Inked in Ashes (Inkbound #1)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

F reya looked around at the thin, dirty faces staring up at her and forced a smile through the despair that churned in her belly. Only six children left to care for in the orphanage—the world was a harsh place, and tonight it felt even darker.

There was no meat for the two older children’s thin broth tonight. She’d given the last of it to the four young ones who were still growing and needed it most. Essie and Logan would go to bed with empty bellies.

Again.

Essie’s dark eyes seemed over-large in her wan face. Logan looked more like his father every day—bless his taken soul. The only thing Freya could do was distract them for a time, perhaps even give them something to hope for. She shifted her weight in the old rocking chair, running her hands over her swollen knuckles. But was it fair to give them that hope?

“Tomorrow we’ll go scrounge the heaps,” Logan said with a weary sigh. “Get to the market early, look for scraps.”

Essie’s long dark lashes fluttered against her cheeks. “Maybe we will find a few apple cores. Bless us let it be.”

Apple cores. That was the most they could wish for?

Freya stopped her rocking. If a different kind of hope was all she could give them, so be it. She would do all she could to fill them up with it.

“Logan, Essie, get closer to the fire, you two and keep warm while I tell you a story I’ve been waiting a very long time to share with you, hmm?”

They nodded, huddling closer as they hung on her words. Logan draped an arm over his sister’s shoulders.

Treason was not a thing to commit lightly. And yet this story…hovered on the edges of it. Freya lowered her voice until it was barely above a whisper.

“Once upon a time, before Almira the witch became our ruler, C’an Saas was different. A place filled with sunshine, and joy. The tree branches were heavy with fruit in the early spring of the year, the fields teemed with pigs, cows, and sheep. Families worked hard to tend the land, and the land provided. We were blessed with a good king.” She lowered her voice further, a shiver running through her as she spoke the forbidden name. “Alistair MacInnes. He lived in the palace with his true love, Queen Marin, and the two of them ruled with kindness for decades. But they had no heir. They waited, year after year, with no news of a child. Their people laid blessings at the gods’ shrines on their behalf all those years. And, after decades of trying, a baby daughter was finally born. They named her Harmony. Fitting, as she did indeed bring music to the land. The people rejoiced, feasted, danced, and sang in her honor. For four years after she was born, C’an Saas continued to flourish. Until one day, a childhood friend-turned enemy of King Alistair’s returned from the darkness. Her name was Almira, and she came for revenge…”

Logan and Essie’s eyes were locked on hers, and Freya dove headlong into a story that held all the hope of the land within it, and all the fear that the hope would never come to fruition.

Twenty-five years before…

Alistair MacInnes, King of C’an Saas, closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. The screams grew closer now, even as the acrid smell of smoke filled his nostrils. It was utter carnage beyond the walls of the keep. Entire villages were razed by the tornado she rode in on.

Almira had returned with a literal vengeance.

The blood of soldiers flowing like the mighty River Claren. People— his people— incinerated in their homes.

And despite being the most powerful man in all his kingdom, there wasn’t a blessed thing he could do about it but hope that his outmatched forces somehow managed to prevail. Such were the ways of magic. A fickle bit of chaos that could be as miraculous as it was terrible, depending on who was wielding it. The woman who wielded it at this very moment?

Was hellbent on destruction.

He forced his eyes open and shot a glance at the arched doorway just over his shoulder before turning his attention to the hourglass clutched in his hand on the armrest beside him. The granules of sand seemed to have been moving in slow motion since he’d last checked, and his stomach sank like a stone.

If he failed, all would be lost.

The sound of boots on stone caught his attention and he looked up to find General John Wallace striding into the room, his armor catching the sun’s rays.

“Your Majesty, they’re cutting through our forces like soft cheese. The witch’s consorts are scaling the walls. I fear we only have moments until she breaches the gates.”

Alistair nodded, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “She’s a formidable enemy to be sure.”

There was no fear in the eyes of the trusted General as he continued across the floor of the great hall, moving to stand directly before his king.

“I’m sorry for this, John. If I could go back and do it differently, I would. Keeping Harmony close was selfish beyond measure.”

