Page 16 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Fear. Shame. Anger. She could still taste the blood that had coated her tongue to keep from screaming.
It was the second time the guards had caught her—this time for stealing a pair of shoes and crusty loaf of bread.
The guard had cut her tunic with a sword, exposing her back to the crowd. A message to those who dared defy their laws. Twenty-four lashes: twelve for each item she’d stolen. They tied her to a post in the human district’s central square.
She bit the inside of her cheek at the beginning, but by the tenth lash, she couldn’t keep the screams of agony inside as vicious pain radiated through her.
Afterward, she’d crawled into a dark alley, collapsing on top of a pile of discarded boxes. Lying on her stomach, back shredded and torn, Alaire had welcomed death then—certain infection would set in, or she’d bleed out, all while barely conscious. But for whatever reason, she hadn’t.
Alaire jerked awake. Sweat clung to her neck. It was still dark. Drawing her knees to her chest, she pressed her forehead against them, trying to steady her breath.
She tried to remind herself that she was safe now. But safety was an illusion for humans; danger lurked around every corner, simply because of the shape of their ears.
Once she’d healed, she tracked down the guard who’d debased her and left her like a discarded animal. She’d waited until he was alone, her steps silent and precise, a shadow shaped by Blake’s lessons. Then took her time repaying him, slowly, for the pain he’d savored inflicting on her.
Alaire pushed the memory away. That part of her life—the girl from the gutters who’d done unspeakable things to survive—needed to stay buried.
However, no matter how desperately she tried to bury that day, the scars beneath her tunic lingered, a reminder that some wounds never really faded.
The guards had become lulled by the rhythmic clatter of the horses’ canter against the packed earth: the one leading was slouched in his saddle, while the rear guard’s reins hung slack in his hands.
Not Alaire. She sat straight-backed, eyes cataloging every detail of the changing landscape. The scent of brine and salt from the North Sea mingled with yesterday’s rain.
She scrutinized Professor Ross’s back. Already, she was entering Aeris Academy at a disadvantage. She was determined to glean any information she could. So far, he’d deflected every attempt she’d made to extract anything useful.
“Something on your mind?” Professor Ross’s voice was brittle, like dried leaves beneath boots.
“Are you planning on letting me walk into this place blind? Or will I have to ask you several hundred times only to receive another vague response?” Alaire pulled the reins on her mare until she was side by side with the professor.
“People share more when left to fill the silence themselves.”
Time for another tactic.
“Is it true that fae from all seven houses attend Aeris Academy?”
“Yes, that’s correct.” Professor Ross kept his eyes on the dirt road ahead. “Well, six. One of the houses perished some years ago.”
Even she had heard about the fall of House Ashfyre.
She studied his profile.
“Will there be fae at the academy bonded to Celestial Familiars?”
He finally glanced her way, his eyes gleaming as if she’d finally asked the right question. “Celestial Familiars are a cornerstone of our magic system and the heart of the legend that has shaped Elithian for centuries.”
Alaire’s interest was piqued. The celestials were not just stories; they were Elithian legend.
Professor Ross clucked his tongue, urging his horse into a trot. “Before the mountains rose and the sea churned, the world was formed from the essence of two primordial beings—one of light and one of darkness.”
“Lysia and Umbra.” Alaire knew that part. The creation story was recited often at the orphanage.
“Together, they created aether. The fabric of life.”
“Aether,” Alaire repeated from memory, “is the source of all magic.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Celestial Familiars each embody an element bound by aether. When they descended to Elithian, they bonded with fae bloodlines aligned to their nature.”
“And these same bloodlines now hold all the power while others bleed for scraps.” She dug her calves into the horse to keep from falling as they crossed a patch of rough terrain.
