Page 15 of Wings of Ash & Flame
It was what she’d expected, but it stung nonetheless. Alaire swallowed the lump in her throat, resisting the urge to reach back and trace the permanent reminders etched into her flesh.
“Where am I, exactly?” Alaire asked, needing a change of subject.
The soulwarden folded her hands in her lap. “You’re at one of the healing centers in a fae village near Grimstone.” Her expression softened slightly.
Alaire opened her mouth to ask more when a sharp knock interrupted them.
“Come in,” the soulwarden called out.
Professor Ross meandered through the door like he was out on a Sunday evening stroll. His sandy hair was slicked back, a garnet velvet cloak brushing the floor behind him. “I believe any questions are better answered once you’ve recovered.”
He looked to be entering his fourth decade, but was likely centuries older.
“Alright.” The soulwarden rose smoothly. “I’ll send food over now that you’re awake.”
Alaire watched the woman leave before turning her attention to the professor, his back to her as he peered through the curtains.
“Sorry about the hood and sedative. Nasty business. The warden would only release you to my custody if you departed with no memory of the way out.”
What view was sprawled out before him? She’d seen nothing but concrete and dead grass for months.
“I’ve sent word to Headmaster Carth. Take today to rest and recover your strength. You’ll need it. Tomorrow, we depart at first light for Aeris Academy.”
As suddenly as he appeared, Professor Ross swept out of the room without a glance in her direction.
But the question lingered—why would the fae permit a human to attend Aeris Academy? She had nothing to offer them. No one did something for nothing.
It felt like an unpaid debt hanging over her head. And she feared what they would want when they came to collect.
The night passed in a blur of restless preparation and fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares of lacerations against her skin, tears streaming down her face, and screams for mercy that went ignored.
But dawn waited for no one, and as the first light filtered through the curtains, Alaire rose.
She dressed in silence. The healer had given her a tunic of richly woven linen that fell to mid-thigh, dyed deep emerald. It was soft to the touch yet durable, with reinforced stitching alongthe seams. Matching leggings tapered at her ankles, tucked into soft, supple leather boots. Simple, yet functional.
With a deep breath, Alaire slipped the breathbind reliquary into a pocket sewn into her leggings. She moved to the basin of lotus flowers, splashed water on her face, and dared to look in the mirror for the first time in months.
A ghost stared back—hollowed cheeks and eyes shadowed by memories better left forgotten.
She lifted her shirt, catching sight of the single scar encircling her rib—a permanent reminder of a past that clung to her skin. Now cleansed, her light brown tresses hung limp around her oval face.
A knock rapped on her door. She didn’t have time to contemplate the reflection staring back at her.
Aeris Academy awaited.
Five
For ten days, they rode toward Aeris Academy.
Autumn painted the forest in fire. Crimson and burnt-orange canopies of leaves stretched endlessly above their small party.
Alaire inhaled deeply, savoring the woodsmoke and damp earth. The bite of the wind left her cheeks rosy, but it was one of the several hundred reminders she had pocketed away—a reminder that she’d made it out.
They traveled with two stoic fae guards, one leading while the other brought up the rear. Alaire’s black mare trotted behind Professor Ross, hooves churning through mud slick from days of rain. Their escorts were air wielders, like most fae in Cielore, able to redirect airflow to soften the brunt of the harsh winds pelting rain at them.
Each night, her body was sore and aching with exhaustion. The thin bedroll Professor Ross provided was a luxury compared to Grimstone’s lumpy cot. Yet sleep still managed to elude her. She should’ve been accustomed to the constant noise from Grimstone, but the forest sounded alive in a way she wasn’t used to. Alaire lay awake imagining creatures with gnashing teeth, bodies of polished bone, and ligaments of swirling shadows.
When exhaustion finally claimed her, memories far more harrowing than any nightmare clawed at the edges of her mind.
