by Sara Raasch
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s gone,” she said. “The igneia. The hydreia. All of it. I pushed it away.”
He swallowed, feeling, even without anathreia, what an enormous effort this must have been. She’d had the power of gods. She’d been stronger than Anathrasa herself, and she’d given it away.
He was in awe of her all over again.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Her mouth quirked in a smile. “I will be.”
When his lips touched hers, the sounds of the arena quieted beneath the tandem boom of their hearts. Her hands found his waist, then his back, and as her body aligned with his, a new wave of emotion shook through him—pure, and strong, and entirely his own.
He loved her. He would love her all his life. And if she let him, he would proudly stand beside her.
Her kiss was steady and strong, warm and growing. Even if the energeias that she’d held were gone, they echoed inside her. And in answer, he felt a cool breath lift his soul. A whisper of a power he thought was gone.
She loved him back.
He never wanted to let her go again. But he did stop kissing her when someone cleared their throat.
“There is a time for these things,” Tor said gruffly.
The old gladiator was right. There was much to do. Hydra was already barking orders to her people, breaking those who’d fought in the arena into groups of healers and injured, and directing teams of survivors into the city to calm the citizens before any new riots could ensue.
Anathrasa was still lying on the sand, half her army of fighters strewn across the arena. Those who’d voiced dissent against the Mother Goddess were waiting in jails across the city, and others she’d locked in their own minds were rousing, as Madoc and Ilena had.
A weight settled between Madoc’s shoulder blades. The coming days would be difficult—Deimos hadn’t fully recovered from the loss of Geoxus, and now had lost Anathrasa as well. Lakhu, Itza, and Cenhelm no longer had gods, Kula was still suffering, and those who’d perished under the Mother Goddess’s reign had to be buried and mourned.
But Crixion, and the world, would be all right. They would rebuild. They would survive. And he and Ash would do what they could to help.
“What happens now?” Elias asked, taking Ava off Danon’s hip.
Ash glanced up at Madoc. Her fingers wove through his.
“We try something new,” she said. “Not fighting.”
“I like the sound of that,” Madoc said.
Ash laughed, and when he pulled her close, he could feel the warmth pulsing through her, soft and gentle.
Maybe it was his old exaggerated intuition, but it felt like hope.
Epilogue
ASH
Three Years Later
COUNCIL MEMBERS LINED either side of the meeting room’s long glass table. The tall ceiling and wide windows made the volcanic rock walls look open and airy instead of dark and closed in—not that any of the mostly Kulan councilors minded, but visiting ambassadors always preferred light.
“We have preliminary numbers in from the wheat farmers,” Brand said, flipping through correspondence. His eyes widened. “They expect a full crop this year.”
Tor looked up from where he was making notes on a parchment. “A full crop?”
The other councilors, busy taking their own notes or sorting their own papers, paused. The ambassadors cut their eyes between Tor, Igna’s lead councilor—and Ash, his second.
Brand nodded, eyes sparkling, his lips stretched in a grin.
At the opposite end of the table, Ash eased upright from where she’d been going over a list of Kula’s exports. There had been many adjustment pains these last few years—Aera, now Undivine and mortal, was a furious prisoner in Crixion, while Deiman ambassadors had been dispatched to oversee the beginnings of mortal rule in Lakhu and Cenhelm—but overall, the world was healing.
And now Kula was producing crops.
Ash smiled at Tor. It rose, breaking her lips open, and she put her fingers to her mouth.
“Well,” Tor breathed, leaning back in his chair. “How about that?”
Ash sniffed and rubbed her tingling nose.
The Deiman ambassador moaned heavily from his seat near the middle of the table. But when Ash looked at Elias, he was smiling. “Gods, it’s just wheat, you sentimental fools.”
It was still so odd to see Elias in this role, but he had leaped at the chance to remake Deimos and undo the system of poverty that had strangled his family.
Next to him, Brand rolled up the correspondence and thwacked Elias on the shoulder. “Just wheat. Like you don’t cry at every small victory Deimos has.”
“I don’t know.” Hydra, across from them both, folded her arms on the table. “I’m still not convinced Deimans have that wide a range of emotion.”
Elias put a hand to his chest in mock offense.
Ash let out a bark of laughter. “Cruel, Hydra! Don’t bait him.”
“I am the goddess of water. I do not bait people.”
“Ehh.” Elias bobbed his head. “Can you really say that anymore? Goddess.”
It was true that Hydra was no longer a goddess—when she had given all her power to Ash to defeat Anathrasa, she had given up her immortality too, and all but a weak use of hydreia. But she was still the ruler of the Apuit Islands, and now Itza as well.
