Queen to Ashes (Black Dawn Series Book 2)

by Mallory McCartney

  Meeting his dark eyes straight on, she felt the corners of her mouth tug up slowly. She wouldn’t become his weapon. Emory would become his nightmare, feeding and draining him until there was nothing left.

  He placed the vial in her outstretched palm. It was cool against her skin and no bigger than her thumb. A pristine, clear liquid swirled within, and popping open the small latch, she raised it toward Adair in a toast. “To your good health.”

  Smirking, she tipped her head back as she felt the icy substance crawl down her throat, spiraling into her stomach, spreading within her. Then she was falling.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  Emory was surrounded by particles of the earth: wind, fire, water. She still felt as if she was plummeting, but dark earthy moss lay under her leather boots on solid ground. Focus. Snapping her attention to her surroundings, she took in the rawness of the forest around her. Everything was so still.

  Taking a step, she released a breath. The trees burst with life around her, the green leaves vibrant and pristine. Taking another step, she raised her eyes to the tree line. It was with a snap of a twig and a slash of broken light that all chaos broke loose. Shouts and fire surrounded her as darkness fell heavy on the land, the only light being the flames and a pulsing light from beneath her shirt. Scrambling, she realized it was her armor. It pulsed as if it had a heartbeat—alive and gripping her. Her entire being screamed magic. Ancient magic.

  She ran, trying to escape the wall of flames, her skin burning and blistering from the heat, trying to make out who surrounded her. In that moment, a snarl and snap of jaws sounded from behind her as she slowly turned around. A creature born from eternal darkness loomed before her, skin dripping off its body in a slow, decaying way. Its eyes were as red as the flames that circled them, and it locked on to her, baring its teeth, which were gray and bloodstained.

  Whispers exploded in her mind, an ancient language, a long-lost story that beckoned only to her, that wove and played only to her heart. Her body quaked as she scrambled to think, to react. The monster’s nostril’s flared, and a low growl tore from its chest, as it tasted her fear; was challenging her.

  Frantically, she dropped to a low crouch, looking for any weapon in sight. The creature stalked toward her; its muscles tensed, readying itself to lunge at her. Its talons sliced into the soft earth, and the smell that rolled off it reminded her of scorched and rotting flesh.

  Gagging, she could have sworn the thing was mocking her, already victorious. No. No. She would not curl up and die. The heat was blistering her skin as a thrumming so strong started in her mind, and she had to clench her teeth to ground herself. The demon hissed, spittle flying from its maw.

  Voices dark and fierce erupted in her mind, yelling instructions at her. It clicked, and the song turned into a language she recognized. Her heart viciously thrummed against her ribcage when she looked down to her boots. She had no other choice: Make your move, Emory Fae. Those alluring voices crooned to her, and it was as if she were a puppet on strings.

  Charging the creature, she swiftly rolled onto her side. Roaring, the demon sprung over the top of her, landing where she had been standing, the flames twisting to both their wills. Her arm connected with an upturned knotted root, and hot blood spilled from the wound almost instantly onto the ground around her.

  The demon froze, tilting its head to the side, calculating, confused that the prey had just switched to predator. Panting, she felt the ground move underneath her. Breaking the creature’s gaze, she looked down and had to blink hard to make sure she was seeing correctly. Bubbling from the dirt, a sword was forming, materializing from her blood. Not waiting, she grabbed the now solid hilt and watched the blade form in front of her. The steel shone, glinting a deep ruby red.

  The world erupted into mayhem once again as the ring of fire that had been surrounding them jumped and twisted, alive, spiraling toward the end of the sword, wrapping around it, absorbing its light, its power. It didn’t stop there. Flames tore into her world, Emory was consumed in the fiery dance of golds, reds, and oranges. The flames coolly kissed her skin, her body, but they did not hurt her. Instead, she felt her ability roar to life, consuming every ounce of the magic, of the flames.

  Bursts of power screamed through her limbs, her bones, shaking her very core. She was a whirlwind—she was the fire. It raged around her, smoke twisting up like a tornado. As fast as it consumed her, the fire stopped, embers glowing all around her feet, ashes floating in the air as she opened her eyes. Exhaling, Emory snarled at the monster.

