Queen to Ashes (Black Dawn Series Book 2)

by Mallory McCartney

  Gripping the railing, he swung his toned body over the edge, landing hard, several feet below. Ripping his blade from his belt, he ran, loosening such a war cry it split through the protest. He slammed her hard onto the dirt floor, black spots erupting in her vision as he pinned her, the cool edge of the knife against her throat. Thrashing, her numb muscles tried desperately to throw him off.

  A low baritone chuckle sounded as he lowered himself close to her ear. “Don’t fight, unless you want to meet your end now.”

  She knew he wasn’t toeing that line anymore. Making her body still, she gazed up, staring at the Dust Clan leader, who in turn was grinning down at her.

  His voice was still low as he murmured, “Now, either you agree to my terms, or I will ensure I spill your blood until the last drop.”

  In response, she tried to slam her knees into his gut, and Zander pressed the blade harder into her skin. “You are truly a spectacle to behold.” He pressed down just a little harder. “As clan leader, I am meant to choose a partner in this role, one who stands by my side as an equal. No one has ever defeated the laghairt other than myself. All others who have tried met their demise. So, Nyx of Black Dawn, I grant you a choice. You either agree to stand with me as my equal in the clans or refuse and die beside your commander.”

  Nyx’s blood roared in her ears as she registered what he was proposing: To stand with him, to rule the clans. As a team. Think of the Rebellion. Her revulsion took hold as she snapped, “I would rather die than bow to you!”

  Snorting, he said, “I was hoping you would say that. Because either way, you are mine. I hope you enjoy knowing that you had the choice to achieve what you sought for. That you could have spared your commander. I was feeling particularly lenient after that show you just put on. But now, you will see the wrath of the raiders.” Bucking beneath his hold, she wanted to scream, to shatter him. He smirked in his arrogant way and murmured, “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

  As quickly as the clan leader had pinned her, he gripped her arm hard, pulling Nyx up to stand beside him. All she could taste was dust and blood as she looked to the empty, angry faces of the crowd around her.

  His voice shook with the strength of iron as he addressed his clan, “Who would like to see such a force broken? This prisoner—” he spat the word “—is now my property. Anyone touches a hair on her head will pay in the only language we understand-pain.” He considered the eyes of the uneasy raiders, making sure his message was clear. Flickering his attention back to Nyx, he sneered. “You, with me.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  Looking up into the blaring sun, she squared her shoulders, following him, not looking back at the bloodied pit. They walked underneath a crumbling archway, where he shoved a rusty gate open, motioning for her to follow.

  Outside of the arena, she blinked hurriedly, trying to keep up with the explosion of energy around her. Raiders of all ages and their families filled the street, vendors’ calling to potential traders and buyers, their carts full of merchandise, ranging from clothes to weapons to food. Homes lined the streets, golden rectangular buildings with huge bay windows giving her a peek into each individual life that resided there.

  Zander barely gave her time to adjust before snapping his fingers, and the particles of sand were summoned to life underneath and all around them. The particles flew together, banding and molding in a brilliant display until the flying carpet made of sand swept underneath them, and they were flung toward the skies. The hot afternoon wind whipped around her, and she gave herself one second to let her guard down. Her shaking limbs and clenched fists were the only signs she allowed in front of the Dust Clan leader: Zander didn’t miss a thing.

  Seeing that wicked glint in his eye, Nyx demanded an answer, “Why are you doing this?”

  He tilted his head in the most innocent way as they raced above the bustling colony and retorted, “Doing what? It was you who came to me. It is not my fault your friend ignored my warning or that you two cannot adjust to our laws here.”

  “Laws? Where is the justice of ensuing pain and death to establish your leadership and dominance? Why not press the importance of humility and empathy since you are a part of this land, as well as this world, instead of deciding to ignore the war raging around you?” It came out in a breathless rush, and her voice hitched as she swallowed her pain down.

  That same smug look crossed his face as he snorted. “Then why are you here in the first place? If you already understand so much about me and the clan laws, then you should already know that I never would have said yes in the first place.”

