Chapter 2
2
A fter Callum left me, Ashguard Prison began to wake up, and I heard all of the horrible noises that came with it. Screams, moans, shouts, yelling of the guards, footsteps—they all echoed down the long hallway outside of my cell. The sounds were too far away to make out individual voices, but I knew I didn’t like what I heard.
Footsteps sounded once more outside of my cell, and a bored-looking guard arrived, holding two bands of iron.
“Commander Wells said you were to put these on,” he said, thrusting them at me through the bars of the cell.
I stared them down, wary. “What are they?”
“They prevent you from using your powers.” He looked me up and down. “Not that you probably have very much to begin with, if you weren’t leashed when you got dropped off.”
Oh, so that’s what Callum must have run off and done. He probably ensured this guard came back with these so I could keep my secret of being a… what was it again? Right—a hollow .
I raised my chin, pretending to be offended. “My power is none of your business.”
He shoved the bands at me. “I don’t give a fuck. Put them on.”
I grasped the two thick metal bands and yelped as they went transparent, slid down to my wrists, and became cold iron that fitted exactly to my skin. They weren’t too heavy, but they were a bit uncomfortable. I reached down to try to move them or take them off, but they didn’t budge, clamped tight to my wrists.
“Let’s go,” the bored guard said, pushing open my cell door.
“Where?” I asked, my stomach growling. The noises of the prison were growing louder, and while I didn’t want to get near the den of lions that surely awaited me, I knew I had little choice. Plus, I needed food if I was to regain my strength for whatever these trials were.
The guard, tired of waiting on me, grabbed my arm and threw me into the hall. I bounced off the bars of the empty cell across from me, wincing in pain.
“Walk,” the guard said, pointing forward.
As I walked ahead of the guard through the winding maze of empty cells, I felt like I was sleepwalking. Memories felt just beyond my grasp—as if I had forgotten something important, but it had just slipped from my mind. Memories that eluded me all the same, no matter how hard I tried to recall them.
The stone floor of the cells started to slope upward. I realized that all of the cells I had passed were empty.
“Am I the only prisoner in here?” I asked.
“The floors are segregated by power level. Which is why you’re here—you’re probably as close to hollow as they get,” he muttered.
I was on the floor with prisoners who had the lowest level of magic? I shuddered as I realized that meant the blood wielder that Callum had killed was one of the weaker among the types of powerful beings I would face in this prison. Great .
Ahead of us, the endless corridor was finally beginning to lead up to a large round room…
…where prisoners were starting to line up around the outer rim of the circular space.
The guard nudged me forward, inclining his head. I followed his gaze to where I was to go stand. And as I looked up, I gasped .
I was on the ground floor of an incredible silo that had to be at least twenty stories tall, rimmed by a staircase that spiraled up each floor. At the top of the silo was a glass ceiling, frosted slightly so that light could drip in. Sunlight . From what I could see from the ground floor and the floors above us, there were offshoots of endless dark stone corridors, leading to what I assumed were different cell blocks and other areas of the prison.
To house the most dangerous prisoners, Callum had told me.
The same lethal prisoners who were all standing and staring at me as the guard shoved me toward them. As I walked to my place at the end of the line, I took in those around me—all of them wore the same metal bands I did, and a few of them wore thick metal anklets, too. Perhaps because they had more power that needed to be contained?
“Saffron Vale,” a guard at the front called, and I stepped forward, taking my place at the edge of the circle as he continued to call out names for what seemed like a roll call ritual. Across from me, prisoners were still filtering down from the upper levels by way of that sloping, spiral staircase. I watched them as they descended, taking note of their names as the guard called them out.
“Otto Lynch,” the guard called, and the man who descended was greasy-haired and could barely walk in a straight line. He kept dropping into a crouch and hissing at the other prisoners who gave him a wide berth.
“Priscilla and Felicity Hayes.” A pair of willowy brunette twin women walked down, swaying with their hands intertwined as the iron bands at their wrists clanked like eerie windchimes in the echoing prison silo.
