Dawn of Ash

by Rebecca Ethington

  “Why wait?” I asked, the creature’s fear igniting my desperate need to cause more pain.

  “Soon, my precious girl.” His voice was a smooth whisper as he moved toward me in three quick steps, his finger resting against the side of my face with a touch so gentle I forgot who he was. “Soon, the war will come, our thousands will crush Ilyan’s handfuls of rejects, and then all of this will be ours again. The magic will be mine again, and no one will be able to stop me.”

  “No one deserves that more than you. You are my king.”

  “Good.”

  The same foreign and unwanted fear ticked back into place as he moved away. My nose wrinkled in disgust, although I was convinced part of that was from the smell.

  “Father—” I began then stopped short at the sound of a crash that moved through the city.

  A loud bang and a flash emanated from the old, broken cathedral that lay a few streets away, the already debilitated city shaking with groans and bangs, a mist of dust moving over us like a fog.

  I cringed against it, moving before my father with hands outstretched as if some unseen assailant was hurling toward him.

  No one was there, but it didn’t matter; I stayed in front of him, the girl right by my side as my father’s guard appeared before us, their bodies popping into existence as they ran into the alley and descended from the rooftops, surrounding the three of us in a wide human shield.

  We stood still, waiting for the attack, but the alley was empty except for the dozens of Vilỳs that poked their heads out of their hiding places, too scared to come out all the way.

  “You fools. It’s not an attack. At least not on us,” Edmund snapped as he pushed his way past our open arms, his stride wide as he gave his guard one look.

  With shivering veils of magic, they vanished back to their patrol, the single glance all they needed as far as instructions went.

  Edmund sneered as he continued to walk away from us all, disappearing from view as he moved toward the middle of the street.

  Remaining still, I followed the sound of his shoes. The soft sound was all that was left to tell me where he was. I knew better than to follow him without request. Míra, however, followed blindly, her hand on her chest as she tried to locate his magic, no longer able to see him.

  The moment he reappeared, she rushed to his side, her feet moving like little patters of rain. Instead of moving into the protective stance she was being trained for, though, she moved behind him, her shoulders hunched as she cowered in a fear I hadn’t seen in her before.

  A mild groan escaped her lips as she leaned against him, her hand pressed against the Štít and the pain I didn’t doubt was emanating from the controlling vessel.

  “You pathetic fool,” he snapped, his focus on the now doubled-over child. “I am your king, your lord, and your master. You would not be alive if not for me, and you will do well to remember that. Do what you have been trained to do, or I will kill you, anyway. I always enjoy watching things bleed.” He kicked her away from him as he finished.

  The child whimpered in pain as she fell into one of the piles of blood and excrement littering the city, her hair fanning around her like a feathered cloak.

  I didn’t even try to stop the smile that spread over my face as my father turned to me. My back straightened as his gaze met mine dead on, his smile as wide and wicked as my own.

  “She will learn,” I said as he laughed, his toe digging into her arm before he moved away, leaving her in a heap.

  “What did you see? What was that?” I asked as he made his way over to me, his smile spreading, the wicked gleam in his eyes bright in the dark of the alley.

  “What do you think the chances are that Ilyan has all of his army holed up in the cathedral?”

  I hadn’t expected that, and even with the confidence in my father’s voice, the smile on my face slid away.

  “We had all the churches checked shortly after the wall was placed…” I hesitated. I could already see the warning in his eyes. Delivering a contradiction to his certainty so close after what had happened was not in my best interest. “There was nothing there.”

  “Nothing, as in it was empty? Or nothing, as if they were destroyed?” His smile continued to grow, the greasy mess twisting down my spine, and I shivered pleasantly.

  “There was no one within them.” My voice was barely above a whisper. I was treading lightly, doubtful of where he was going yet still not wanting to defy him.

  It was an interesting game of cat and mouse, one I was enjoying.

  I shook my head, letting my hair fan over my back as I took a step toward him, not willing to look away, no matter how much the look in his eyes made me shiver.

  “So they were empty.” His smile grew. “And yet, your brother loves churches.”

  “Which is why we checked them first.”

  He said nothing more before walking back to the middle of the street without shielding himself this time.

  My heart rate accelerated as I watched him, caught in awe at the brazenness of his confidence, of his ability. Ilyan’s enemy stood in the open, smiling. It was beautiful the way he positioned himself with the red light bathing him, casting a long, black shadow behind him like a cape, the darkness of it matching so much of who he was.

  A tense knot rippled through me and I smiled, the long-ingrained fear of this man growing.

  “Come, Ovailia.”

  Leaving the still sniveling child in a heap of dried blood and what looked like fresh vomit, I joined my father where he stood in the middle of the road, facing the pillar of black and blue smoke that spiraled from the cathedral.

  The lazy circles of black and blue drifted through the air like feathers. Even with the red tint of light, the smoke was an unnatural shade of blue, which could mean one thing.

  “Magic.” The gasp of understanding seeped out of me in a rush, the shock met by a low chuckle from my father.

  “Yes,” he hissed. “And if the smoke is magic … Well, there is only one way it would be there, wouldn’t it?”

