Page 62 of Ash and Feather

Those haunting words Dravyn had spoken had already proven more true than I think either of us were prepared for.

“He’s not as far away as he may seem, for what it’s worth,” Rieta added after a moment of thought. “He’s been back periodically to check in on things here. To check on you.”

Warmth crept into my cheeks. “I still have a hard time seeing him as someone who could level an entire city without flinching,” I told her.

Even after personally witnessing how easily he could kill, it still felt at odds with the rational, protective god I knew. The one who was distancing himself now until he felt more fully in control of his anger and magic. The one who had protected me time and time again.

“No one is fully good or bad,” Rieta pointed out with a shrug.

I considered this as I measured and sifted flour into a bowl. “I expected to struggle more with the monstrous side of myself when I ascended,” I admitted. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like I truly ascended at all. Or like I only made it halfway.”

“It’s been different for you, I believe, because of how close you are to Dravyn, and how tightly your magic is woven together.”

I hadn’t forgotten the bloodthirsty drive I’d experienced when I first walked out of the Tower of Ascension, but she was right—the God of Fire had been there from the moment I’d woken up, talking me back from the ledge.

The same god who had recently returned to this realm covered in the blood of my enemies.

And theyweremy enemies, weren’t they?

To say that no one was fully good or bad felt like a gross oversimplification.

I massaged my temples, trying to soothe away a building headache. “But even Dravyn was fully monstrous in the beginning, based on what he’s told me.”

She frowned. “I suppose it can be argued that he was—at least for a time. Like most new gods. And yet, even then…” She hesitated, as if on the edge of revealing a secret she wasn’t sure she trusted me with.

I gave her an imploring look, and her gaze slowly softened until she finally relented and continued to speak.

“Do you know how I came to live in this realm…a mortal being blessed with enough magic to be able to survive here?”

I shook my head, fully intrigued, the spices I’d just started to measure momentarily forgotten. “No. But I’ve always wondered.”

“His brother—the one who is now the king of Galizur—wanted me put to death for failing to do anything to stop the assassins who killed their younger siblings. I was in the room when their sister was stabbed. I hid, Prince Fallon thought. Truth is I simply froze, and was lucky enough to go unnoticed.

“Still, I could have done more, I know, and Fallon wanted someone to blame for what had happened. But Dravyn stopped the execution order. And once he became a god, shortly thereafter, he returned to the royal city and took me away. Brought me here. A single life saved among all the chaos and bloodshed of that night probably doesn’t seem like much, but…well, it wasn’t meaningless tome, obviously.”

I went back to the spices, double and triple checking their measurements before dumping them into the bowl one by one. Quietly, I said, “I don’t think it was meaningless, either.”

I wasn’t entirely surewhatI thought. But chasing all the possibilities around in my head eventually led me to a single horrible one: If he could be good despite the monstrous things he’d done, then my sister could be a monster despite the good she’d done.

I wanted to shrivel up with the pain of this realization one moment. In the next, I wanted to rage against the very idea of it, to set fire to something,anythingto get it out of my head and stop the burning ache it caused in my heart.

But I refused to do any of these things in front of Rieta; I understood Dravyn’s need to be alone more than ever, suddenly.

She seemed to pick up on this. “I’ll come back in a bit to check in on you.” She eyed the stack of dishes she’d finished washing. “Do me a favor and try not to be so damn messy going forward, hm?”

I swallowed hard. My throat felt like it was full of broken glass. “I’ll try.”

She watched me for a bit longer, concern clouding her eyes, before she finally left.

I spent the next several hours alone, thinking of nothing except the steps to whatever I was cooking. I finished the first recipe—dozens of cinnamon-dusted cookies that had once been my father’s favorite treat—and then I jumped straight into another before my mind had any time to wander.

I wrote down each of these recipes in painstaking detail before I attempted them. Even though I likely could have made them from memory alone, the act of writing out each step brought me a greater sense of peace.

As long as I had lists and directions I could check off, I could keep moving. As long as I methodically followed them, I would make it through the day.

I passed the hours with one successful baked creation after another, falling into a daze that was, if not entirely peaceful, at least bearable. With each finished product, I slipped away a little more, until I was no longer present and hurting—I was the past me, back in my childhood home, and things were as they had always been.

I finally broke from my trance at what must have been close to the middle of the night, and only then because my magic stirred in a way I couldn’t ignore. It brought me to a stop in the middle of the kitchen, nearly causing me to drop the bowl of dough I’d been mixing.

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