CHAPTER ONE — THE SORCERER'S LAST WORDS

POV:VEYRA

I was two coppers short of leaving Ashfen forever when the sorcerer broke his chains.

Two coppers. That was all that stood between me and a horse I could not afford and a road I had been dreaming about for five years. I had saved for it the way other people saved for weddings or roofs. Slowly and stupidly, one copper at a time, tucked into a tin under the floorboard, counted every night like a prayer.

And I was still here, selling fever tonic in a square that smelled of blood and smoke, because execution days paid well.

"Ten coppers for the fever tonic," I called out. "Five for the salve."

Nobody bought anything. Everyone was watching the platform.

I hated execution days. I hated the festival air of them, the way parents brought their children and vendors sold roasted nuts and the whole settlement turned out to watch a stranger die. But grief made people sick, and sick people bought remedies, and I needed those two coppers.

The prisoner was old. Silver hair, hollow cheeks, robes that had been fine once. Someone had beaten him badly before they chained him. The runes on his shackles glowed faintly, silencing runes. The crown only used those on people who knew too much.

"He tried to steal an Ember relic," a woman whispered near me.

"No," her friend said. "He tried to destroy one."

I did not care either way. I cared about the tonic.

Lord Fen stepped forward. He was the magistrate, a soft-handed man who came twice a year to collect tribute and remind us who owned us.

"The prisoner has been found guilty of theft against the crown," Lord Fen announced. "He has refused to name his accomplices. He will die here, so that all of you understand the cost of treason."

"There are no accomplices," the sorcerer said.

His voice carried. I looked up.

"The Embers are failing," the old man said. "The covenant is not a promise. It is a..."

The executioner hit him across the mouth. Blood sprayed the wood.

I flinched. I had healed enough wounds to know which ones killed, that one had not but the next one might.

The sorcerer spat blood and lifted his head. His eyes moved across the crowd, searching. Then they stopped.

On me.

My wrist burned.

I pressed my hand over the leather cuff I had worn since childhood. The mark beneath it was glowing, I could see the light through my fingers.

"You," the sorcerer said.

He was looking straight at me.

The chains broke.

The iron split apart with a crack, and the silencing runes flared once and died. The executioner swung his sword, and the old man raised one hand, and the blade stopped in midair as if it had struck a wall. The executioner flew backward into a cart. Wood exploded and people screamed.

"Seize him," Lord Fen shouted.

Two soldiers rushed forward. The sorcerer did not even look at them. He raised his hand again, and both men dropped, not dead. I could see their chests moving but they did not get up.

The square erupted.

I grabbed my basket and ran.

"Stop." he said

The word hit me like a hand on the shoulder. I froze.

The sorcerer was walking toward me. 

"You are the one," he said.

"I do not know what you are talking about." I muttered

He stopped in front of my stall. Up close he was ancient, his skin paper-thin, his eyes the gray of dead ash and they fixed on my wrist.

"You carry it," he whispered. "I can feel it. The Thirteenth Ember."

I could feel my hands shaking. "I do not know what that means."

"You will." He grabbed my wrist and the moment his skin touched mine, the mark under my cuff flared to life.

White light exploded between us.

I screamed not from pain, from the rush of something ancient pouring through my veins, fire and memory and weight all at once. I saw things I could not understand. A throne of ash, a crown of white fire and a woman with my mother's face standing in a field of burning flowers.

The sorcerer laughed. Blood bubbled at his lips, but he was smiling.

"The last heir," he said. "After all this time, you were here in the borderlands hidden in plain sight."

"Let me go." I pleaded

"The Embers are not relics, they are seals. The covenant is not a promise, it is a cage." His grip tightened. "And you, child, are the key."

The light grew brighter. The crowd had stopped screaming, every face was turned toward me. The stones beneath my feet cracked, the well at the center of the square groaned and split. A pillar of white fire shot into the sky.

The wards shattered.