“Ajax Drake,” the guard called, and a hulking mass of a man seemed to vibrate the stone underneath him as he barreled down the staircase to the ground floor. He didn’t join the end of the semicircle in an orderly single file like the rest of the prisoners had, but instead crossed the circle and shoved aside a few other prisoners so he could stand next to a few guys who greeted him with slaps on the back. I instantly found a distaste for this man, and made a mental note to stay away.
The roll call continued as nearly seventy prisoners filed into the outer rim of the circular floor of the silo. The prisoners were a wide range of ages, with Issac Pike, a boy who looked not a day older than eighteen years, fidgeting on the other end of the semi-circle, and Otto, the greasy-haired man with greying hair—clearly the oldest as well as the most mentally unstable. Most of the prisoners looked fairly in shape, with the exception of a larger woman with buglike eyes and a more rotund figure. All of the prisoners wore clean tunics and pants as if their uniforms had been swapped out recently in preparation for these trials. The guard who had finished calling roll lowered his scroll and stepped back, waiting in silence for something to happen.
“We’re bored! When are you going to let us start the trials?” Ajax said. He clenched and unclenched his massive fists like he was imagining squeezing the necks of other prisoners within his meaty grip. I tried to step back in line, out of his eyesight, but he leaned forward and grinned when his dark eyes latched onto me, scraping down my body with a greedy glint. “Oh, look at this, a new tribute to the precious gods. Looks like we have some fresh meat today, boys.”
A few of the others snickered.
“Why don’t you dance for us, girl?” Ajax said with a leering smile.
“I’ll dance in your blood,” I spat at him before thinking twice. I felt my hands twitch… as if they were trying to grasp something. But what? As he laughed at me, I felt an overwhelming urge to ring his neck?—
Or did I? I was to be married just before coming here. Why did I feel violent anger rushing to my blood in a way that made me feel like I was capable of doing destructive things?
The Saffron I knew couldn’t hurt a fly, Callum had said.
I felt like I was losing my mind—or whatever was left of it.
Ajax just grinned, wiping where I had spit at him with his palm… and then licked it with a sickening grin. My stomach churned with revulsion.
“I look forward to our first trial together, girl,” Ajax said with a grin. He looked up and down the line as if looking for someone. “And where the hell is Derrick?”
“He murdered my men in cold blood while trying to escape, so he got what was coming to him,” a voice boomed, and out from the shadows strode Callum. No, this wasn’t Callum as I had met him. The soft and kind man had been replaced by Commander Callum Wells, a man who maintained order in the prison at all costs.
Ajax growled, his fists clenching so hard I thought they would explode with the sheer force. “You assholes murdered my fucking brother ?—”
Callum just stared Ajax down—not intimidated by the huge mass of man and muscle that stood before him, as if Callum knew his own skill and strength would still be enough to take down Ajax even as the brute seemed like he was about to explode with rage. “And I’d kill you, too, if you were stupid enough to think you could escape. That goes for all of you.” Callum’s gaze lifted to the other prisoners, resting for a split second on me before bouncing away. “You saw what happened to Lucille—and now Derrick—when they tried to escape. The trials will begin, and you will compete. If you don’t, you choose death outside of the ring rather than a chance at a new life within it. If not at my hands, then at the hands of your High Sorceress.”
As if on cue, a trio of guards went to the metal doors at the far end of the circular room, which had been bolted shut and seemed to be connected to an off-limits part of the prison.
A way out?
Before I could start to put together the pieces of how one entered and exited Ashguard, the doors flew open and she walked in.
She was a force to behold. She wore an ice blue robe and hood, her dark brown curls tumbling free as she walked. She was a vision of piety, wearing a white gown and a smooth golden circlet that rested above her brows. Her features were delicate, sensual in a way that contradicted her vision of innocence. Her lush lips seemed to promise sex even as her wide honey brown eyes shone with doe-like innocence. Behind her, three priestesses in the same ice blue robes followed her in, all of them flanked by a small army of guards.
I expected the other prisoners—like the hulking man who had jeered at me—to do the same when this vision of a woman walked in.