“Respectfully, Your Majesty, that’s bollocks,” John shot back, his craggy face twisted into a scowl. “She’s a child. She’d have never made it this long if we hadn’t. And watching her grow up, even from a distance…even for a short while, was the greatest of gifts. I know my sister would agree.”

Alistair had done his best not to think of her in this moment, but Marin filled his thoughts most every day, and his efforts were in vain. He spared a glance at her portrait, hung on the east wall. Glorious, dark curls exploded in a riot around her shoulders. An easy, mischievous smile perched on her lips, color in her cheeks, a bright light in her honey-colored eyes.

Damn it to hell, I’m so sorry it’s come to this, my love.

A loud crash followed by a fresh chorus of screams echoed through the great hall, and he tore his gaze from the portrait. He’d be seeing her soon enough. His only hope was that he could face her in the afterlife without shame.

Those thoughts were derailed by the wail of a battle horn, a final cry to charge the enemy.

“That’ll be Hamish, Your Majesty.”

Hamish.

The last remaining guard positioned at the entrance to the main keep itself. A living alarm, blaring the final warning. The end was near.

The steady note ended in a sharp squeal, followed by an eerie silence. No more screams. No more cries for mercy.

No more time.

Alistair lifted the still trickling hourglass before him and shook his head slowly, a wave of nausea rolling over him. He’d already asked so much of his men, this one—his brother by marriage and best friend—far more than most.

And yet…

He met the other man’s unflinching gaze. “John, Gayelette needs more time to complete the spell. For Harmony to be sent to safety. I?—”

“Say no more, brother. More time you shall have, then.”

John laid a gloved hand on the falcon crest etched over his heart as he stared at the hourglass, his face filled with steely resolve.

“So long as your sorceress does her part, know that I shall do mine. Whatever it takes to ensure the music lives on. That Harmony is safe.”

As fierce a warrior as John was, their enemy was tenfold in numbers and magic. Neither of them expected to survive this battle.

So long as the last grain of sand fell before they did.

Alistair rose from his throne for what he knew would be the last time and reached for the bear of a man before him, gripping one broad shoulder with his free hand. “We’ve had a good run, haven’t we?”

John nodded and let out a snort. “Better than most.”

“See you on the other side?”

“I pledge it. But mark me,” John replied, eyes narrowing as he stepped back and unsheathed his broadsword. “I’ll be taking a pound of the bitch’s flesh and as many of her consorts as I can with me on my way out.”

With that, he wheeled around and cut a swift path to the main doors, disappearing into the shadows beyond them. Alistair waved a hand, his magic curling around the open doors and closing them. He laid a simple locking spell across it. His magic was not that of a sorceress, but every moment he could gain, he would take.

The next few minutes passed in a haze of memories, regrets and grief.

The sounds of a vicious fight just beyond the entrance of the great room reached Alistair’s ears, but he shut them out with a ruthlessness he’d rarely shown as king. Attempting to help his friend now would do nothing but ensure that John and the others killed already had given their lives for naught.

“John,” he muttered under his breath. “Hold out a little longer, my friend. For Harmony.”

But when the halls again went dead silent, he could still hear it. That damnable sand, trickling to the bottom of the glass.

A maniacal laugh rang out a moment before the door flew off its hinges and into the wall just inches from where he stood. Darkness seemed to spill through the opening, like storm clouds gathering before the tempest unleashed.

“Alistair, you pathetic bastard. Is this where you’ve tucked yourself, then?” a shrill voice called seconds before a slight female figure drifted into the room. She wore not armor, but a trailing dress of deepest gray. Flecks littered her skirts. Blood of his men. John’s blood. Her smile was as wicked as ever. “I’m disappointed. I was rather looking forward to a game of hide and seek, like when we were children. I do so miss those days.”

Those early days, with the four of them running wild along the moors like a pack of wolves were long gone, as was the girl Almira had been. Her reminiscing might help him stall though, so he indulged her.

“We were close, the four of us. Do not do this, for whatever love you once had for Marin.”

Her laughter was soft and low. “Love abandoned me when those I loved abandoned me . I am no longer the child you knew, come to take my dues as the queen I should always have been.”

He gripped his sword hilt. “It took me far too long to see it, but you were never a child, Almira. Not really. You’ve always been a demon’s spawn in disguise, waiting to come into your own. And now, here you are, in all your vile glory.”

