Page 1 of A Storm of Fire and Ash
Chapter One
The King is trash.
Absolute, total trash. I fucking hate him.
Mother and I barely scraped together enough money to cover our house payment, leaving us with scant change for food to put on the table that night. Every month, we have to give the King money for living on his land—even though we are on the outskirts of the palace. We aren’t even allowed past the gates unless someone is being punished or killed. The King likes to put them on display for all to watch. Even us peasants.
With nothing left over for food, I had to hunt.
Yay.
I didn’t mind it. Hunting gave me an excuse to use my bow and arrow, my one obsession since childhood. Mother, of course, said it was a man’s job. But since there was no man in our lives, I filled that role.
Some days, I shamelessly flirted with Landen, the town's best baker—and my best friend with benefits—just to get some free day-old bread. Occasionally, we fooled around a little; after all, he was very good-looking and was a great kisser. He also had a nice cock. Not that I had much to compare it to.
Last year, my world shattered when Father was ripped away from us. The grief carved itself into my soul like a brand. I’d screamed to the gods for my magic, begged them to give me power to undo the cruelty that had broken us.
Mages didn’t get their powers until their 18th birthday, when they also received the name of their fated mate. The gods blessed us with unique gifts and sometimes a prophecy. Not like the Royal Fae, who were born withmagic and only heard whispers of their mate if they were deemed worthy. All Mages were worthy.
Except me.
On my eighteenth birthday—nothing. No powers. No prophecy. No mate. I might as well have been human for fuck’s sake. The gods didn’t find me worthy, and honestly, I couldn’t blame them.
Mother had told me how theGoddess of Lovewhispered my father’s name to her when she turned eighteen. She’d followed that whisper right to him. They’d been together ever since. She called him her prophecy, even if none had been given to her.
She was gifted with earth magic. She coaxed life back into plants, soothed the soil, even charmed bees. She worked as an herbalist, known in our village for her poultices, teas, cherry wine, and herbal remedies. Every mixture held Magecraft hidden from human eyes.
Her second love was her bees. She tended her hives with a reverence most people reserved for temples, whispering incantations into their honeycombs. She sold honey and mead in the village—ordinary enough—but what no one realized was that her honey glimmered with enchantment. A spoonful could calm nightmares, ease pain, or even sweeten luck if taken before a hard journey. While the townsfolk perceived her as simply a diligent herbalist and eccentric beekeeper, they remained blissfully unaware of the enchantment she wove into her creations. Father never wanted her to do any of that—with the risk of her being caught—and with his income, she didn’t have to, but now that he was gone, she had to.
I hoped to never find love like that. Love destroys you, and it’s always taken from you.
It never truly lasts.
Mother came from Windaria, the Air Court—a Fae realm of eternal frost and glittering quartz palaces. She usedto describe the sound of the frostbitten winds as music. But King Thrandor, tyrant of the Air Court, had ruined it. Obsessed with purging Mages and Warlocks, he set bounties on their heads. Mother had barely escaped with her life, fleeing into the human realm where she hoped to hide.
However, the scars of her flight ran deep. Mother rarely spoke of their ordeal; her eyes clouded with memories she’d rather forget. She forbade me from ever stepping foot in the Fae lands. Thrandor’s reach, and that of the other three Fae Kings who ruled Fire, Water, and Earth courts, were too dangerous.
Not that the human king was any fucking better.
King Aymon loathed all supernaturals—Mages, Fae, Mer, Vampyrs, Warlocks. To humans, we were all the same: abominations. Anyone caught in human lands was tortured and displayed for sport. Aymon used iron and silver barbed wire to drain magic from his victims, then hung or beheaded them while the crowd cheered. The only time peasants like us were allowed past the palace gates was to witness his executions.
Father had been Irongate’s finest blacksmith, his forge a place of warmth and rhythm where I spent my childhood. Which was, of course, why the King wanted him.
Aymon abducted Father, forcing him to forge silver-alloy weapons—swords and armor laced with the very substance that crippled Fae and Mages. Silver had always been ourkryptonite, disrupting magic and rendering out abilities ineffective, leaving us vulnerable.Rumor said Aymon even had Father coat arrows in silver to hunt down the Fae.
If the King had known what Mother and I truly were, we’d already be dead. Luckily for Father, he had always been human.
I forced the troubled thoughts from my mind, exhaling slowly as I adjusted the weight of my crossbowover my shoulder. Each movement felt heavy as I laced up my worn leather boots. With a swift motion, I draped my thick, weathered cloak over my shoulders, the fabric dense against the autumn chill that crept into the air.
An unsettling knot tightened in my stomach as I pictured the months to come, bleak and unforgiving. Without Father’s income, we relied on Mother’s herbs and hives and my hunting. I helped her gather roots, harvest flowers, and strain honey, while she carefully charmed each jar and infused teas with hidden Magecraft. Without her magic, the herbs would be just weeds, and the honey just sweet. With it, they became healing. And without those sales, we would starve.
I made my way to my favorite secluded spot in the woods, a place where the tall trees stood like silent guardians. The air was crisp and filled with the earthy scent of damp soil and decaying leaves. I settled down, still as a statue, blending into the mottled shadows of the underbrush, and waited... and waited... the stillness wrapping around me like a comforting blanket.
Suddenly, the soft rustle of dried leaves on the forest floor pricked my ears, pulling me from my thoughts. I gripped my bow tightly, my fingers brushing against the smooth wood, and turned my gaze to the slender form of a rabbit, nuzzling through the sparse remnants of grass peeking through the fallen foliage. I took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill my lungs, and closed my eyes for a brief moment, invoking theGoddess of Luckin my mind.
Kalli, be with me.
As I opened my eyes, focusing intently on my target, I drew back the arrow, feeling the tension coil in my muscles. I released it, and the arrow sliced through the air with a whisper, moving swiftly yet almost languidly, the loose strands of hair by my face dancing in its wake as if time itself had slowed to witness the moment.