  “But we checked—”

  “And your brother is one of the most powerful Skȓíteks, mated to a more powerful Drak. Imagine what together they could do with that power.” He spoke with the same hunger I had heard before, the same eager desire he had whenever he spoke of Wyn’s gifts; except, this was more.

  I cringed against it, already knowing what was coming.

  “Imagine what I could do with that power. She is worth more to me alive than dead. I must have it.”

  The awe that had loosened the knot in my stomach tightened up my spine like a poorly made corset, twisting as the poison inside of me reacted to his words.

  “Shall I bring you Joclyn’s heart?”

  “No.” He stepped away from me, toward the smoke that was quickly dissipating, his eyes wide with greed.

  “No?”

  “This one, I will get for myself. At the very end, when Ilyan is nearly dead, I will make his mate mine, and I will force him to watch. The same way I made you watch. The same way I made Wynifred.” He turned toward me in one swift movement, the dark cloak of his shadow falling over me in an oppressing shroud.

  I watched him, watched his smile, watched his icy eyes flash as he took a step forward. The horror on his face brought back flashes of memories that ran from exhilarating to traumatizing.

  I knew I shouldn’t let him see my recoil, but he saw anyway. His smile increased as he stepped right up to me, his hand twisting around my waist before pulling me closer to him.

  “Would you like to see that?” he asked, his breath harsh against my face. “Would you like to see me break your brother? Finally break him as I did you? As I did Sain? As I did Wyn?”

  It was his favorite game, his favorite form of torture, and despite something deep inside of me recoiling against it, I still wanted it. I still wanted to watch the power flow from him.

  “Yes,” I hissed in eagerness as he smiled deeper and pulled me closer still.

&nbs
p; “Would you like to see me hurt him as he did to you for all those years?” His teeth lashed with a smile so deep I was positive he expected me to pull away, to turn into the same sniveling heap of a girl.

  But I didn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  Not after what he had said. Not after the fire that had erupted inside of me.

  Ilyan had hurt me.

  Ilyan had lied to me.

  Ilyan had controlled me.

  As my father had asked of me when I returned to his service a year ago, ‘Would I like to see him pay?’ The answer was still the same.

  “Please.”

  Edmund’s grin spread as he released me from his grip, my heels clicking loudly against the road as I regained my balance.

  “Good.”

  He left me standing in the street as he moved back to his pathetic excuse for a forward guard, the girl seeming to deteriorate the closer he came.

  “Get up,” he demanded of her without so much of a hint of compassion.

  “But it hurts.” Her moans were barely audible over the sobs, over the way she clung to her own chest, clawing at it as though it was hurting her.

  I was convinced it was.

  “Get up,” he insisted again, his voice harder this time.

  “Hurts…” she moaned again, her body twisting more, as if the movement would help her escape it.

  “It will hurt more unless you get up,” he warned, a harshness in his voice as the child slowly moved to attention.

  If there was one thing she knew, if there was one thing she would continue to learn, it was pain. Edmund delivered it better than any other.

  Her body shook as she forced herself to stand, her eyes downcast as she refused to look at her master, and her hand was still clutched against her heart, against the Štít.

  “Good.” The sneer in his voice had deepened. “Life is pain, little one. You either rise to the occasion, or you fall beneath it. Work hard and perhaps that pain will end, but until you can stand on your own two feet, get used to the agony.” He leaned over to the child, hissing in her face as she recoiled, her shoulders digging into her ears.

  “We need to get in there,” Edmund announced eagerly as he turned toward me, the swaying child all but forgotten.

  “Into the cathedral?” I clarified before continuing without waiting for a response. “But we’ve been in there—”

  I stopped short at the look in his eye, the danger mixed with frustration I understood all too well. I was obviously missing something.

  “No, Ovailia. We need to get past his shield, past whatever he is using to block us from seeing what is really in there.”

  I narrowed my eyes in question. For the first time, I doubted his plan would even be possible. We had sent so many of our men into that space, looking for any sign of Ilyan, and they had all come back saying they had seen nothing. They had walked through the old basilica, through the monks’ quarters. There was nothing there.

  Such a thing could not be, yet I could tell with one look that it could.

  That it was.

  “M-Master?”

  I turned at the voice, at the timid traitor who walked into the darkened alley, practically falling over his own feet at the sight of my father.

  I would guess it was good I hadn’t told Sain who would be meeting him, if only for this show alone.

  Sain stood next to the still swaying child, his frame as broken and beaten as the girl’s. They were a good pair—two beaten dogs, bred to do anything my father asked.

  Seeing him like that, it was hard to imagine he was using us, that he had any other plans besides serving his master. Despite that, I had seen the sight. I knew of his lies.

  I ground my teeth together at the thought, watching him, wondering, for the first time, how much of him was simply that: lies.

  “Sain.” Edmund turned to him, his voice a menacing growl Sain recoiled from.

  I was getting the feeling Míra had been just a warm up act, especially with what we now knew.

  “Glad you could join us. We’ve been waiting.”