He set the hourglass on the throne behind him and turned to face his enemy once again. It was only when the hood slipped from her head that he realized she was covered in blood and her once eternally youthful face was in ruins. One cheekbone was caved in like it had met with a large fist, and a bloodied, empty socket sat where her left eye used to be. She glared at him through its crystal-blue mate, defiant. Furious.

The state of her face elicited a true belly laugh from him despite the dire circumstances.

“Oh ho, Almira-girl! That had to hurt, more than your bones, yeah? I don’t know if even you could fix the ruins of your face. Was it John, then?” he asked.

Fury rippled from her in waves. Her beauty had always been a tool, and now it was broken. “It was, John, yes.” She cocked her head, full lips twisting into a sneer. “He took my eye only seconds before I disemboweled him. In fact, he’s just at the bottom of the steps, writhing in agony as he tries to stuff his entrails back into his belly. I’ll bring you to die by his side if you tell me what I want to know.”

Alistair paused to absorb the words, keeping his expression blank as he heaved a sigh. “As much as there are worse places to die than at John’s side, you know I can’t do that.”

“Yours is a lost cause. I’m far more dangerous than the girl I used to be, and you certainly aren’t the boy I remember. You look beat down, dog-fuckingly old, and weak as hell,” she murmured as she swept closer, her emerald cloak flowing behind her. “Shame. Had you picked me instead of Marin, I could’ve kept you virile…kept you strong. We could’ve ruled this world for an eternity.”

His only thought was to keep her talking. Gayelette needed time. “I'd rather have died in the belly of the desert dragon, burning for a thousand years than be tethered to you for a day. And as for this old goat, we’ve been alive the same number of years. Difference is, I’ve lived every one of those years topside, in a world marred by hardship. It takes a toll.”

She slowed to a stop a few yards away and the thin veneer of calm crackled.

“Hardship?” she hissed, her remaining eye suddenly wild with fury. “You imprison me in the Dreadkeep, powerless and alone for nearly a century, and you dare speak to me of hardship?”

He’d hit the nerve he’d been aiming for. Anything to keep her talking and the sands of time in motion. But his needling would come with a price—and he knew it would hurt.

A price Almira collected a moment later as she lifted her thumb and forefinger in the air and pinched them closed with a whisper.

His left eye exploded like an overripe grape and the pain had him stumbling back and swaying, barely able to keep his feet. He gripped the arm of his throne for purchase as blackness threatened to swallow him whole.

“There. That’s better. Let us be on even ground, yes?” she said with a grin that disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Now, stop being tedious, Alistair. It’s been a long day, what with all the murder, mayhem, and reclaiming of my kingdom. Give me the girl, and you have my word that her death will be painless. Of course, I can’t say the same for you. Too much water under that bridge for that, I’m afraid. You understand…”

He swiped at the blood and warm, clear liquid running down his cheek and then lifted a hand to his crown. The second he touched it, the space between them shimmered and grew hazy.

For a second, she just gaped at him. Then she tossed her head back and laughed.

“Ah, well fuck me. Is that what your little witch gave you for protection? Pathetic.” She let out a snort and shrugged. “Maybe I was better off in the Dreadkeep after all. Plenty of time to hone my skills.”

She flicked her wrist, sending a bolt of power straight at his head, but it bounced away, leaving his shield and crown intact. Her one good eyebrow snapped down, fury ripping across her face.

Alistair waggled his brow. “Not too shabby for a little witch , aye?”

His old friend squared off with him, even as he steeled himself for the onslaught.

She shot forward in a blur, three blades flying from her belt. Each one stabbed and slashed at him from a different angle, moving as if wielded by three separate master swordsmen. The king staggered back, narrowly sidestepping a thrust at his neck while batting aside the other two blades with his shield.

Almira hung back, directing the blades like some kind of twisted conductor leading a deadly orchestra. Agony pierced his side as one of the swords plunged deep in his side, and he rolled under a follow-up slash only to see a massive ball of fire shooting directly at his chest.

He staggered backward, barely blocking the fire with his shield, going to one knee—even so, without the protection of his crown absorbing most of the heat, he’d have been a cooked goose. Almira let out a cackle, advancing on him in a blinding flash.

It was now or never.

