, perhaps one distant from the Ceti line still lives.”

I sink into my seat. “Fine.”

He risks a glance toward me, the violet in his irises dimming. “Gods, you are so much like your mother.”

I don’t smile in return. “No, I’m not. Not anymore anyways.”

21

“You believe he speaks the truth, starling?” Jace’s question presses into my ribs as we traverse the back garden. Rain damp wildflowers and groomed greenery straighten toward the morning’s light, welcoming the fresh scent of dew on stone. I swallow, aware of how he moves beside me—slow, precise, like a shadow trailing the sun.

“I do. He’s not our rider, unfortunately. Although, if anyone can track down surviving Ceti descendants, it’s him. You saw how many Sovereign tomes are packed in his library. Astora willing, we’ll have a new lead within the week.” My words hang in the air as I match his stride, every muscle tense under my skin.

It’d been nearly two days since arriving in Storm, and the sun warming my cheeks is the first in that time. The thunderheads lingered with blistering fury, claiming shop fronts and young flora in its wake. How many times has the faction rebuilt? Subjected to the sheer force of the skies over and over again. Just on the horizon, another front brews, whirling like an approaching threat.

“I’m not one to trust so easily.” Jace’s dark eyes catch mine, the storm of the previous days reflected in their depths.

“You trusted me, of all people,” I say, the words lighter than I intend. We round a silent pond. Shimmering pink minnows bubble from the bottom, combing through green algae plumes and lotus blossoms.

“Since we’ll be here for a few days, there is some business I must attend to at court. Nothing incredibly urgent.” His hand slides into his pocket casually, but those midnight eyes never leave me. “Queen Raine has summoned me this morning to discuss trade alignments with Shadow. I don’t want to leave you here alone, but I am…most certainly not wanted here. Lightbrood made his opinions quite clear when we first arrived.”

“You’re simply leaving me unattended? What’s stopping me from running the moment the council doors close?” I scoff, a grin slipping past my defense.