Page 48 of Ashen Wings

His mouth twitches, almost a smirk, but it’s gone before I can fully claim it. “You won’t run, starling.”

“Oh, and what makes you so sure?” I raise a brow.

“Payout aside, you’re intrigued. You want to learn what Yaris has to offer. Don’t think I’ve mistaken that gleam in your eye for anything less. Besides, you enjoy my company too much.” He shrugs and starts toward the street of townhomes.

My jaw ticks. “I’d rather surround myself with hungry hatchlings than spend time with the likes of you, King Ashborne.”

“Right, keep telling yourself that if it helps.”

Cocky fucking bastard.

Our fingers brush with the next passing stride, sending a current of shivers up my arm. His hand doesn’t move, doesn’t falter. He doesn’t look at me, or acknowledge the touch at all. He simply swallows the awareness of it, of me.

There’s that damned quiet between us again, stretching and shifting. He is a predator in the shape of a man, composed yet impossibly sharp, walking beside me, leaving me all too aware of my own hesitation.

Then finally, he speaks, just above a whisper, as if confessing a secret shared only with me. “But if you do run, Nova, I’ll find you. I’ll always find you.”

Rain drums on the metal roof when I meet Yaris in the library, rounded spectacles balanced on the tip of his nose.

“Found anything of significance?” I ask, taking a seat beside him.

“The records I have go back three hundred years and within that, only three descendants of Ceti married into other factions. Their blood lines died out over a few generations.” He slams the book shut with an exasperated sigh.

“Only three? That can’t be possible.”

“It’s like Astora herself willed it. This one here…” He retrieves a scroll from a stack to his right and taps an index finger on a handwritten name. “Married into House Raine, but she and her husband never produced any children. And here…” He unfurls a second scroll. “He was an emissary to Smoke but never married. I don’t understand.”

“Damn.” I sink into the chair beside him. “What about a noble daughter or son estranged from the family that’d deserted or disappeared into another faction?”

Yaris shakes his head. “Ceti is the most exclusive of noble houses, and the most loyal. Their blood runs thicker than ore. None of the descendants, at least those of record, ever left Sovereign.”

“Well, shit,” I say, inspecting the scroll. “There has to be at least one surviving member, Yaris. The egg waits for them.”

“We’ll keep looking.” He glances up to me, reassurance glistening in his watery eyes. “You have my word.”

Jace’s words come back to me in a faint echo. As much as I hate to admit it, the King of Shadow is right. Yaris sits beside me, willing and eager, to teach me, to fill in the gaps of my lineage. While I’m still wrestling with an anger that refuses to simmer, this opportunity is fleeting. So, I relax into my seat and swallow my pride.

“I thought you might teach me about our people…our customs. I was only a child when I left, and I’ve realized I know almost nothing about our faction.” Our faction. The words are foreign on my tongue, bitter and uncomfortable, but I say them anyway.

Yaris straightens and glances up through his spectacles. “Let me show you something, then.”

He rises and starts for the library’s exit without another word.

Hastily, I follow, my palms pocketed and eyes low. We descend the carpeted steps to the first floor and cross the entryway with white cotton curtains fluttering in the open bay breeze. Even in heavy rainfall, the windows stay open. Water drips in, collecting in candlelit puddles beneath the sills.

“Just this way, my dear.” Yaris gestures toward the basement steps. We descend into a wine cellar, the air dryer than expected. Rows of corked amber bottles line the room. Opposite us is another stairwell, spiraling to a lower subterranean level.

“I had this built when I purchased the place. It was a feat, digging out the lowest level, but…”

He disappears into the shadows, and for a moment, my step falters. My experience alone in dark, empty rooms hasn't ever gone well, but curiosity’s chokehold is one that rarely lets go. I sigh and follow him down the steps.

The stairwell landing opens into a small chamber, coated in glorious crystals. My breath snags when Yaris turns the knob on an oil sconce, and the room brightens.

Unlike the wine cellar, the room is pristine—not a spiderweb or speck of dust to be found. Four velvet seat-cushions encircle a raised silver bowl, its contents swirling and glittering in the room’s warm light.

“Yaris…” I breathe, approaching the bowl. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Directly from Astora’s Falls. Before I left, I filled a canteen in the chance that Smoke’s dragons would decimate the place.” He takes a seat on one of the cushions and crosses his legs.