Page 2 of Ash and Feather

“We can’t let them justleave,” I growled. “I could stop them.”

“You could.”

“I could set fire to every one of them. Their ashes could fertilize the very ground they sought to destroy. They deserve it. They deserveworse.”

He didn’t reply.

Somehow, his silence caught my attention more than any words he might have said. I stopped fighting his hold and turned my glare his direction.

His fingers dug into my skin. “I would let you go if I thought that was what you really wanted.” His voice grew softer, thick as the smoke between us, as he added, “But I think you would regret it.”

No, I wouldn’t,I thought—and very nearly shouted it—as I ripped my arm from his hold and paced the hilltop.

My fires wrapped around me like a protective cloak, the flames rising and falling, burning brighter every time a rush of fresh fury made me clench my fists…only to recede a little with each deep breath I managed. It gave an illusion of control—which lasted until I looked once more to the last place I’d seen the retreating elves.

Their shapes were fading from sight.

They’re getting away.

The fires surrounding me swelled in protest, making me feel as though I could have lit the entire world ablaze with a mere snap of my fingers.

Dravyn seemed undeterred by the threat of me, however; he closed the distance separating us, reached through the rippling fire and took hold of me once more.

He spoke my name as his fingers brushed over my arm, and I bristled at the sound as though it was an insult, a raggedy garment he’d flung at me and insisted I wear. It was tattered. Torn. I was embarrassed to slip it on, becauseKaryswas the one who had given those retreating elves weapons to use against this realm.

Karyswho had trusted the wrong people for far too long.

She had been a fool, weak and useless compared to the being I was on the verge of becoming—the powerful being who had raced out of the tower with fire smoldering in her veins.

I wanted nothing to do withKarysat the moment.

But Dravyn insisted on continuing to call out to her. He repeated the name like a mantra, a part of some ancient, revered hymn that no amount of fire or destruction or regret could erase.

Every ounce of my new, waking power continued to rebel at the sound of it. I pulled away again and started toward the retreating group in earnest, now as eager to get away from Dravyn and my old name as I was to catch and incinerate my targets.

Dravyn’s voice followed me, circling around me, trying to drag me out of the dark waves and back to shore.

Miran-achth, he said, quietly,My breath. My Wildfire. Look at me.

I would have sworn he was speaking directly into my mind; the words were far too clear and loud given the distance between us.

I slowed, tilting my face toward him even as I continued to inch away.

“You don’t want to kill them,” he said, out loud now. “Not like this.”

I dug my nails into my palms, focusing on the pain of it. Smoke swirled around me once more. In the thick waves of grey I no longer saw any visions of the recent blood and destruction. Instead, there came another, slightly older memory of this realm: One of glass rectangles all lined up in neat rows—too many to easily count—all shining in the scattered torchlight.

Gravestones, I recalled.

One for every person Dravyn had killed right after he’d ascended.

It was so clear it seemed as if the God of Fire had—once again—planted it directly into my mind. Whether he’d done so on purpose or not, I couldn’t say, but I wondered…

Was such a thing possible, now that he’d transferred so much of his power into me?

How connected were we?

I shook my head, trying to clear it of the melancholy memories of glass and gravestones. I stumbled a few more feet away from him but went no farther than that.

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