  Nyx clipped back, “Doesn’t everyone deserve the benefit of the doubt to change for the better? Don’t you deserve more than for us to assume you will always be a prat?”

  Turning away from her, he looked out to the horizon. “You talk too freely. If you didn’t already realize, it will get you into more trouble than it’s worth here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Then you obviously don’t know a thing about me. I would rather cause trouble than complacently bow. Especially if it means bowing to you.”

  “I would think of your commander before saying such things.”

  She narrowed her eyes, silently seething as the carpet dipped and rippled with the currents of the wind. They both sat in tense silence.

  You must get Memphis out, get him to safety.

  Chewing her lower lip in silence, her mind ran in circles. Memphis was a lot of things to her, had meant a lot of things. She had loved him and hated him, tried to forget him, to forgive him. He had been her passion, leader; her regret, her ghost. And now, they deserved to see and experience a better future. They wouldn’t walk themselves to their executioner.

  Her bruises and minor wounds thudded with pain, her blood sounding in her ears. It was a crisp, clear day; the heat haze made everything seem to move slower, as if they were in a daze. Her eyes streamed from the force of the wind as they dipped lower, cutting through the clouds with grace. Below them, a singular building rested, nestled in billowing, deep blue curtains and a small courtyard. Zander’s house, she assumed.

  They descended closer and closer to the ground until, with a start, the sands disappeared in a plume of dust, and they were dropped. Her cry caught in her throat as she hit the ground hard, and all the wind was driven from her lungs.

  She lay stunned in the sands, the sun burning into her back until Zander strode past her, dusting himself off.

  “You will want to follow me, unless you prefer sunstroke.” His façade had slipped slightly, to become less of the roaring beast of a man and more of a brooding type.

  She got up while trying to decide which was more dangerous. Keeping her head high, she greedily took in her surroundings, desperately trying to find anything that would hint to Memphis’s whereabouts. They entered a small side door to the same identical golden building and stepped inside. He closed the door behind her with a click.

  Squinting, Nyx allowed her eyes to adjust as he quickly passed through the living room, motioning for her to follow. She stalled, taking in the room. It was bathed in such rich, beautiful colors, from the walls to the furniture, to the assortment of fascinating objects that lined the various shelves. The house was empty and silent. It was forbidding and peaceful all at once, and it made her hair stand on end.

  “Will you stop gawking?” His voice shook her from her spell, and she slowly stalked toward another hallway where he stood. He gestured up to a sweeping stone staircase. “You will stay upstairs, in the room on the left. Everything you need is up there.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He smirked. “Then I promise you, it will only end with blood.”

  Weighing her odds against the clan leader in her state and sighing, she made her way up the stairs without a backward glance. She needed to rest before she found Memphis. She needed to ensure when she took her one shot at rescuing him, it would be with everything she had.

  Reaching the top, she slowly propped the door open
, its hinges creaking slightly. After she stepped inside, the door instantly slammed behind her: Locking. She hadn’t expected anything else, and so, she relaxed, knowing, for the time being, she would be safe.

  A luscious bed with deep crimson pillows was splayed in front of her, the headboard carved with images of blades clashing. A small, barred window faced the north, its curtains moving lazily. Maneuvering quietly until she reached an adjoining door, she peered inside, marvelling at the handsome porcelain tub and bottles of oils on a shelf beside it. Groaning, she shut the door behind her and started the tub, the noise of rushing water keeping her company. Shimmying her bloodied clothes off her aching body, she lowered herself into the steaming water, nearly crying. You will be no use to Memphis until you’re thinking clearly. Dumping a healthy amount of what smelt like mint oil into the water, she closed her eyes. Breathing deeply, the tension unwound and exhaustion swept in.

  ***

  Hours had passed until she re-emerged, her long violet hair plaited back, bloodied, dusty fighting leathers back on, and weapons adjusted to their normal places on her upper thighs and back. She rolled her shoulders as she stepped out of the bathroom, leaving the pink-tinged water behind her. Her boots hung loosely from her hands as she looked to the tiny window. The golden tones of the sunset bled into the skies, turning her room into a brilliant display.