  Her blade seemed to move with life, reflecting the flames it had consumed. She flicked her loose hair back, noting the ends were now dip-dyed dark red. Looking across at the growling creature in front of her, she took a deep breath in and steadied herself: The creature roared at her, the power of it jarring her bones. Emory narrowed her eyes. For the Rebellion.

  She charged full tilt as she distantly heard the whimper behind her, as if she was swimming through water. By fire and flame. He knew exactly where her scars lay. She stopped in her tracks, knowing what she would see behind her. She would know that sound anywhere. Fear licked at her heart, but Emory turned anyway. Memphis bloodied and broken knelt on the scorched ground. Brokk was beside him. Within seconds, she was lost in the sea of their pain, and it destroyed her.

  They whimpered, “Please, Em. Help us.”

  At their pleas, the demon stopped, head tilting as it took in Memphis and Brokk, salvia dripping from its maws. Dread pooled in her gut as the demon changed his course, flinging himself toward his new prey. She knew what Adair expected her to do, what he so desperately wanted her to do. Her legs flexed and burned, and she plunged toward them. She would beat the creature. She had to.

  Her surroundings were a blur, and her two best friends’ features lit up as they saw her. Swinging her sword, the creature roared behind her. Time had no meaning as a strangled cry tore from her throat, and the steel found its mark. Memphis crumpled first, then Brokk, and she looked away from the blood-stained dirt.

  The demon was sitting on its haunches as it started to melt away, its skin oozing into nothing but a pool of blackness around it. She couldn’t focus. Bile tore up her throat as the world spun. It’s not real, not real, not real, not real, not real.

  The voices encased her again, their whispers just a wall of noise. Gravity pulled her down, and she fell, the wind howling around her. Landing hard on the edge of a cliff, her core burned. She was a wall of flame, despair, and anger, and she was relentless. This was who her people had been left with, what the rebels were trying to overthrow.

  Emory stood there at the edge of a cliff, her blade crackling as flames jumped from it, lighting up the night. “Every good sword has a name, right?” Emory asked herself.

  Anithe.

  The name came to her, but fear collided into her as she took in the scene around her.

  Dozens of eyes stared back at her, glowing yellow and green. Their snickers sounded, and she gripped the pommel harder. Stepping forward, small hooded figures with pointed, sickly green teeth surrounded her. Thick venom oozed from their mouths as they cooed at her edging closer, closer.

  “Enough!” Her yell cut through the silence, and flames roared from Anithe’s steel as if it was an extension of her and her emotions. Cutting and twirling in a lethal dance, the creatures screamed around her, still trying to claw their way toward her body. Emory didn’t think—just reacted. Running, she prayed she would live long enough to find a way out of this.

  The wind howled through the night, the screams growing louder behind her as she staggered to a sudden stop, barely catching herself at the cliff’s edge. Looking down, she could see nothing but darkness. Exhaling hard, she looked at the advancing figures and with no visible way out, jumped off the edge. Wind engulfed her as she plummeted down into the darkness, sparks flying behind her in a brilliant trail. The horizon tilted once more as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for her body
to collide with the ground.

  The impact never came.

  Opening her eyes, she blinked hard, momentarily blinded. Disoriented, Emory realized she was in a small cottage filled with bottles and vials of various sizes. Her legs quaked, getting used to being on solid ground as she waited. No one came. Seconds turned to minutes, and she took even breaths as she searched the room. There were no windows, and the stale air was suffocating.

  Then, finally, a soft voice spoke, “You betrayed us. You betrayed me. And you will pay.”

  Moving into her line of sight, Memphis was shaking, there was a menacing glint shining in his eyes when he threw a dark hood over her head. Disoriented in the sudden darkness, her knee-jerk reaction screamed at her to fight back, to scream, to bite. Quietly reminding herself Adair was on the other side, weighing and watching, she used every ounce of her control to remain still as faceless people slammed her down onto a chair.

  Memphis leaned in; his breath hot against the fabric. “Tell us everything, or else we will torture you until you are praying for death.”

