Page 9 of Ashen Wings

So, I fill my lungs and let Scorath’s aether flow through my veins. Scorching flames wash through my body. I’m blazing and burning from the inside out. I clench my jaw and swallow the scream demanding release.

Remember when I said I could handle it?

Fuck, no I can’t.

This sort of pain is beyond the earth, the sky, the entire fucking universe. It consumes me bite for bite as Finnick tightens his grip. I beg it to stop, clawing at its hold on my desperation, but it just keeps coming. There is no escape, no end, no beginning, to the razor sharp agony. Tears stream from my eyes, mixing with the mineral-dense spring water practically boiling around me.

“Almost done,” Finnick says. He’s so still, so calm as if I’m not fighting for my fucking life beside him. “Just a few more seconds.”

I gnash my lips, tasting bile and blood on the back of my teeth. I’m on fire. Burning in the pits of Terrafyre’s deepest vent.

Stars speckle my vision and Finnick’s face blurs beyond recognition. I squeeze my eyes shut, succumbing to everything, everywhere, all at once.

Then it’s gone, replaced by a misty vibration rippling under my skin.

“It’s done,” Finnick says and releases my arms. They fall to my sides, like I’ve forgotten how to use them. I open my eyes and Scorath’s Spring greets me with its serene curls of steam. I’ll admit, I expected a cavernous lake of fire and brimstone.

“That wasn’t so bad,” I rasp.

“I told you it’d be unpleasant. Now, remember…wherever you go, wherever you run, or hide…” Finnick says, wading out of the spring.

“You’ll find me, yes, I know.”

With that, I follow him from the pool and back down the trailhead.

When we’ve crossed back through the mercantile district once more, Finnick turns on his heels to face me.

“I’ll see you in a few weeks,” he says.

I readjust the pack over my shoulder, feeling the new tracking link ripple down my limbs.

“Have your client ready for pickup,” I say.

“Nova, if it gets too reckless, just come home. Don’t risk your life for this.” His eyes flash with something like kindness. My heart lurches, but the moment’s gone as swiftly as it’s begun. “I can’t lose my best mercenary.”

There it is. The truth of his motives. The intention behind the concern. The home he refers to is just another prison cell and I’m just another transaction. Not a woman. Not a person. Not even an eight year old girl he purchased from a slaver.

I hate that my chest aches in response.

“Have your client ready for pickup,” I repeat, my voice clipped and tight. Finnick dips his chin in a curt farewell and turns back toward the apothecary. He doesn’t waste time waiting for my goodbye before sinking into the shadows of nightfall.

6

The spice routes follow the cliffside to the western city sectors, curling and twisting through rocky grottos and narrow bridge ways. Every so often, I glance at the molten rock streaking Terrafyre’s precipice, like it somehow might flow through my veins once again.

By the time I reach Smoke’s western outpost, the moon has apexed the sky. Sweat beads on my hairline. Maybe packing every weapon I own wasn’t the best choice, but I can only be so prepared to face this unknown.

Jace Ashborne himself could stop me in my tracks and I’d be ready with any blade of choice.

The moon’s silent glow washes the outpost in bleached light as I duck behind an old merchant cart and assess the area. The border is just beyond reach, blocked by an iron gate that juts through the smog and disappears out of view. I know there are sentries stationed at each turret, and the night air patrol is armed heavily with dragonfire. This might be the most reckless mission I’ve taken on, but also the most significant. Only the vision of a freedom without contracts and blood calms the rage of my pulse. Piri assured me I’ll know the courier when I see her, so all that’s left to do is tuck into the shadows of a soot-coated alley and wait.

There is no margin for error. No room for hesitation. I scan the dark street.

The world stills to a stop as I lock on a glint of crimson in the haze. That’s her. It has to be. At this hour, only Smoke officials would dare don red. The official color draws attention, especially from the skyward dragons. There’s a simple parchment scroll attached to the base of the arrow I’ve nocked. It’ll get the courier’s attention, though.

I have a message from Maeve.

As the woman, cloaked in blood red cotton, approaches, I hold my breath and loose the arrow. It whizzes silently through the air, leaving only the rustle of interrupted midnight in its wake. She freezes when it lands beside her.