  Narrowing her eyes, she knew she had one of two options: escape through the window or confront Zander directly. Huffing, she listened to the bustle of life outside, as the clan prepared for the night and the festivities that awaited. Her skin crawled at the thought, and she knew they didn’t have much time. It was at that exact moment that the door opened behind her.

  He leaned against her doorframe, oozing arrogance. In his hand, he held a beautiful flowing dress, its golden fabric shimmering, the black empire waist clasp dazzling.

  Lifting his dark eyebrow, he drawled, “It certainly seems you have made yourself at home. Now put this on so we can join in the festivities.”

  “Festivities?” Tossing the dress at her, she caught it.

  “Before the fight begins.”

  Her stomach dropped, but her mind was already ten steps in front of her. This was good; if they were preparing, then Memphis had to be close. She looked at the fabric in between her fingers. “I’m not wearing this.”

  He chuckled. “Suit yourself. Tonight, is a night for celebration, wear whatever you want. I was just giving you options.”

  Mashing her teeth in aggravation and with tight lips, she followed Zander into the hallway. The house was just as quiet, small candles lit on every surface, illuminating their world into something beautiful, softening the edges. He was dressed in inky, leather pants and boots, with a flowing, blue, short-sleeved shirt, his tattoos dancing in the light. Nyx pushed her emotions down, resting a reassuring hand on her blade hilt. So much had changed and would still change. All she could do was be ready for her opportune moment.

  Formulating a quick plan, Nyx sent silent prayers to the stars as the duo stepped into the night. They were met with an explosion of life. Raiders packed the streets in their best dressed clothes. Jackets and cloaks, dresses and glittering jewelry.

  Torches lined the outskirts of the road, creating a walkway of flame, licking the shadows back, forcing the darkness to retreat. Billowing silks and caravans bustled past them, their inhabitants hollering at Zander, raising their glasses while the contents sloshed on their arms. He nodded at them in acknowledgement as she followed him into the street, and they became one with the beautiful chaos.

  Two drinks were immediately pressed into his hands, and he passed one shining goblet to her. The deep red liquid had the brightest aroma of spices and fruit as she gently lowered her lips to the rim and drank.

  He watched with appraising eyes and lifted his glass to her. “To my good health.” He emptied the glass in one go as she sipped once more. To your good health indeed.

  Bitterness filled her as they slinked through the crowd. Zander stopped to talk to his people while she watched at a safe distance behind. It was overwhelming as she tried to take everything in but act like she was seeing nothing. She followed the clan leader until they broke through the crowd and were halfway through the street when he stopped, inclining his head toward the spectacle.

  A group of six men and women were beautifully dressed in midnight-blue silks, their foreheads adorned with black gems. They bowed lowly to him and then proceeded to start the most beautiful dance she had ever seen. Their bodies moved smoothly as the pairs reacted to one another’s step so fast their silks flew behind them, creating the illusion of billowing sails. And the music. Spotting the musician, the stringed instrument was so small, yet the melody was strikingly powerful. The player moved his bow faster and faster as the dancers spun, and it was hypnotic. It was compelling. It made her heart race, the climb and crash of notes. It was magic.

  Leaning closer to her, he said, “It is the dance of winds. Here throughout the clan, it is the dance of tribute, of power. It is good luck for a fighter to see such a thing before a duel. It is also a sign of the deepest respect.”

  She was speechless as the dancers continued to spin and arc, and it took all her will power to tear her eyes away and follow him through the crowd once more.

  It seemed like an infinite amount of time as they walked through the winding streets, Zander eyeing her, trying to be inconspicuous. You are not mine. You will never be. She chewed on the inside of her lip and tried her best to ignore the clan leader and his roaming eyes. It made her want to show him very clearly that he was wrong.