  Sweat collected at the base of her neck, her pulse throbbing against her skin. Her mouth ran dry as punch after punch slammed into her body. Her ribs snapped, and she felt a bone puncture into her lung, causing her to scream. He asked again and when she answered with silence, pain flared as heat surged from her limbs, from every part of her.

  “What is Adair planning, Emory? How did he use you?” Spit hit the hood as Memphis bellowed, and Emory grunted as her neck snapped back from the next blow, blood oozing from her broken lip. She became numb, a silent wall. Pain laced through her body, silently begging for him to stop. Couldn’t he understand why? Didn’t he see?

  No. She couldn’t go there. She wouldn’t.

  Wildfire rushed through her in a course of adrenaline. Diving deep into that well, her body, motivated by hurt and anger, screamed as everything rushed through her, magic singing in her veins. An icy wind sent her kidnappers staggering back, and Emory, with inhuman strength, snapped her restraints and pulled the hood off, spitting blood out onto the floor. Five men, including Memphis, stood frozen around her as she surged for her sword lying on the ground. Upon her touch, embers swirled amongst the steel, the blade’s edge igniting into flame.

  Steeling herself for their attack, Emory memorized Memphis’s face with every second that passed. That moment, the scene dissolved in front of her as if it was nothing more than a faded memory. Completely unhinged, she realized she was back in that cavernous room. A slow clapping sounded from behind her, making her jump.

  She turned around, chest heaving. The King’s eyes gleamed with excitement. She quickly found herself back in her reality, three glass bowls shimmering from the brilliant gold flame that they contained. She had passed. Relief flooded through her as Emory stared at the Dark King, lost for words. Her body begged to curl up in a ball and scream, and this was only a taste of Adair’s wrath. Of the inhumane king planting madness in all their minds.

  Her nails dug into her palms as she slowly walked up to him, not a flicker of the boy she had once known or had believed in was present in the king that stood before her now. Adair just stared at her, then he took in the sword she clutched like a lifeline.

  His smooth voice bounced off the walls in a disarraying echo. “That was most enlightening. You did much better than I could have ever hoped. What I find strange, though, is how you knew how to achieve this.”

  He motioned to all of her: The blood-red tips in her hair, the brilliant sword, how she had fought so well. She was lost in that question, in how to answer, but when Emory cleared her throat, he cut her off, still pacing around the cold room.

  “Now, I could have believed you had the ability to read my thoughts, but I highly doubt that is how you knew, since no one can do that.” He stopped in front of her, his eyes an emotionless void. “The magic spoke to you.”

  It wasn’t a question and she kept her face a mask as he stared at her, with a look as close to wonder as she had seen him so far make. Her heart pounded at an even pace. To be kissed by the darkness, marked by it. She turned cold.

  His voice was just barely a whisper when he mused, “How did you survive?”

  Sweat dripped into her eyes. Her chest plate tightened at his question as if warning her, waiting for a detection of a lie. Her palms turned slick with nervous sweat. He stood, waiting to see how willingly Emory would prove her devotion to him. Like she had a choice with the bloody contraption on her.

  Licking her lips, she choked out, “On a different planet.”

  He froze. Standing there, trembling, Emory waited for poison darts to shoot into her bloodstream. Waiting for Adair not to believe her. Silence pressed down hard between them, and she tried not to squirm while pinned under his stare.

  Tilting his head curiously, he breathed. “How?” She gritted her teeth, and never breaking his gaze, the truth tore from her, her resolve nearly with it.

  “The Academy had fallen.” She was transported to the memory, the tang of winter, of Bresslin’s madness. She could still feel the chains. Her desperation and despair. “I knew Brokk had been lying to me. He was hiding something from all of us.” How her heart had pounded, as she remembered the last time she had looked at him. “I knew he could help me. Help keep me safe from you.” She had been lost in her loyalty, too blind to recognize Memphis had been lost in his jealousy.

  Adair stepped forward, ghosts playing behind his dark eyes. “Brokk Foster placed you in another world?”

