Page 179 of Ashes to Ashes

My chest caves inward, ribs crushing around nothing. “What kind of debt?”

“The kind that binds royal blood to service. She accepted my intervention at the moment of greatest peril, which creates magical obligation under ancient law.” His smile turns predatory, revealing teeth sharp enough to tear flesh. “One favor, to be called when I choose. Binding. Unbreakable. Absolute.”

“Which brings us to tomorrow’s Trial of Power,” Father says with false casualness that makes every instinct scream danger. “Your final mission before contract renewal.”

My blood turns to slush in my veins. “Contract renewal.”

“Did you think two decades of investment would simply... melt away like spring frost? That I had trained my perfect weapon only to release him into the wild?” His laugh could freeze blood in living veins. “Lady Amarantha has formally requested verification of royal claims through treasure manifestation. All four treasures must respond to prove authentic Wild Court royal blood.” His voice drops to absolute satisfaction. “I supported the request, naturally. For the good of inter-court relations.”

The trap reveals itself with brutal clarity, each element clicking into place like clockwork designed by a sadist. “You want her to fail.”

“I want to collect my debt at the most politically advantageous moment,” he corrects with the precision of a surgeon choosing where to cut. “When she attempts to call the treasures and faces magical backlash from an impossible task, she will be desperate. Vulnerable. In need of... assistance.”

“And your favor?”

“Will be to bind herself to Unseelie court service. Permanently. A new twenty-year contract, this time with royal Wild Court blood sworn to Unseelie authority, grateful for salvation and bound by magic she cannot break.” His eyes glitter with triumph. “The perfect political asset. And the perfect chain to keep my heir exactly where he belongs.”

My knees threaten to buckle as the full scope becomes clear. Twenty years of serving to protect Kestra, only to be trapped by a new hostage, a new chain. The Spear burns so hot against my chest that I’m amazed it doesn’t brand through skin and bone. “You do not want her dead. You want her enslaved. And you want me re-contracted.”

“I want my investments properly secured. Wild Court royal blood is too valuable to waste through execution. But it must serve the greater good rather than destabilizing established order.” He gestures. “Life debts are remarkably effective. Ask your sister—she still honors hers to me, even after all these years.”

He snaps his fingers with casual cruelty that makes the air itself recoil. “Attend.”

A human woman materializes from shadows—middle-aged, wearing servant’s clothing. She moves to Father’s side in steps too even to be human, eyes fixed on nothing while her hands pour wine with trembling precision.

“Refreshment,” he commands without looking at her, as if she’s a piece of furniture that happens to pour wine.

She pours with hands that tremble from magical suppression, then retreats to hover nearby like a living decoration. Father doesn’t acknowledge her existence beyond utility. Sweat breaks across my forehead despite the arctic air, the Spear burning hot enough to sear flesh.

“You see how simple it becomes when expectations are properly... managed,” he continues conversationally, as if the enslaved woman isn’t three feet away. “Kestra learned that lesson beautifully. Humans serve. Fae rule. Order maintained.”

The woman’s eyes meet mine for just a moment—a flash of awareness trapped behind magical compulsion, terror and pleading and resignation all layered together in a gaze that will haunt my nightmares. The same look I saw in Kestra’s eyes the day she realized the full scope of what I’d traded for her freedom. The Spear’s burning reaches nuclear intensity, ancient power recognizing the absolute wrongness of what I’m witnessing.

“Your mother had similar delusions about choice,” Father adds, ice-blue eyes never leaving my face. “She believed love could overcome political necessity. Look how that ended.”

Shadows explode outward from my position in violent geometric patterns that crack the stone floor. The enslaved woman flinches but doesn’t move, can’t move, trapped in her magical prison while forced to witness my destruction.

“Careful,” Father warns with amusement that could freeze the sun itself. “Emotional displays are so... beneath royal dignity.”

“And my role in this masterpiece of manipulation?”

“Continue providing intelligence. Maintain your emotional attachment—it will be useful for controlling her once she is bound. And sign a new contract, naturally.” His ice-blue eyes hold mine. “Another twenty years should suffice. By then, youwill be properly broken in, and she will be so thoroughly conditioned that neither of you will remember what freedom felt like.”

The words land like poison in my veins. Another twenty years. Another two decades of being his perfectly controlled weapon, this time with Ash as the new leverage instead of Kestra. The same trap, reset with fresh bait.

I used to think protecting Ash was part of my mission.

Now I know she is the mission.

Not just a key to Wild Court restoration. Not a strategic pawn.

She’s the fucking point.

The Spear burns against my ribs with such intensity that I’m surprised the ancient weapon doesn’t burst into visible flame. Ancient power recognizing the injustice in every calculated word, screaming against the wrongness of what he’s planning.

It doesn’t want diplomacy.

It wants justice.

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