Page 3 of A Realm of Fire and Ash

Ronin and Quinn appear, and I turn a scowl towards Noct. "You set me up!"

Noct just grins at me, showing off her dimples. "I didn't set you up. I only hinted we might be here." She stands and dusts grass from her shorts. "Besides, Ronin and Quinn are good company. And who knows, maybe Quinn will be able to take your mind off of things for a while."

I sigh, but eventually get up to join them. Ronin greets us with a smile and a wave, and Quinn grins when he sees me. I can't deny that he's attractive, with his messy blonde hair and bright green eyes, but I just don'tfeelanything.

"Hey, trouble." He pulls off his shirt, flashing me a smirk as he uses one hand to tug his belt free.

"I didn't realize you'd be joining us." I sigh, averting my eyes from where he's undressing.

Quinn is an eagle shifter, and always makes a point to undress before shifting, rather than buying clothes he can shift in. It's almost as if he expects me to be impressed with his skinny legs and oversized arms.

A loud chirp goes off, and I pull out my phone to see a message from the general.

EMERGENCY MEETING IN 5, MEET AT CASTANEA COMMAND

I mutter a curse under my breath, then show the message to Noct. She nods at me gravely, her expression mirroring my own sense of dread.

"Sorry, boys," she says. "Duty calls."

It’s not unusual for a top-secret mission to call us away. Work is about all I do anymore. Anything to keep my mind busy, away from my obsessive thoughts about Wilder.

We keep to our fae forms as we take air, flying towards command. The flight itself will take four minutes, and we could sift—or teleport—but Noct needs to get the alcohol out of her system before meeting with the boss.

If he’s here, whatever it is—it’s big.

* * *

I call myself Morte,but that's not my name. My name is lost, but my title is not. I am the First, the leader of the Great Company, commander of the last remnants of the God Wars. My people have forgotten the truth, and it's up to me to correct them, so I tell them stories of the old times. I tell them about the gods and the wars and the lands of the old. I tell them about the first war, when gods and mortals fought against each other, and when gods stood on the thrones of man.

I wasn't there, of course. I'm not that old. But while fae are immortal, they can be killed, and I cannot. So I tell their stories. They used to call me to battle. Not to fight, but to hold their hands as they're read their last rites. To ensure they're not forgotten when the sun sets, their bodies lie cold, and Luna's beams kiss their cheeks as she guides them beyond the veil.

That's a burden I no longer have to bear. It wasn't long before more of us were born, each bearing long, flowing manes of hair that glow in shades of fire: whites, blues, reds, oranges, and yellows. Most of us have hues of red hair, and we're all female. My crimson tresses mark me as leader, though all our beasts—beautiful birds with long wings—are fiery red.

Since High King Finian Drake retook his throne, my legion of eight phoenixes has joined the royal guard. We don't fight on the front lines. We're a special ops division, only sent to the worst conflicts. Suicide missions, where death is inevitable.

After decades of trying to get into the prison—to right the wrongs of my past—my new role might do just that one day.

In the Castanea command room, we stand before General Risç, who commands all the royal squadrons. He's a giant of a man, with muscles bulging out of his armor and his wingspan almost as wide as he is tall. But his eyes are bright and light yellow, like the sun has kissed his corneas and never left, setting them aglow.

The general’s footsteps thud in the room, like a battering ram on a castle gate. The solid thunk of his footfall is a stark contrast to thequiet din of the cave walls. Each room at command is carved into bedrock, and though we're underground, flora and fauna flourish, showcasing the magic at work to keep this underground sanctuary running for all the Tolden. Vines have snaked their way up the walls, giving them a lush and verdant look. Wildflowers bloom in patches, a riot of color set against the dark stone.

Tiny points of luminescence reflect off the walls, as if stars filled up this cavernous space. A sweet scent fills the air, the subtle aroma of damp earth and petrichor that linger in the background, giving a sense of safety and home.

The cave walls emit a gentle hum, like chimes in the wind. A low rumbling can be heard in some places, presumably coming from the magic keeping the sanctuary alive and functioning.

The General’s eyes hold a touch of pride as he surveys us. When the Great Company joined forces with the guard, their military casualties plummeted, though we've been busier than ever.

My heart stutters as I hear General Risç's words, the chill of dread freezing the blood in my veins. "Bedlam Penitentiary," he growls, "has a rogue inmate who's wreaking havoc on the island."

Terror grips me with icy claws. My deepest fear isn’t that they’ll uncover my secret connection to one of the inmates, but for his safety. My fear sharpens, taking hold of every nerve in my body, pulling it taut.

Those who say you quake with fright have never felt true dread before. It's a primordial force that seizes you, rendering you completely immobile as your body comes to terms with the magnitude of your impending danger.

Noct jabs me with her elbow, and it's then I realize the general is in front of me, trying to hand me something.

I blink hard, clearing my sight.

I take the thick manila folder from the General, infusing as much magic as I can into my hands to keep them from trembling, while flipping through the pages and photos inside.

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