I heard it before I understood it. A sound like a bell breaking beyond the settlement, beyond the border stones, something howled.

Then another and another. The creatures that lived in the dark were coming.

The sorcerer's grip loosened, his eyes went glassy. He fell forward and I caught him without thinking. He was so light and fragile.

"Find the archive," he whispered against my shoulder. "Find your mother's records. The truth is..."

He did not finish.

I lowered him to the ground. My hands were shaking. His blood was warm on my fingers, I had held dying people before, had closed their eyes and whispered over their bodies, but this was different. This man had died because of me, because of something I carried and because of something I did not understand.

"I am sorry," I whispered. "I do not know what you wanted from me."

The ground shook.

A shadow passed over the square, vast and black, blotting out the sun.

I looked up.

I had heard the stories of the Beast King, everyone had. Rhazek Thornvarr was not a man, he was a monster wearing a crown. His beast form was the size of a house, black as pitch, with horns like scythes and eyes that burned red.

He landed in the square.

The impact cracked the ground. Soldiers dropped to their knees, Lord Fen fell to his face. The crowd scattered, screaming, trampling each other to escape.

I did not move. I could not.

The beast looked at me.

Not at the fire, not at the dead sorcerer and not at the broken well or the creatures gathering beyond the wardline. It looked at me and something in its red eyes shifted.

It charged.

I closed my eyes. I had spent my whole life surviving, and now all I could do was stand still and wait.

The beast stopped.

Its breath washed over me, hot and sharp. The ground trembled beneath its claws but it did not strike. It lowered its enormous head until its snout was inches from my chest, and it breathed me in.

The mark on my wrist pulsed in answer.

Behind the beast, his guards stood frozen. They had seen their king in battle, had seen him tear men apart with his hands and had never seen his beast bow.

The beast shuddered. Its form blurred, folded, shrank. When the shadow cleared, a man stood in its place.

He was tall, black armor, no ornament except the crown at his brow. Dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes the same red as the beast's.

Rhazek Thornvarr looked at me.

Then he moved. Three long strides, and his hand closed around my wrist. He pushed me back against the broken well, and the stone bit into my shoulders.

"What are you to me?" he demanded.

"I do not know what you are talking about." I whispered 

"You lie."  He growled 

"I do not lie to kings. I simply do not answer them." I muttered

His grip tightened, the mark flared and for one heartbeat, I saw something cross his face that I did not expect.

Fear.

He released me as if I had burned him.

I stumbled, caught myself on the edge of the well, and stared at him. "You are the one who grabbed me. You do not get to act as though I am the dangerous one."

"You broke the wards." He stated

"I did not mean to." I replied still shaking 

"That does not matter." He said 

I laughed and it was a bitter sound. "Of course it does not matter. The borderlands suffer, and the kings say it does not matter. A sorcerer dies in the street, and the magistrate says it does not matter. I am accused of something I have never heard of, and the Beast King tells me it does not matter."

I stepped closer, the guards tensed and Rhazek did not move. "Tell me, Your Majesty. What exactly do you intend to do with me?"

He studied me. I could feel his eyes on my face, my throat, my hands. Something about the way he looked at me made my skin hot and my chest tight, and I hated it. I hated that my body was answering him before my mind could catch up.

"I intend to find out what you are," he said. "And why the Thirteenth Ember chose you."

"I do not know what that means." I frowned

"You will." He turned away. 

Lord Fen was hovering at the edge of the square, pale with terror. The creatures beyond the wardline had retreated, but they would return.

"Take her to Blackthorn Palace," Rhazek ordered.

Two guards stepped forward, I did not resist. I looked at him with everything I had and said, "I am not yours."

Rhazek paused but he did not turn around.

"You are now," he said.

And the worst part, the part that stayed with me long after the guards pulled me away, was not the threat in his voice or the crown on his head or the beast I had just watched him become.

It was the way my mark burned when he said it like it agreed with him.