Page 121 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
I wasn’t dreaming. I was awake.
“Moonblade.”She said, her tone laced with amusement, as if my confusion entertained her.
My head snapped up.“Who the hell—?”
“It’s Ninaria, silly. I tried sounding like a scary Dragon… did it work?”She laughed. The fucking Dragon laughed…
“Uhhh, yeah. Very scary indeed,”I whispered back to her.
“Moonblade. Do you like it? Misun has a cool nickname for Elara, so I wanted one for you too. I thought of your hair, and—it reminds me of the moon.”
I chuckled to myself.
“It’s perfect. Ninaria?”I asked, making sure I didn’t piss off what seemed like a sweet dragon but I knew there was no such thing.
Then she told me what she was—who she was—and every word seemed more impossible than the last. She wasn’t my enemy. She wasn’t here to harm me.
And though I wasn’t Elementara, I was bonded to one; therefore, Elara shared her powers with me when our bond fully formed. At least, that’s what Ninaria explained, and I believed her. I could feel our bond. I knew I could trust her.She was sharp-witted, almost infuriatingly so, with a humor that made it impossible not to smirk even while chained. And when she revealed her own bond—to Misundranaryan—I felt the corner pieces of a much bigger puzzle snapping into place.
And Elara… Elara was still out there.
Now
Flames split the sky.
My mate—my gods-damned, glorious mate—was flying through the air as if she had wings. Elara’s Fae form blazed in the cloudy sky, as flame-tipped arrows rained down from her bow, cutting through the guards at my back before they could take another step toward me, Makar, Eryn, or Gavrin.
The queen was dead. Just like that.
But it wasn’t the relief that made my chest tighten—it was the shock. Mage Hand. Elara just summoned Mage Hand. That was magic most full-blooded Mages couldn’t even dream of conjuring, and here she was, wielding it like it was hers by birthright. I hadn’t known she could do it. She didn’t tell me. And gods, I didn’t care. I wasn’t angry. I was fucking proud. Proud enough that it burned hotter than the fire around us.
Mage Hand’s invisible grip tore the iron from my neck, the searing bite gone in an instant, and I sucked in a breath that wasn’t laced with rust and pain. The cuffs fell from the others as well, clattering against the ground like the death knell for anyone still loyal to the king.
Makar ripped the cuff from his neck and let out a dramatic gasp. “Ah, sweet freedom—and here I thought I was about to spend the rest of my life as an ugly necklace display.”
There was so much fucking chaos.
“Bring me my son’s head!” King Aymon roared.
Makar’s attention snapped across the courtyard. Fintan stood there, wide-eyed, the air around him hummingwith power—raw, newly unleashed magic. It clung to him like a second skin.
“Shit,” Makar muttered, already running toward him before he even heard Elara’s command. “Stay alive, Silverthorn, I’m not babysitting you in the afterlife,” he shouted at Fintan as if he could hear him.
Eryn reached down and hauled me to my feet. “Get up, soldier,” she said, voice low and steady, the kind of tone that could drag a man out of the grave. “Our Queen isn’t done yet.”
Before I could answer, three guards rushed us, blades raised. Gavrin slammed into the first one, knocking him flat. Makar ducked under a swing from another and drove his elbow into the man’s throat with surprising precision, sending him to his knees as he ran towards Fintan and Elara. Eryn caught the last guard’s blade on her own, shoved him back, and snarled.
She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Go to her, Zayn. We’ve got this.”
And I didn’t hesitate.
I sprinted for Elara. My boots hit the stone hard, the sound of steel on steel and the dying groans of men fading behind me. The only thing I saw was her—my mate—standing in the middle of the chaos, her hair wild, her power a blaze of fire and fury, the king already ensnared in her magic.
Vines thick as rope and lined with dagger-like thorns coiled around Aymon’s body, tightening until blood welled along his skin. He twisted, strained, but the more he fought, the deeper the thorns bit.
Elara’s words were powerful as she spoke to the people. “Stand with him, and you’ll die. Stand with us, and we will tear down every chain, every wall, every lie. We will build a kingdom not of kings and subjects—but of people who stand as equals. Magic and mortal, side by side. This is not just rebellion. This is the beginning of a world worth fighting for.”
People scattered.
