Page 49 of Ash and Feather

And there he was—a tall, familiar figure with dark hair giving instructions to a small group of soldiers, his voice as arrogant and smooth as ever.

Andrel.

Chapter 13

Karys

I foughtthe urge to reach for the scar near my heart.

My stomach twisted more violently.

Move, I silently commanded myself.You have to keep moving.

I’d known there was a good chance I would find him here if this truly was the heart of the elven rebellion. It shouldn’t have been such a shock to my system.

But it was, it so painfullywas, and the storm of emotions that roared through me nearly knocked me off my feet. I tasted bile in the back of my throat but swallowed it down. I tried—and failed—to follow this with a deep breath. Dizziness threatened.

Suddenly, warmth blossomed in my chest, right below the scar, spilling through my veins and somehow making it easier to breathe. To move.

I couldn’t say if it was Dravyn—his magic reaching across the space between us and wrapping protectively around me when I needed it most. But Iwantedit to be him. I needed it to be him.

I needed to know I wasn’t alone in this place, if only for a moment.

I steadied myself in that warmth for the span of a few breaths before reminding myself that, even if Dravyn could catch glimpses of my thoughts and feelings, he wasn’t coming in here to rescue me.

That wasn’t the plan.

It was up to me to make something of this mission. To prove myself to the divine courts.

And Andrel presented an opportunity, loathe as I was to get closer to him.

I leaned casually against the closest building, out of sight, but still near enough to catch snippets of the conversation he was having.

That conversation was already drawing to a close, however. As it trailed off, I chanced a quick look around the corner. The men he’d been ordering around were giving quick salutes before leaving in the opposite direction. Andrel walked toward me, coming uncomfortably close to where I stood, before turning down the main street and heading toward the barracks.

I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he made his way into that set of buildings. He was one of several coming and going without any fuss—it was a low-security, residential establishment, as I’d suspected. And it was the only place that didn’t appear entirely locked down.

There was nothing to do except follow him.

Inside was a maze of doors and hallways. I lost sight of Andrel almost instantly. But I knew his scent better than most, even if every part of me wanted to forget it. I could follow it with little effort, too, given that my godly senses were even stronger than my elvish ones had been.

My tracking skills only got me so far, however; I eventually came to a locked door—one he was clearly on the other side of.

Luckily, no one saw me pulling on it in vain, nor heard the curse I let out before I turned around and ducked into the nearest open room to calculate my next step.

There were no lights nor windows in this room, and I was so distracted by racing thoughts of Andrel that, at first, I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone.

A young elven woman sat by an unlit fireplace in the corner. She held a small glass orb in her hands—a bomb of some sort. Five more lay beside her in a neat row. I could smell sulphur and charcoal, and I saw that little flecks of a crushed red…somethingcoated the floor around her.

Corpseroot powder, I thought; I’d seen Cillian make explosives with similar ingredients.

The woman glanced my way but said nothing. She seemed to be hoping I’d realize I was in the wrong place and leave.

Maybe I should have. But something about those bombs—and the pang of familiarity they caused—made me stay put.

“You’re a new face,” the woman eventually said without looking up.

“Sorry to interrupt you.”

---