Page 3 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
Her voice faltered when she spoke of Father, grief welling in her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight.
Instinctively, I moved to her side, wrapping her in a tight embrace, feeling her warmth seep into me as if to shield us both from the cold reality encircling our hearts.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I miss him too,” I whispered, trying to infuse my voice with a confidence I didn’t quite feel. “He’s going to be okay. I’ll bring him back, I swear it.” I kissed the top of her head and offered her my brightest smile, a fragile mask against the storm of worry brewing within me.
She responded with a gentle caress, rubbing her thumb along my cheek and tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear, her touch a bittersweet reminder of all that was lost.
What she didn’t realize was that every night, when shadows engulfed our home, I heard her soft, heart-wrenching sobs drifting from her room. Each sound pierced through me, a jagged reminder of her sorrow, tearing at the fabric of my already fragile heart.
Her sorrow fueled me.
Tomorrow was my twenty-seventh birthday. I had a feeling my powers would finally come.
And when they did, I would kill theKing and free my father.
Chapter Two
My eyes shot open, and I was immediately greeted with a splitting headache.
I groaned as I rubbed my temples.
I had one too many ales the previous night with Landen, which ended with him confessing his love for me and me using him for pleasure.
I felt kind of bad about it…
I jolted out of bed, disappointed that I didn’t feel any different—besides being hungover. I had no dreams, no visions, and from what I could feel, there was no power coursing through my bones.
Yet again.
Un-fucking-believable.
There is no doubt in my mind that I am human.
I ran to my mirror and looked at my reflection. Nothing. I was supposed to gain my power and fulfill a prophecy. I was supposed to save my father. Was I not worthy? Were the gods and goddesses damning me to live without any power?
I rushed to find Mother, tears welling in my eyes.
“Mother!” I yelled, racing into the bathroom where she stood, braiding her long chestnut hair.
“Happy birthday, darling! How are you—” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the worry etched across my face, a frown deepening on her brow. She stepped closer, her gentle hands resting on my shoulders, grounding me. “What is wrong? Did the gods tell you something?”
“No!” I whined, my voice cracked with frustration. “That’s the thing! They didn’t tell me shit! They never do!”
Her expression softened, and she pulled me into a warm, tight embrace. The scent of her lavender perfumeenveloped me like a warm summer day. “It’s alright, darling. Perhaps they are simply waiting for the right moment to share their guidance. Not everyone receives their messages at midnight on their eighteenth birthday. You know this.”
I sniffled. It was stupid of me to even cry about this. I was acting like a child, even though I was a grown ass adult.
Glancing down, a wave of discontent washed over me. “You did…”
“Yes, I did,” she replied softly, smoothing down my unruly bedhead with a delicate touch. She gently positioned me in front of the ornate mirror, its surface reflecting my troubled expression back at me.
My heterochromatic eyes stared back—one a vivid blue, the other a warm hazel—bloodshot from a sleepless night filled with unanswered questions. Mother began to braid my long, dark blonde hair with practiced hands, her fingers deftly weaving strands together, each twist and turn infused with care.
“You must have patience, Elara,” she said, her voice calm like a gentle stream. “Not everything unfolds as it should in haste. Perhaps you should send a prayer to theGod of Knowledge, askingTeoshimself for the guidance you seek.”
Yup, done that a thousand times.
I let out a weary sigh, nodding in reluctant agreement. She wasn’t wrong; wisdom often required the virtue of patience—a quality that seemed to evade me like a fleeting shadow.
