Page 98 of Ash and Feather

Mairu said my name in warning.

But I was already moving.

I shifted my form, flames engulfing my body and burning away the limits of my human shape. As I passed beyond the edge of the training grounds and into the hills beyond, I was fully changed—a great, winged beast spiraling through the air like a flaming arrow shot by a divinely powerful, impossibly accurate archer.

People screamed. Chaos and confusion roared at my back. I was making a messy situation messier by revealing this form, this power. But I didn’t look back to witness what turmoil I’d stirred up—only ahead, my gaze fixed on the pale horse Andrel rode as he dragged it to a stop and jerked it around to see what everyone was shouting about.

I soared directly at them, fiery claws lashing out and scraping against the horse’s sweat-slicked body, causing the creature torear and throw its rider to the ground. It shot off into the night as Andrel rolled onto his back, gasping for breath.

I landed directly in front of him, bringing a swirling vortex of wind and fire crashing down with me. My claws dug into the earth. The dry grass ignited all around me, cutting us off from the rest of the world.

A few of Andrel’s fellow soldiers attempted to push through the flames and reach him.

I focused my power and the fence of fire roared higher.

We would not be interrupted.

As Andrel tried to push himself upright, I began to change.

I could have stayed in my beastly form. Could have wrapped my wings around him and set him alight, easy as that. The fires of my body would have swallowed him entirely within seconds, easily burning his worthless body until nothing but ash remained.

But it would not have been nearly as satisfying as drawing his blood. As watching him squirm. When I went into more beastly shapes, much of my awareness went with it. Submitting to a more primal version of me and my power served a purpose occasionally, but for this…I was going to remain fully conscious for this so I could enjoy it.

Andrel’s eyes met mine as my human-like features took shape once more. He stopped attempting to sit up. He stayed on his back, one hand over his heart, the other stretched out beside him.

I took the small knife from my ankle sheath. My gaze swept over him, fixing on the hand outstretched to his right.

I stabbed my knife into the center of his palm, all the way through, pinning him to the ground.

His body convulsed. Curled up with pain. Shock blanched his face. His eyes squeezed tight, then opened and stared wide-eyed at nothing, clearly trying but failing to register his surroundings.

It took several more gasping breaths and slow, dazed blinks before he returned to something like awareness. He managed a breath. Recognized me more fully. Went very still. His fingers twitched as blood oozed from around my impaled knife.

But eventually—as I probably should have expected—a slight, mocking smile stretched across his pale face. “Oh, great and powerful God of Fire,” he mumbled, “showmercy.”

“You are praying to the wrong fucking god for mercy,” I informed him.

He closed his eyes. Pain clenched them tighter and tighter. “Please.”

I pushed the knife deeper. Twisted it until I drew another satisfying, desperate gasp from him.

“Please,” he said through another choking breath.

“You’d like for me to free you from this knife, would you?”

He went deathly still. His lips moved as if to form words, but then he merely breathed in a deep, shaking inhale—swallowing what I was certain was a foolish, mocking statement to go along with his foolish, mocking smile. Sweat dripped from his forehead. His eyes crinkled around the edges.

“Yes,” he said.

Scarlet edged my vision. Divine strength surged through me, sending more tendrils of fire rolling out from my body. I pulled the knife from his palm, only to strike toward his wrist instead, guiding the blade deep into flesh and bone alike, severing his hand with a single quick, calculated motion.

Once I’d finished, I wiped his blood from my knife and rose to my full height. “Consider yourselffreed.”

I stood over him, perfectly still, watching as he writhed about and cradled the bloodied stump to his chest. His pain was music to my ears. Little stuttering breaths. Occasional whimpers. Gasping dry heaves as he clenched his remaining hand around his stomach and tried not to vomit from pain.

A human would have likely already succumbed to shock, and there would have been nothing left to do but watch him bleed out. But the elf showed a bit more vitality than this, staying conscious despite the lack of color in his face.

He went silent disappointingly quickly as well, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes against the pain until he managed to collect himself.

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