A movement drew Ash’s attention. The door swung shut in Madoc’s wake and he leaned against the wall, arms folded, his lips playing at a smile.
Ash thumped the table. “Bickering means we’ve done enough for today,” she said. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow and decide where all this sentimental wheat will go.”
Brand smirked as though he’d won something. Elias grinned back at him, making Ash wonder, not for the first time, if there was more between the Kulan councilor and the Deiman ambassador.
“Are you mine now?”
Ash smiled before she’d even turned to Madoc, who was standing next to her at the end of the table now, a playful grin on his face.
The room was emptying. Brand, Elias, and Hydra left, calling back that Ash and Madoc should join them at one of Igna’s taverns. A few other councilors still talked with Tor.
Ash put her supplies into a satchel with exaggerated slowness. “I thought I’d stay here.”
Madoc sat on the edge of the table. “Oh? And do what?”
Tor glanced back as if he’d left something. He caught Ash watching him, saw Madoc, and gave an exasperated shake of his head that told her he knew she was waiting for him to leave.
He shut the door behind him, and finally, the room was empty.
“Chart import projections for next month. Unless”—Ash stepped in front of Madoc and threaded her arms around his neck—“you have something more exciting to entice me with?”
Madoc hooked his fingers into the top of her orange skirt and yanked her hips flush with his. She fell against him, her laugh turning to a little gasp of pleasure that he covered with a kiss.
His lips were familiar now, full and soft, and he tasted of mint and smelled of musky sandalwood, and everything about him made her drunk.
They were free to do this. Be together in this palace, in this country, in this world. And they could take their time, linger over each careful touch and each fluttering kiss, because there were no arenas waiting for them or uncertain futures beckoning with bloodstained hands.
A knock came from far away, and the door to the meeting room opened.
Taro peeked in. “Tor said to knock. Loudly. He also said I should give you a disapproving lecture on what should and shouldn’t take place in the meeting room before I tell you that Ilena wants to see you both.”
Ash instantly dropped her eyes to Madoc’s, sharing a sober look.
Taro waved her hands. “She said it’s nothing bad. She’s in your apartment.”
But Ash and Madoc were already halfway to the door.
They had rooms one floor beneath the meeting are
a so Ash could be close during late nights. Madoc spent much of his time fostering relationships between the Undivine and Divine populations, so he worked throughout the city and traveled abroad, but he hadn’t minded lodging in the dormant volcano palace at Igna’s center.
Ash suspected he’d agreed to live here because part of him still felt guilty that he hadn’t returned her own igneia all those years ago. What he’d given her had been Ignitus’s, and when Ash had pushed the anathreia out of her body in the final fight against Anathrasa, she’d lost all traces of her god’s former powers, too.
She was Undivine now. Then again, so was Madoc.
Ash beat him to the door of their apartment and pushed it open. The main room had a full wall of pale glass windows that brightened the whole space. A small brazier with smoldering coals sat off to the side, warming the woven rugs on the floor, the scattered lounges and chairs, the table stacked with books and scrolls and notes.
Ilena sat on the floor beside one of the lounges, her legs folded under her on a butter-yellow blanket she had knit. She looked up when Ash barged in and instantly held up her hands. “I told Taro to make sure you knew nothing was wrong!”
Ash scrambled around a chair. In front of Ilena on the yellow blanket, gnawing on a wooden block Tor had bought for her, Ciela stared up with big, dark eyes.
When she saw Ash, the baby extended her arms with a demanding squawk.
The tension in Ash’s chest eased. She dropped to her knees and lifted Ciela, putting the girl’s weight on her feet. She surveyed her more closely—her curling black hair, her full golden cheeks, her three small white teeth, the plump belly Ash loved to press kisses to.
Ciela squawked again, stretching for Ash, impatient that her mother hadn’t hugged her yet.
Madoc lowered next to her. Ciela saw him and screeched merrily. In return, Madoc gave her a smile Ash had never seen from him until eleven months ago. Now she saw it daily, a softening around his lips and his gaze. Adoration. Obsession. Love.
“She’s fine,” Ash told him as she settled Ciela on her lap.
Ciela clapped and gave a happy chirp.
“I know,” Ilena laughed. “I told you, it wasn’t bad.”
“Then what—”
“Ash.” Madoc put a hand on her knee. “Look.”
She looked down.
Ciela clapped her hands again. A small spark burst out of her fingertips, and Ciela squealed, delighted, and clapped again. Another spark, another squeal.
Ash’s entire body went stiff. “She has igneia.”
