Page 68 of Ashen Wings

“I didn’t see anything, don’t worry. Unless you want me to look?” There it is—the arrogant smirk I’m more than familiar with.

“Gross,” I retort with a curt grimace.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs. “Let’s get you up, and you can tell me what the fuck happened in Storm.”

Isra takes my weight as he helps me back upright. My throat burns, my head pounds, but fuck, this bed is comfortable. I could live out the rest of my days under its heavy down comforter and matching fluffy pillows.

“Here, drink this.” He offers a glass of crimson water from the bedside. Morvayne’s Water. I drain it, then ask for another. My throat is raw from the bile I just ejected, but the rush of water cools my cords enough to speak.

“Where’s Jace?” I ask, suddenly recalling the flash of a taloned hand.

“He had some business to take care of. Kingly duties…that sort of thing.” Isra fills a third glass for me. “What happened? Jace wasn’t really in the mood to be pestered this morning.”

“We found someone from Sovereign, but he wasn’t the guardian rider.” Yaris. His lifeless eyes, cloudy and dim. My fists curl around the glass.

“Jace mentioned another lead in his correspondence.” He watches me intently.

“Yes,” I say before recounting everything I learned. Thaye, Wren, the other servants of Obdiris. By the time I’ve finished, Isra’s leaning against his chair, an incredulous look etched over his face.

“Nova Lindwen, shoveling dragon shit for information.” He chuckles.

“I’ve done far worse for intel, Isra Kaari, trust me,” I reply.

“I don’t doubt that for a second. Tell me about this.” He gestures to the new stitches across my hairline.

“We were ambushed. Someone named Samkiel. The prick was wearing Smoke insignia, so I’m assuming he’s one of Ashar’s officers. We killed his guards, but he got away. He recognized Jace though.” I glance at Isra, waiting for any subtle shift in demeanor, but there’s nothing.

“That explains King Broody. Samkiel is Magnius Ashar’s heir. A greasy bastard if you ask me. He and Jace have…history.”

“What kind of history?”

“The kind that isn’t mine to share. But if Samkiel’s after the guardian, then we have to act. He’s got the entire Smoke arsenal backing him, and I’m sure his father’s stipen vault, too.” Isra’s brow furrows. “When you’re feeling up to it, we should brief Roe.”

“Wait, Isra. There’s something else. Jace’s hands…” I trail off. How do I explain what the fuck I saw without sounding insane? “They weren’t human.”

Isra bites his lip. “Rest now. Time is of the essence if we’re to find the rider before Samkiel.”

“Wait, Isra, please.” Pleading with the man is of no use, though. He’s locked up tighter than this damned fortress.

“I’m glad you’re okay. I missed having a training partner,” he says before disappearing through the bedchamber door.

My head doesn’t just spin with a healing wound. So much is left unanswered, and even amidst this vibrant midday sunlight, I’m left in the fucking dark. Jace’s fingers turned into claws. That I know as fact. I may have been blood-crazed and grief-stricken, but I’m sure of it.

Then there’s Samkiel, the Smoke princeling, who turned to air before our very eyes. Never once did my father’s tomes mention disappearing as a gift from the gods and as far as I know Crimsonclaws don’t offer their riders magic like that. A chill trickles in from the window and I pull the comforter over my shoulders.

Under everything else, I haven’t allowed myself to think of Yaris. His death still hurts like a blow to the cheek, but I’m not ready to relive it.

Back at Finnick’s, I surrounded myself in death. People came and went like birds on the horizon. I tell myself this is no different, if only to shove down the guilt, but those violet eyes haunt me every time I close mine. It’s easier to block it out, lock it in the box I keep everything else in. If that makes me heartless, then so be it. That organ was ripped from me a long time ago. Yaris once said, only I choose who I become, but he was wrong.

And now he’s with Morvayne.

The continent doesn’t warrant sentimental thoughts or heart aching memories. It’s cold and ruthless, waiting for the smallest show of weakness. I have to be stronger than the basalt and earth I tread now. After all, those from Smoke are made from smoke and ash right?

32

“If Samkiel’s after the guardian we need to go to Sea.” Isra slams his fist against the mahogany desk, glaring daggers at Roe across the room.

“Don’t push it, Is. You know I can’t simply cross the border,” she hisses.