Page 109 of Ash and Feather

I fought my way upright and peeled the sheets from my body. Rubbing my eyes, I took in my surroundings. The shelves and curtains and the few meager trinkets my younger self hadprized were reduced to figures casting strange, jumbled shadows against the walls.

As I stared at them, a flood of emotions rose in my chest, choking the breath from my lungs.

I couldn’t stay in this room for another second.

After grabbing my coat and boots from the corner chair and pulling them on, I silently made my way into the narrow hallway. What had felt so small and cozy when I was younger now felt massive—a cold, yawning abyss that seemed unending.

But I could traverse it easily enough. Quietly enough. I was out of tears to cry, so the ache in my chest and the burning in my lungs could proceed in silence.

As I’d done so often when growing up, I would make no noise, alert no one to my presence.

I knew all the places the floor would creak. The layout of things was still familiar, too, as large and twisting as it all felt in this moment. I could navigate even as my mind battled with other things.

I sensed my sister in her familiar place, too—in the small study beside the kitchen.

After our father died and our mother left, Savna had taken to sitting in that room most nights, hunched over the desk making lists and notes, counting what little money we had and devising the smartest ways to spend it. Praying to the gods for more. Cursing at them when they didn’t answer. Trying to figure out how we were going to make ends meet. Some nights she didn’t leave that room at all and I would wake the next morning to find her passed out in the tattered armchair in the corner, often clutching a wineskin to her chest.

I couldn’t resist peeking inside that room as I passed it now.

And there she was, asleep in the expected chair.

I eyed the blanket that had fallen into a dark pile at her feet. When I was younger, that was part of my ritual on those cold,lonely mornings: I would cover her up and let her sleep in while I quietly did my best to create breakfast out of whatever scraps I could find in our kitchen.

Tonight I walked on, even though my knees threatened to buckle as I did.

The wind howled outside, rattling the walls. Though the old house was relatively well-insulated, I felt as ifIwasn’t—like I’d been left hollowed after all the tears I’d cried, and now the cold cut straight through even the fine coat Rieta had made for me, driving right into my bones.

I couldn’t stop shaking.

None of the fireplaces I passed were lit. Firewood had not been particularly easy to come by when I was growing up, and we had always used it sparingly, even on the coldest nights; I could still hear my mother’s voice demanding us not to waste it. I wondered what my family would think if they were all here now, confronting the goddess I’d become. I wasn’t thinking of the complications of my existence in that moment—only the fact that my magic could have kept us all warm.

As I made my way toward the back door, guided by memory more than sight, I half-expected to hear more familiar voices from my childhood echoing around me. I paused on the threshold, listening for them. Whether hoping for or dreading the sound…I wasn’t sure.

I heard nothing, either way. It was just me and my sister here, I was certain—at least until I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, caught a familiar scent, and realized I was wrong.

I was not alone.

Chapter 27

Karys

“Andrel.”Just speaking his name made my stomach curl.

“Hello, Karys.”

I resisted the urge to back away as he drew closer. Beneath his familiar spice and sandalwood scent, he smelled strongly of blood and burned flesh. He looked poised and perfectly put together, though—as if he’d had time to clean himself up between the battle at Mindoth and now, yet was unable to fully wash the proof of it from his skin. As he came to a stop before me, I saw part of that proof more clearly: Thick bandages covered one of his hands.

Or what was left of it, at least.

Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but it looked as though part of that hand was entirely…gone.

I swallowed hard. “Missing something, aren’t we?”

“Ah. Yes. This.” His expression remained unbothered—the practiced indifference I expected from him—as he lifted the injury so I could better inspect it. “Your other half took himself a souvenir, I’m afraid.”

My heart clenched at the mention of Dravyn, but I didn’t let any emotion show. “You’re lucky he only took your hand.”

Andrel chuckled at this, though the sound was disturbingly without humor. His eyes seemed to darken as he said, “I would ask what you see in that barbaric, brutish monster, but I think I’m past trying to understand it.”

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