  They were face-to-face as she breathed, “He traveled there. Manipulated time and bent it to his will.”

  His eyes sparked. “Let me get this right. Brokk hid you in another world after I destroyed the Academy and killed your parents and my own. I rose to be the Mad King, finally wiping Kiero of its infection, teaching the entire world that their one true king was me. And all this time, you and the rebellion eluded me... And Memphis? What part did he play?”

  Tears stung her eyes. Six lonely years. Not knowing my world was burning because of you. And I never remembered it because of Memphis. It came out in snarl, her frustration and rage piled up into a tangible beast, and she didn’t care about the Mad King standing in front of her. “He ensured I never remembered any of it. This world. My past. Or you.”

  A pause. A flicker of shadow across his features. There was a hunger in his eyes she wanted to run away from, to take all her words back. But she just stood there, waiting for his reaction: Adair didn’t say anything more as he stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Leaving Emory alone with the gold dancing flames and her consuming fear of the truth she had just shared.

  Body shaking, a strangled noise escaped from her. The walls were closing in, time slipping away with every second. And already, she was a partner in his chaotic dance filled with madness. She didn’t know which way to turn without those shadows filing into her heart, without Adair controlling her every movement. When the time came to end Adair, would she be enough? Cursing, she glanced down at Anithe in her right hand.

  She made her way to the door, leaving her doubts and ghosts behind. The door felt like iron as she pulled, heaving it open. Setting her shoulders back, she jutted her chin out, barely glancing as the guard followed her. The echo of their footfalls rang out in the corridor as she clenched her teeth tightly together. She blended in, with their dark garb and bloodied sashes blurring into a streamline of bodies, unrecognizable and nameless. Yet, each soldier, each woman and child lingered, their gazes cutting like knives into her back, into her heart.

  Her guard snapped at her suddenly, making her jump. “Move.” Scowling, she stalked ahead, not realizing she had stopped, her thoughts darkening as she stared at his back.

  “And where do I have the pleasure of going now?” Emory asked the guard, looking behind her.

  The guard’s eyebrows arched, the corners of his lips turning up. “It’s time for your first training session.” Emory desperately tried not to blanch but knew she had failed
as the guard chuckled. “We are to meet the king in ten minutes. Most of the morning has already passed with your trial. So, keep up.”

  Knees quaking, her stomach rolled. The guard moved to lead, picking up his pace as they weaved back through the twisting hallways, the flush stone mocking her as they climbed up. Every second, her surroundings became clearer: a turn she recognized, a doorway that she had passed before. Like a spider web, lines started to connect.

  Chewing the inside of her lip, one thought clawed up against the rest: This hidden kingdom, nestled in the depths of the earth, housing a bloodthirsty king was achingly beautiful. Structured, but still, the enormity of it was breathtaking. She had dreamed of the kingdom that lay above her while she was in her cell for a week, her imagination running wild with bloodstained hallways and the tortured screams of his people.

  Shaking her head and picking up her pace, she pushed all thoughts down as the hallway started to widen and the mouth of the room opened before them-it was cavernous, exploding with life. Twisting up alongside of the walls, stacked staircases and homes were embedded into the stone, the happy clatter of families going about their day-to-day business erupting around her. Carts filled with fruits, vegetables, and wine cut through the throngs of people, businessmen trying to pull their clients in with smooth words and promised prices. Across the expanse, the steady clang of metal on metal pulled her in, the blacksmith’s rhythm providing the pulse, exploding the energy around him. Clothes, exotic and exquisite, hung on lines on the surrounding shops, and she stood there, mouth hanging open, taking it all in.

  “You’re causing a scene.” The guard’s callused hands gripped her arm, too hard, as he dragged her along with him. He muttered underneath his breath, “It would seem you haven’t seen a market before.”

  Emory allowed him to lead her, as her mind drank it all in. It was explosive, a stunning array, and the coursing lightness around her led her gaze up, toward the carved-out ceiling, pouring in natural light, to the clouds dancing far above them. Emory imagined what the room would look like at night, when the moonlight transformed the cavernous walls in a glowing silver backdrop, the stars twinkling.