Page 51 of A War of Embers

The world is still dark once I exit their home. Several steps away, I find myself standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac once again. Silence stretches in all directions except for the small crackle of fire coming from the pyre several yards away.

Glancing off into the darkness, I watch the shadows move and dance along the ground in grandiose gestures. Spinning together before departing like they’re in a dance where only they can hear the music. Time slips by slowly as I wait. Keeping an ear out for footsteps seems pointless when Rowan will probably simply appear in his favorite form of invisibility.

Walking down towards the pyre, I settle down onto the ground and cross my legs. The flames light up my sword. A curve of a face is etched just above the handle with black eyes and a humanoid type nose and mouth. But the way the black lines stretch, as if the face is covered in dark streaks of dirt, makes it appear monstrous. The body disappears into the weight of the hilt. Along one side, written in gold lettering in a language I know without being able to speak reads the title Slayer. One of the many reasons on how I came about my unfortunate nickname.

The sound of footsteps trekking over dirt surprises me as I watch where the road seems to abruptly stop as the darkness swallows it whole. The closer they come, the easier it is to hear the drawn out pace of their approach. Soon a figure appears where the light from the pyre stops. A black boot steps into view, followed by the face of someone the dragons in these homes know well.

Zeke raises an eyebrow at me as he continues forward, adjusting the scarf on his face to secure it. Once he’s close enough, he peers down his nose at my face, watching the snake-like, or root as Verity called it, tattoo slither over the bridge of my nose to the other side of my face before climbing down my neck and disappearing beneath my shirt.

Standing up once I feel the tattoo settle, I grab my sword and point towards the darkness Zeke emerged from. “Camp or the estate?”

“It’s probably best if you talk to Lord Rowan first,” Zeke announces. “He’s in a foul mood. When the Ashguard boys came to the village, he didn’t seem all that surprised to hear of your arrival. I take it the foul mood is your fault?”

My fault? I can’t contain the scoff or sneer curling my lips. “He’s in a foul mood because he’s a bastard who got called out for it and doesn’t like his feelings hurt.”

Zeke simply nods in response, the corner of his eyes tightening. Not bothering to hide his amusement, he gestures towards the way he came from. “Shall we?”

I march past him, heading off towards the village where everyone was congregating earlier before I tried to stalk Lady Cirilla’s movements.

“So, I take it you followed us out here,” Zeke casually comments. “Weird, though. None of the men spotted you. We told them specifically to be on the lookout. Care to share how you did it?”

Blinking innocently, I shrug one shoulder. “What? And reveal all my secrets?”

“To better help those in the guard.”

“Well if I helped you, I want something in return. And we both know that isn’t going to happen. So you’ll have to deal with whatever your imagination conjures up about my abilities.”

Zeke stops talking as we continue down a path barely noticeable in the darkness. “Are you able to cloak yourself the way Lord Rowan does?”

“I don’t know, Zeke. Can I?”

He lets out a frustrated sigh that’s not entirely convincing. I doubt any part of him really cares about what my abilities or lack thereof are. “What was your plan when you came out here?” When I don’t comment, he continues pressing me with questions. “Did you have a plan or were you desperate to get attention? Personally, I think you have a plan. I think you got sidetracked by whatever happened between you and Lord Rowan and had to deviate from it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be out here in the Wraithlands by yourself.” He pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Were you trying to sacrifice yourself to the Cliff of Embers?”

Keeping my face neutral, I remain silent. Although he’s piqued my interest with that parting question. Sacrificing myself to the Cliff of Embers? I wasn’t aware that was a possibility. Then again, I didn’t know tossing myself into the Blood Sea was an option either until I confirmed a dreaded rumor.

“You’re not going to offer even a little hint?” Zeke taunts.

Snickering, I shake my head. “What hint would suffice?” I feel the creature tattooed on my skin stir, peeking out of the collar of my shirt against my throat. “Perhaps you want to enlighten me on my new little friend?”

Immediately Zeke chooses to clamp his lips together and let his silence speak for itself.

Hmm. Interesting. So whatever it is this means isn’t something worth sharing. Verity and Calix gave me enough information to take a guess at least. Some form of protection under Rowan’s name that comes with strings attached, no doubt. Nothing in this life is ever given freely, especially something as profound as this tattoo seems to mean.

The pyres by the village come into view in the distance, reminding me how awkward this scene is about to become. Will Rowan even show his face when we arrive on scene? It wouldn’t surprise me if he stayed hidden, determined to block out my presence entirely until the Haze is complete.

Then there’s Nox to think about. He’ll no doubt have choice words about my appearance. Obviously he was right in believing I would come. Sighing, I wish I would have at least thrown a few rocks at his head before they left the tree line. The prick deserves some sort of beating.

Closer to the village, people begin to emerge. Creatures in various stages of dress are all speaking with one another. Few give me curious glances as we make our way further into the village. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Kennedy and Ethan purposely avoiding eye contact as if their lives depend on it.

“Don’t blame them,” Zeke says, nodding towards the boys. “They were doing the right thing.”

For who? It’s a rhetorical question with no answer. Someone will always claim they’re doing “the right thing” regardless of what it truly means. Lady Gwenyth used to tell me that punishing those under her rule was the right thing to do, so no one would ever mistake her kindness for weakness. Though little ever posed a true threat to her reign. My entire life, I’ve lived with that statement being tossed out to justify the horrendous acts I caused.

But death is not freedom. Something I’m coming to understand.

The souls housed inside of me were warriors, created during the Province Wars to defend and die at the hands of Lords and Ladies. Every soul becomes a tool, no longer a person. Thoughts, feelings, freedoms are all erased in a manner of seconds as they get forced over and over again into a new body to do the same terrible things.

My gaze tracks across the open courtyard. Many surprised faces stare back at me, but I focus on one. On the man who is no better than Lady Gwenyth. Denying my right to die for a mere technicality on his part. Determined to scholar his way through my predicament instead of taking action. Just because he doesn’t know he can’t remove the godlike soul doesn’t prevent him from trying. If he fails, at least I know badgering him won’t work.

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