Page 93 of Ashen Wings

I’m not stupid enough to deny what I saw with my own damned eyes, but do I trust my mind enough to have faith it was real?

I watch the vial like a hawk tracking its prey, but when the clock chimes half past eleven it’s silent and ordinary. Just water.

My mind unravels with doubt until I’ve almost certainly convinced myself I’ve gone mad. This is hopeless. Pointless. Sighing, I slither on my overcoat and leave the vial to rest, just as it requested.

41

Acceptance is a numb buzz as I step into the stark moonlight and follow the path to the backwoods. Curiosity offered emptied promises and now my head pounds with a budding headache.

It’s time to refocus. With a quick reminder of what awaits me at the end of this mission, I throw myself into the present, leaving the hope of astral projection to wither and die.

The walk to Morvayne’s Well is eerie and chilling in the dead of night, just as it had been the first time. I pass the old groundskeeper shed, refusing to let my gaze wander too far into those shadows.

This place tastes like death, blanketed in frost-coated leaves. Whether it’s frigid apprehension or the overwhelming relief that this will be over soon I’m not sure, but my fingers tremble as I approach the small shrine glazed in darkness. The full moon apexes the sky, blanching the landscape in silvery white light, contradicting the shrine’s pitch dark interior.

“Jace?” I strain to make out any movement from within. Fuck…have I been foolish enough to walk into my own murder, like a mouse lured into a killing trap?

“In here, starling.” Jace’s voice echoes through the clearing. There’s a strike of a match, then a swift bright blaze and a flickering flame. Candles ignite throughout the shrine and my shoulders relax.

No, I’m not about to meet Morvayne, at least not in the usual context. My boots click on the basalt steps as I file in between smooth, rounded columns and meet Jace. Little candles are scattered on the floor around us, circling the blood-red well like fireflies or stars. Their wicks crackle against a breeze rolling in from the mountainside.

“There’s a few things you should know before we get started.” Jace extinguishes the match with a flick of his wrist. The low neckline of his tunic drapes down his chest, falling open with strands left untied. Blood warms my cheeks when my eyes land on the curve of his pectorals, washing down each solid line of his hardened abdomen.

“Okay,” I reply, my throat suddenly drier than sand.

He takes a step toward me and retrieves the rune from his trouser pocket. “This type of bond is complicated. It might force me to shift. If that happens, I can’t promise I’ll stay in control.”

My shoulders stiffen. “Oh…”

“Keep your dagger at my chest, just in case you need to use it.” He places the rune in my hand.

“What do you mean it might force a shift? How is that possible?”

He watches me with dark eyes. “This is ancient magic, Nova. Graced by Morvayne himself. Our death god commands my other form, and if an offering to him draws it out…I won’t be able to stop it.”

I swallow the knot in my throat and nod. “Okay.”

“Are you prepared for its other effects? Most aren’t able to withstand them.”

My thoughts wander to the tracking link and as if it’s been summoned, the familiar sensation of its presence ripples down my spine. Establishing that link was agony beyond comprehension. If I withstood that, I can do it again.

“Try to keep a clear head and breathe through it. We wouldn’t want anything to happen that either of us might regret.”

“That’s not cryptic or anything.” I scoff.

“It’s not too late to turn around and move forward without this.” His eyes flick to the shrine’s exit.

I shake my head. “No. We’re doing this.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Follow what I do.” Jace wades into the well, the crimson water rippling around his thighs. I unlace my boots and slip them off before following suit. My hands tremble when I dip my toes into the water. It’s as warm and silken as a freshly drawn bath, rather than the icy depths I’d encountered before.

Candlelight washes Jace’s face in dry amber tones, softening his features in a way that has turns my stomach.

“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice low and serious. A heartbeat of hesitation lingers between us before I place my palm in his. His skin is cool to the touch, like a shiver of midnight frost.

“Let’s just get this over with,” I reply.

Jace takes a step toward me and the undone tunic strands brush against me. I don’t dare breathe, refusing to lose myself in his scent. My vision falls out of focus as he leans in.