Ilena made a soft hum of agreement. “I’ll give you some privacy,” she said gently.
When his mother was gone, Madoc blew out a breath. “Igneia. She’s Fire Divine.”
“We knew it was a possibility.” Ash’s throat was dry.
Madoc fell back against the lounge. “A Fire Divine baby. A Fire Divine toddler.” He cast a look around, horror graying his face with every new thing he saw. “We have so many flammable things in this room. And I’m flammable! I’m not Kulan! What are we—how are we—”
“Madoc.” Ash balanced Ciela against her chest and put a hand on his leg. “It’ll be fine. We’re in the best place for her. We’ll be all right.”
“Blankets. Every blanket could catch fire. And what about—”
He twisted, arms stretched wide, but he stopped. His eyes drifted through Ash’s.
“Are you all right?” His voice was a whisper.
Ash wanted to say she was. But she looked down at Ciela again and watched her laugh at her own small sparks, sheer joy in every beautiful giggle.
Her daughter had igneia.
Tears filled Ash’s eyes. She tried to wipe one away as it fell, but Madoc saw.
“Ash.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s all right if you’re . . . upset.”
“Upset?” Ash smiled, the movement pushing more tears down her face. “She has igneia.”
Madoc’s eyebrows lifted.
“She has igneia,” Ash continued, “and she can be a dancer. Or she can be a glass maker. Or—or anything. Madoc—she can use it however she wants to.”
He smiled. “Yeah. She can.”
Holding Ciela, feeling her little body’s warmth and watching the orange lights flicker in her hands, Ash thought of the future her daughter could have. She wasn’t locked into one fate because of her bloodline or deranged gods.
Every day with Ciela brought memories of Char. Ash understood her mother now more than she ever had before.
Ash leaned her head on Madoc’s shoulder, letting Ciela play with her hair. “She’s perfect.”
Madoc pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “Of course she is. She’s your daughter.”
“Your daughter too.”
“We won’t hold that against her.”
Ash smiled. Madoc pulled a blanket off the lounge and the three of them bundled into it on the floor of their sunlit apartment, together.
Happy.
Acknowledgments
Every book is a labor of love, but when a book is cowritten, we get double the amount of love in every step.
As always, the first thank-you goes out to our agents, Mackenzie Brady Watson and Joanna MacKenzie.
To Kristin Rens for helping us wrap up Madoc and Ash’s story with such flair.
To Jenna Stempel-Lobell, Chris Kwon, Johannes Voss, and Martina Fačková, for giving us a deeply gorgeous cover. To Gillian, Lindsey, Michael, Sabrina, Aubrey, and the entire HarperCollins US team. To Simran and the whole team at HarperCollins UK.
A special thanks goes out to everyone who loved Set Fire to the Gods and followed us over to Rise Up from the Embers. We are so honored to close out Ash and Madoc’s story with you. Know that this journey would not be possible without your dedication and encouragement, your love and excitement, your support and strength. We are overwhelmed with appreciation for you!
From Sara: Kristen, thank you for enduring this story with me. There is no one else I would rather share this experience with, and I am so grateful we got to ride it out together. I will never look at rocks without thinking of you.
From Kristen: Sara! My fuel and flame! We did it, my friend. I have learned so much from you and would be honored to fight by your side in any arena. Especially if it involves cupcakes.
About the Authors
Courtesy of the authors
SARA RAASCH is the New York Times bestselling author of the Snow Like Ashes series, These Rebel Waves, and These Divided Shores.
KRISTEN SIMMONS is the critically acclaimed author of the Article 5 series, The Glass Arrow, Metaltown, Pacifica, and The Deceivers, the first novel in the Vale Hall series.
Fueled by cupcakes and bacon, they contemplated becoming supervillains but decided to use their combined love of sexy gladiators for the greater good to write Set Fire to the Gods and Rise Up from the Embers.
You can visit Sara online at www.sararaaschbooks.com and Kristen at www.kristensimmonsbooks.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Books by Sara Raasch
Snow Like Ashes
Ice Like Fire
Frost Like Night
These Rebel Waves
These Divided Shores
Books by Sara Raasch and Kristen Simmons
Set Fire to the Gods
Rise Up from the Embers
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Copyright
Balzer + Bray is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
RISE UP FROM THE EMBERS. Copyright © 2021 by Sara Raasch and Kristen Simmons. Map Illustration by Leo Hartas. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyrig
ht Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Cover art © 2021 by Martina Facková
Cover design by Jenna Stempel-Lobell
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Digital Edition AUGUST 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-289161-7
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-289159-4
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FIRST EDITION
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