  Breathing deeply, she steadied herself. She would be compliant until the last—and right—moment. Until then, she fantasized about all the things she would like to do with the steel she possessed.

  Onward they walked, and Nyx quickly realized that the crowds behind them were also moving with them, a hundred or more people, their boisterous noise clouding her thoughts. The road in front of them turned slightly, and she faltered, taking in the sight. The stadium that she had once occupied had been transformed; barbed thorns covered every inch of its walls, and roaring fires held in huge barrels were in front of every archway. He lit up with pride at the sight.

  With every step closer to their fates, Nyx, with a roaring certainty, knew she would make the clan leader pay.

  They passed by the fires and under the golden archway where she filed into the stadium. Zander walked into the center of the pit to await Memphis. Climbing through the rows agilely, sweat slicked her palms as she perched in the same spot he watched her from earlier. The stadium filled at a steady pace, excitement and impatience brewing amongst the clan as they looked down to their leader. They wanted their bloody show, and it made her stomach churn even more.

  Finally, when all the rows were practically teeming, Zander raised his hands, and a young man stood in the stadium, nodding to him. The whole crowd fell silent as the man whispered into his palms, opening them up. Fire roared into the sky, twisting and consuming, illuminating the Risco Desert for miles around them. Cries of awe and approval were met with this, and as the fire roared, embers slowly drifted back down to the earth while deep, tribal drums sounded. The players were stationed outside the area, and each stroke, each beat trembled the night. They pounded like a heartbeat, the deep rhythm making him grin wickedly as he unsheathed his sword, waiting.

  Dread pooled in her stomach as she frantically tried to form a plan to stop Zander, and sway the clans.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Memphis

  The fire looked like a comet streaking across the night sky, illuminating and consuming anything in its path. This is it, he thought. The wind howled like banshees while the world burned. It all led up to this moment, the tip of the blade between life and death. Gritting his teeth, he opened his heart up to the darkness and stepped forward, blade in hand. The beating of the drums reverberated through his bones, each stroke electrifying his senses. Beckoning to him, calling him closer. T
he blade felt a thousand times heavier in his palms, and he twirled it slowly.

  This moment was not just about him, and that weighed heavily on his mind.

  Embers floated through the air, gently brushing up against his skin, their warmth scorching where they touched. He checked to make sure the armor was in place, weapons tucked in neatly on his back and thighs. Healers had set his broken leg in a brace, and he understood that Zander wanted him to be in pain. To struggle.

  The tempo of the drums hurried, and jeers from the crowd echoed in the night. Before stepping forward, he thought of Emory. Her lips, how the light caught her hair, by flame and fire, her laugh. He thought of what could have been.

  Suddenly, silence sounded, and gripping the hilt with white knuckles, he stepped into the arena. The brace for his leg would ensure the illusion of a fair fight. Zander had promised him that much. Each step threatened to shatter his resolve as he walked toward the clan leader, pain lancing through his body, the smell of infection overwhelming him. He stopped, breathing heavily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the burning ring of thorns that surrounded him.

  Being kept in a cell deep in the stadium, he hadn’t seen the outside world for days. Hadn’t eaten a morsel. Only the tiniest amount of water had been permitted, just enough to keep him alive. That was also strict orders on Zander’s end. The Dust Clan leader didn’t utter a word to the crowd, no pleasantries of justice. No beautiful words of freedom or haunting promises of revenge. His sword glinted in the night, and Zander charged toward Memphis, embers floating down between them.

  Memphis saw the promise of pain in the clan leader’s eyes, and he loosened a hoarse cry, bringing his blade up to block Zander’s attack. His arm nearly broke from the force. Shouts and jeers sounded from the crowd as attack after attack he parried the blows, grunting as he moved as fast as he could. The world tilted on its axis in a sickening motion as Zander threw a punch, suddenly connecting with his jaw. Blood filled his mouth. Zander laughed as he rolled, missing the raider’s blade by a hairsbreadth. Scrambling up, he roared, his blade meeting the Dust Clan leader’s.