  “If I had known…” he began as he cowered away from Edmund’s approach, trying to gain some sort of favor with the man who now towered over him. “I tried to … I mean … I was held up—”

  “You were held up?” Edmund asked with a condescending lilt.

  Sain collapsed to the ground in fear. I would guess I wasn’t the only one who knew where this was going. No matter what act he had been playing, he could not escape this, and he knew it.

  “Was it all the smoke? All that beautiful, blue smoke?”

  The trap my father had built around the old man had taken control. Sain realized it too, and he folded into himself more, knowing what was coming.

  “Yes.”

  “It makes me wonder, seeing as you chose this exact minute to show up. I’m convinced you could tell us…” Edmund paused, the tension so tight it gripped against my abdomen, twisting around my spine and awakening the poison inside me even further, my magic reacting to Sain’s close vicinity with a painful, caustic burn. It was all I could do not to call out.

  “Yes, master?” Sain questioned obediently, his back bending even farther.

  “What happened.” It was not a question, not really, and even Sain knew he could not avoid it.

  His whimpers turned into cries as he collapsed to the ground, shivering under the weight of his oppression, under the fear Edmund had ground into him with two words.

  “Joclyn,” he stammered, his cry matching that of the child who was now leaning against the wall, her eyes closed as if in prayer. A prayer that the solid mass would swallow her, no doubt. “Something with Joclyn.”

  “What with Joclyn?” Edmund hissed at him, his hand jutting out to grab the old man by the hair, lifting him to eye-level. “Don’t think for a second you can get away with that answer.”

  Sain cried out in pain, a hiss and a sob echoing around the old, stone alley. His eyes closed as Edmund moved toward him, his face so close that I was momentarily concerned he would bite him.

  “Look at me,” Edmund growled, his anger increasing by the second. “What did your bastard child do?”

  Sain’s eyes snapped open, his body shivering before the powerful man I was proud to claim as my own.

  Poor Joclyn, child of a weakling. If Sain was my father, I would do him in. Heavens, he was my mate, and I had handed him over to my father without question.

  “I … I don’t know … I didn’t see—”

  “You have sight, and you didn’t see?”

  “It’s broken. She broke it…”

  My heels tapped against the ground as I moved toward them, hair swinging down my back as I circled them. Father looked up at me, his smile matching mine for a moment before returning to his prey.

  “Would you like me to check, Father?”

  “Perhaps that is not a bad idea—”

  “It was Wyn!” Sain stammered, his voice breaking as my magic attached to his. “Wyn has a piece of the blade. Joclyn saw it, and Wyn attacked her.”

  Edmund’s eyes shot to mine and mine to his, his expression one of shock I had never seen in him before it faded to the familiar greed.

  “She has a piece of the blade? Where did she get it?” Edmund asked eagerly, his desperation rattling the man he still held.

  “From R-Ryland,” Sain stammered before Edmund released him, sending him tumbling toward the ground.

  Greed.

  Even I felt it now.

  After everything, Wynifred had made a misstep. She had done something even she should know better than to do. She had the blade, and if she had a piece of the blade, Father could control her, control the girl with the magic he prized.

  With one last grin, he closed his eyes, his face serene as he did what came naturally to him, as he searched out the blade that held the souls of so many he had killed, their magic now inside of him, a direct line if you will.

  Eagerly, I waited, breathing heavily as I leaned towa
rd him, anticipating what was to come—some declaration of control, of death.

  “She’s close…” he whispered, stepping over the heaving, gasping man as he took my hand in his and pulled me back into the middle of the street. “It is not within her, so my control is limited, but not for long.”

  He gestured forward, his eyes trained on the darkness that swallowed the city. I looked between the street and my father in confusion before a small, black figure cut through the red tint of the world in front of us, stumbling, running, screaming. I knew who it was and that my father was in control of her.

  Wynifred.

  We had come to get information out of Sain. We had come to show the filthy princess a magical race she was being trained to kill, yet, another assassin had walked into our midst. Another assassin had walked into our control.

  “Wonderful.” I smiled, my eyes wide as she continued toward us. “What are you going to do with her?”

  “I’m going to get you past Ilyan’s wall.” He smiled at me. “If she can get out, then she can get you in. Together, you will destroy his army before he even has a chance to attack us. He will be crippled, and all because of Wyn.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “Make sure to come back with my new bride, Ovailia. I would hate for dear Wynifred to miss her bonding ceremony tonight.”

  This time, I laughed, the sound loud and joyful as I danced before the woman who had been nothing short of my archenemy for several centuries. She didn’t even know what was coming as she walked toward us, her eyes wide as her body propelled her forward without her permission. Her hand wrapped around a shard of red blade I recognized immediately, the panic clear on her face.

  She could see us.

  She knew what was happening, yet there was nothing she could do.

  “Hello, darling,” Edmund cooed, his voice the same he would use before he forced all of his wives into his bed. “I told you I would make you mine eventually.”

  Wynifred looked at him in terror as he grabbed her hand, her palm opening to reveal the jagged blade. She couldn’t even move as he lifted the shard and plunged it through the center of her hand.