Alistair sprang toward her, his crown hot and glowing red from the fireball it had absorbed. His blade shot toward her neck, and her eyes widened in shock. For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to hope. He was already planning his next move when she dissipated into smoke a split second before he would’ve made contact. He stumbled forward, and she reappeared before he’d even registered what’d happened, slamming her fist into his side with a sickening crunch, her magic making her blows ten times stronger than she truly was.

“You really thought you’d catch me with a silly trick like that?” she asked, scowling as she stood over his prone form. “You were right to let John try his luck first. His plan was much better.”

Alistair’s vision blurred as he glanced at the hourglass, but not so much that he couldn’t see the teeny, tiny mound of sand remaining at the top. He cursed, sucking in a sticky, wheezing breath as he pushed himself to his feet.

He was running out of ways to keep her busy.

“Release,” he whispered, and the fire magic his crown had absorbed pulsed to the surface, consuming him in flames. His vision went crimson, and energy surged through him as he parried a flurry of attacks with his flame-wreathed blade.

Almira’s swords withered and melted beneath the heat, no match for this attack, but it wouldn’t last. Once the crown ran out of the energy it had taken in, it was over for him.

Think, man.

But there was no time. Stone cracked and rumbled beneath his feet, and Almira sprang forward as he struggled for balance.

A blizzard’s worth of frost and snow, condensed to the size of a man, washed over him, and he barely got his shield up in time to block another of her animated blades. His crown’s magic was gone, cut even shorter by her ice spell, and the chill sank into his bones, but he advanced, nonetheless. His eye flitted toward the hourglass.

If he could just hold out for thirty seconds more…

He let out a primal roar and moved forward, each step a herculean feat of will, each parry more excruciating than the last. Raw magical energy spiked toward him from the side, and he hefted his shield just in time to block, but the cold had sapped the last of his strength. A moment later, his arm began to tremble with the effort of wielding the shield’s weight. The witch smiled, no doubt seeing his end.

“Too bad we couldn’t make this last longer,” she said, snicking her tongue in disappointment. “I can’t believe there was a time you were actually able to best me.”

She thrust hard, and her blade slid through his belly, slow and sure. He felt every inch of it, but joy won out over agony as he watched the last grain of sand slip away.

A sudden flash blew the door in the corner of the room open even as the hourglass shimmered and exploded into a cloud of iridescent green dust. He turned, desperate for one last look at his daughter. Her dark curls bounced, her eyes going wide as she levitated in the air, a small book clutched in her hands. To Fetch’s credit, the falcon perched on her shoulder held tight as the two of them were sucked into a much larger book on the floor, disappearing without a trace.

It was done.

Thank the gods, it was done.

He slipped to the cool stone floor, his body limp, turning his head toward the now-open room. Almira howled, no longer concerned with him as she released her sword and bounded toward the door where Harmony had been.

As she passed through, he caught sight of his royal sorceress seated cross-legged on the floor on the other side of the book. She was slumped over, chest heaving, clearly spent. But not so spent that she couldn’t lift her head to meet Almira’s gaze.

“Almira.”

“Hello, Gayelette.” The witch turned her remaining eye to the massive, leather-bound tome lay on its side between them, the page edges gilded in gold.

Fairy Tales of the Ages.

“Where is she?” Almira whispered as she shook her head and let out a snarl. “What have you done with her, you simpering bitch?”

Alistair watched as her expression twisted into one of fury. But as his vision went dark, the very last face he saw was that of his beloved wife Marin waiting for him on the other side.

And she was smiling.

* * *

“And that was the end…until now,” Freya said, lifting her head to find the two children staring at her, eyes wide. Tears filled Essie’s eyes. The tale was if nothing else, bittersweet. A father’s love for his daughter, and for his people.

“Is Princess Harmony still inside the book?” Logan asked.

“She is.”

“But will she actually come to save us?” Essie whispered.

“Legend has it that she will. She’s stayed safely tucked within the pages for the past twenty-five years, growing wise, brave, and strong enough to defeat Almira. We must keep our heads up a little bit longer until she finds her way home.”

But she’d better hurry, Freya thought, hoping her worry didn’t show on her face. Because as Almira’s fury grew, so did the darkness.

And now they were all running out of time…