Page 89 of Ashes to Ashes

“High stakes.” Ash peels off her shirt like she’s shedding armor for war. The thorn patterns spiral across her skin inliving tattoos that pulse with her heartbeat. Several Wild Court members suck in breath—living proof of royal bloodline carved in flesh.

“Always are,” Thornback grins, revealing teeth like broken glass. “Makes it interesting.”

They circle each other in the improvised ring, and I realize this isn’t just about proving strength. It’s about earning respect. These people have suffered for centuries because their royal line vanished. They won’t follow just anyone—even someone with the right blood.

Thornback moves first, closing distance with impossible speed for something his size. Ash doesn’t retreat—she flows aside like water, striking at pressure points.

But her human training isn’t enough. Thornback’s supernatural strength overwhelms her blocks, forcing her backward with combinations that would shatter normal bones.

“Fight like what you are!” I shout, unable to stay silent. “Stop thinking like a human!”

Her eyes flash green, and suddenly everything changes.

Ancient muscle memory hijacks her nervous system. She stops fighting like a human and starts moving like the earth itself—patient as stone, then devastating as earthquake. Every strike carries the weight of royal bloodline finally unleashed.

Thornback grins wider, recognizing not just royal bloodline but something rarer—earth-born fury finally awakened. They dance through the grove like natural disasters learning to waltz.

She’s beautiful unleashed.

When she finally finds her opening—a fraction of overextension in his guard—she takes it without mercy. Her strike hits the nerve cluster at the base of his neck.

Thornback drops like a felled tree.

Silence stretches through the grove. Then, slowly, the assembled Wild Court begins to kneel.

“Well,” The Morrigan says with satisfaction. “That settles the question of worthiness.”

But Ash doesn’t bask in the victory. Instead, she helps Thornback to his feet with the respect one warrior shows another.

“Good fight,” she says simply.

“Good fight,” he agrees, rubbing his neck. “You fight like the soil that birthed you—patient as growing seasons, then unstoppable as spring breaking through winter stone. The earth taught you combat before you had conscious thought.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. Her hand instinctively moves to touch the soil beneath her feet, suddenly understanding why it feels like coming home.

“The connection runs deeper than blood,” Thornback continues, watching her reaction with knowing eyes. “Born of earth, raised by humans, but the soil never forgets its children.”

Ash stares at soil that’s literally part of her. The earth that consumed her parents’ sacrifice and grew her from their remains. Her feet pulse in rhythm with ground that knows every cell of her body because it created every cell.

She nods once, then turns away from the circle of kneeling Wild Court members. Her expression has shuttered, professional distance reasserting itself.

“Thanks for the demonstration,” she says to The Morrigan, voice carefully neutral. “Very educational.”

“Ash—” I start forward, but she cuts me off with a look that could freeze flame.

“Don’t.” Her voice could stop a charging rhino. “Just don’t.”

“You can’t just?—”

“Watch me.” She retrieves her shirt and boots with sharp, efficient movements. “I came here for answers, not a fucking coronation ceremony.”

“This was truth,” The Morrigan says quietly.

“This was manipulation disguised as revelation.” Ash’s voice carries the cutting edge of betrayal. “You led me here like livestock to slaughter, then acted surprised when I didn’t praise for the knife.”

“The crown?—”

“Can wait.” She pulls on her boots like armor. “I don’t respond well to surprise job offers.”

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