Page 53 of Ash and Feather

I was not here.

That was not my sister.

It could notbe my sister.

She was speaking. Lips moving, hands gesturing. Her words didn’t register. The crowd responded with enthusiastic cheers to whatever she was saying. I felt my body moving toward the noise like a moth drawn to fire, knowing it would hurt but unable to resist the urge to get closer.

The crowd was too thick to push through, so I located a fenced-off yard nearby and climbed onto the wooden railing. I found my balance, one boot pressed against a thick, splinteringpost, just in time to get a clear view of my sister lifting her sword for another strike.

The blade gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight, its edge splattered with surprisingly little blood. Her first strike must have been clean and quick, aided by her inhuman strength. All elves possessed it; my sister had always been one to train to the point of obsession, trying to make herself even stronger.

She twisted the blade with the flourish of a performer, continuing to smile at the crowd. That smile looked just as I remembered it. Warm, confident, unyielding. The same expression, the same face I’d pictured for years while trying to fall asleep. Thinking of her used to chase away the nightmarish things pressing in.

Now, shewasthe nightmare.

But that was not her, and I was not myself, and I was not here, not here,not here…

The blade sliced forward only to leap back before touching skin. A practice swing. Another swing, faster this time—

“Savna! No! DON’T!”

I hadn’t meant to shout it, or even say it out loud.

She heard me, I think—enough that she flinched—but I don’t know if she saw me or truly recognized me.

I never found out.

In the next instant, a hand was on my leg, startling me and causing my balance to sway. I pitched backwards, someone grabbing me and yanking me further off balance.

I was dragged from the fence and far away from the restless and noisy crowd. Slammed against the side of a tall grey building. My breath left me in a violentwhoosh.My vision twisted and flickered.

“How dare you speak her true name,” came a growling voice. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

I blinked, trying to fight through the dizziness. A furious elven man came into focus, his face mere inches from mine. He wore a jacket with a symbol sewn into its collar—an upside-down triangle with a sun around its lowest point. More regalia adorned his sleeves. His skin was lined with scars, his breath sour, his eyes a deep brown flecked with red that made me think of dried blood.

I fumbled for a response to his question. It hadn’t occurred to me thatGodwalkerwas more than just a nickname for my sister—that maybe it was an entirely new identity she’d taken on to help hide her until she was ready for…

Forwhat?

What the hell was shedoing?

When I couldn’t manage a reply quickly enough, Blood Eyes shifted one of his hands from my arm to my neck, pushing me harder against the wall, choking tightly enough to make our surroundings spin.

A second solider emerged from the churning scenery, a dagger drawn and ready in his hand.

I fought the urge to cough and sputter, trying to remain calm and take small, consistent breaths. But these breaths weren’t enough; my vision started to dim. My body slumped. I forced my eyes to stay open, even as my surroundings spun; the sickening churning was better than surrendering to the darkness.

“Gentlemen,” came a familiar voice.

Andrel.

The spinning slowed for an instant, then got worse as he drew nearer and continued to speak.

“What is going on here?”

The grip on my throat loosened the tiniest bit as Blood Eyes glanced over his shoulder.

I managed a somewhat normal breath. Black dots still danced in my vision, threatening to take over, but I focused on the color in between them.

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