Page 49 of Ashes to Ashes

The Morrigan appears beside me like shadows given form. “The binding begins, with or without ritual’s blessing,” she says, voice like prophecy made flesh.

“Three paths,” the words tear from my throat like an oath I was born to speak. My hand presses against the Cauldron’s mark as ancient knowledge floods through me. “She’s not just royal blood—she’s the key to everything we’ve lost. And I’m bound to her whether she knows it or not.”

“Yes,” she confirms, voice soft as midnight velvet. “And she must choose her path like a queen choosing her crown. But first, she must survive the storm her awakening will unleash upon all our worlds.”

This is going to be one hell of a complication.

10

ASH

The Academy library breathes.

It slams into me the second I slip through those doors—walls expanding and contracting like I’ve stepped into the chest cavity of some ancient beast.

Aged leather, shifting ink, and something else—ozone crackling against earth with starlight woven through.

Magic coats my tongue thick as honey and sets my teeth vibrating.

Books float between shelves. Entire rows twist and reform, wood groaning in protest. A tome big as my torso drifts overhead, pages ruffling in a wind I can’t feel.

It’s beautiful, mesmerizing, and after the initial amazement, my jaw locks tight.

This library hates me.

Locate information on the Four Treasures without detection.

Simple words. Clean objectives. But my hands shake now, and sweat slicks my lower back in cold streams. Nothing about this place fits into neat boxes.

I approach what looks like Fae history. The pendant at my throat sits ice-cold against clammy skin, fighting whatever’sclawing its way out. Beneath my sleeve, the thorn patterns have spread, green-white tendrils snaking past my elbow, pulsing hot near anything Wild Court related.

Like right fucking now.

My fingertips brushCourt Divisions: The Great Sundering, and the patterns flare with heat that shoots up my arm straight to my heart. Not pain—something worse. Something trying to speak through my skin. My teeth clamp down hard, metallic taste flooding my mouth.

Don’t show it. Lock it down, Morgan. Compartmentalize like your life depends on it. Because it probably does.

Too fucking late.

“Humans rarely find historical texts so... stimulating,” a voice grates behind me.

I don’t flinch—that reflex burned out years ago in a North Korean black site. I turn to find Master Tadhg watching me, mismatched eyes making bile rise. One green, one blue, neither blinking enough.

“Professional interest,” I say, yanking my hand back from leather that still smolders with my touch. “Unless you’re suggesting humans aren’t capable of intellectual curiosity.” I let my smile turn sharp. “Though I notice you said ‘stimulating’—interesting word choice.”

The challenge hangs between us. His mismatched eyes narrow—one pupil expanding while the other contracts.

“The section you want is three shelves down,” he points with a gnarled finger. “This section contains historical accounts too... advanced for human comprehension.”

His dismissal scrapes against something raw in my chest. My spine snaps straight, vertebrae clicking into perfect alignment like a weapon being cocked.

“I’ve found that comprehension has more to do with dedication than—” my voice catches, words thick on my tongue, “—species.”

Something flashes across his ancient face before vanishing behind practiced contempt. “As you wish, Professor Morgan. The library accommodates all seekers, even those who don’t know what they’re truly seeking.”

He shuffles away, but his attention crawls like spiders between my shoulder blades as I move toward the section he indicated.

The books want nothing to do with me.

---