Page 106 of The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King

Mische was a good teacher, though training with her reminded me too much of the time we had spent working on our magic together during the Kejari. Then, Mische had only been one half of my instruction. The other had come from Vincent, whose teaching style had been the opposite of hers in every way—rigid commands and control to counter every instance of Mische harping on about opening one’s heart and soul. To return to one without the other highlighted the shape of his absence… a wound that, unlike the ones on my wings, felt like it would never heal.

In our rest time, we examined the pendant. Mische was not only a talented magic user, but well-read in sorcery and magical history. Still, even between the two of us, we couldn’t make much sense of what the thing was or what it did. I was the only one who could touch it, though it wasn’t especially pleasant—making Vincent’s presence feel far too close, even more than his sword did. The best Mische could figure was that it was just a piece of something larger—perhaps a key, or a compass, or a device intended to enhance the power of something else. Not a power in itself, she theorized, but something designed to unleash another. But even these thoughts were just guesses, frustratingly rooted as much in luck as in fact.

At nightfall and dawn, Mische tended to my wounds, which continued to improve dramatically with each passing day. None of the treatments were as painful as that first one. None, thankfully, were as… pleasurable, either.

One day, as she observed the remaining wounds, she remarked, “You already look so much better! This stuff must be worth whatever Raihn went through to get it.”

“Whatever he went through?” I repeated.

“It wasn’t easy to find. But he was determined.” A pause, then, more tentatively, “He was so worried. We thought…”

I thought I lost you,Raihn had said, the words shuddering along my skin.

I was suddenly very uncomfortable with this line of conversation.

“He’s got to protect his asset,” I muttered, even though the words tasted bitter—even though I knew it wasn’t true.

Mische sighed, dabbing at the last wound on my left wing. “Raihn has a lot of flaws, Oraya,” she murmured, “but he knows how to love.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

I wasn’t sure what it meant that I couldn’t think of anything at all.

* * *

“You’re blocking it,”Mische said, for the fifteenth time that day. I gritted my teeth and tried to ignore her.

Since I’d received my Heir Mark, my magic had become undoubtedly more powerful. I could feel it constantly thrashing under my skin. But with that power came more volatility than I knew how to control. Like every time I used it, I had to tap into something viscerally painful.

Right now, the pressure built, sharper and sharper, like a blade slowly parting skin.

“Keep going,” Mische said. Her voice was distant over the sound of my blood rushing in my ears. “Don’t let go of it!”

A bead of sweat dripped down my nose. Despite Mische’s commands, I could still hear Vincent in my ear, too:Focus. Control. Willpower.

Lately, his voice had been an unwelcome visitor.

The Nightfire sputtered and roared, threatening to either spin out of control or wither away completely, as I balanced on the edge between shutting myself off and falling into a pit of emotion I couldn’t confront.

Where do you want me to go?Vincent whispered.I’m a part of you. And isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?

Once, I had wanted nothing more than I wanted to be Vincent. Even now, a part of me still wanted it—even knowing how he had lied to me, knowing what he had done to my family and his, knowing the brutality he had inflicted upon people just like me for centuries.

I was ashamed of it.

Ashamed?Vincent said.I made you everything that you are, and you say that you are ashamed of me?

That one was a memory. One of the last things he had said to me.

The Nightfire flared, spinning out of control. Mische took a step back. I struggled to wrangle it. Struggled to fight back the war of shame and guilt in my head.

But when I was using magic, everything came so much closer to the surface. It was Vincent’s magic, after all—his blood that gave me this power, his Heir Mark that intensified it. I could not wield it without feeling his presence breathing down my throat.

“Keep going!” Mische urged, though I could barely hear her.

My eyes burned against the blinding white of the Nightflame. In that light, I saw Vincent’s bloody face in those final moments—always so real, no matter how many times I tried to forget it.

The voice in my ear whispered his final words.So many regrets in the end. Never you.

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