But no one made a sound. It was silent except for her satin shoes padding across the stone to the center of the circle before us. It was as if the others were… afraid of her. She parted her lips into a sweet smile.
“Good morning, contestants,” she said, her voice warm, inviting, flirtatious. The lilt of every syllable promised certain pleasures even as a dark cruelty seemed to writhe in her layered gaze. “I pray you all have been training and resting up before what’s to come?” She surveyed the group, but no one dared answer her.
Suddenly, a scream echoed at one of the higher levels, and everyone’s gaze shifted.
“I refuse to compete in the trials!” a man’s voice screamed. “You can’t make me!”
My eyes tracked a man sprinting away from guards on the higher level. He was running until he stopped short—boxed in by more guards who had just cut him off. He was trapped.
Even though he was nearly six stories up, I could sense in the way his body stiffened and then slightly relaxed what had gone through his mind. Resolve . He was making a choice.
“RESIST THE ASH TRIALS!” he screamed, and then held up something that glinted in the stream of sunlight—a crude weapon. He moved as if to spear himself in his own heart?—
“Stop him,” she said with a voice that oozed total control. Right before the man was able to drive the makeshift weapon into his heart, one of the guards lunged for it, wrestling it out of his hand?—
—and shoved him over the banister of the spiraling staircase. The man fell, landing in front of us with a sickening thud that echoed in the stone room. He had landed on his back, blood pooling out from every orifice, and his limbs were cracked in horrible, unnatural ways.
One of the guards moved to the body, but the woman held up a delicate hand. “No, let me.” She reached down to the soupy mess of a man and punched through his chest with a kind of strength I didn’t realize she was capable of. With horror, I realized she was digging around in the dead man’s chest cavity for his heart, which she withdrew and squished between her fingers as blood rolled down in crimson rivulets from her hand, staining her white dress.
What was even more strange, however, was the glittering crystal that remained when the crushed heart fell away, just smaller than her fist. Her eyes flickered up to us.
“Have you ever seen a heart crystal before? Isn’t it so beautiful, how the gods bless us with magic to be refracted in so many different ways, granting us each with our unique powers? It’s an honor that you all get to be here to thank them yourselves with your participation in the holy Ash Trials. Wouldn’t you all agree?”
Murmurs of agreement spread through the prisoners, and even the crouching madman Otto with the greasy hair bobbed his head in emphatic agreement as if he had known the pain of disagreeing with the woman before us in the depths of his bones.
The woman held up the bloody heart crystal and one of the priestesses ran over with a small square of fabric, wrapping the crystal. Cassandra waved the priestess away, her own hand still stained crimson. “You all know that heart crystals can implode upon death by suicide, especially when speared with a weapon. The man on the ground before you wished you all dead, and you are lucky the guards were able to spare you. It is imperative that you protect yourselves from those of you who wish to go against the will of the gods—and send you to the lands of eternal damnation. That’s not what you’re all here for, is it?” The woman’s eyes swept over the rest of the prisoners and landed on me, and she floated toward me with a smile. “Now, I know some of you are our new guests. I am High Priestess Cassandra Wraithborn, keeper of the Temple of Orsi for the Order of the Serafim. It is nice to meet you, Saffron Vale.” She held out her bloody hand for me to shake, as if daring me to squirm away.
I held my chin high as I took her hand and shook it, trying not to think too hard about the still-warm blood that coated it. I didn’t reply, but I held her gaze, refusing to be intimidated.
Cassandra let my hand drop, and turned to the rest of the prisoners. “As you all know, the six Ash Trials are about to begin. This is why things are going to run a bit… differently around here as the trials begin. You will still have time for meals and allotted training and study time, but there will be no room for insubordination when it comes to the rules we do set for you. We only want the best to compete for King West and the Kingdom of Luminaria. Understood?”
“ Understood ,” the prisoners echoed.
Cassandra smiled, turning to Callum, who stood like a statue of a war hero by the fallen body of the crushed prisoner. She ran a hand across his back as she circled behind him, and I saw him stiffen slightly under her touch. “Commander Callum Wells will take good care of you. And if you’re lucky, you’ll be out of here and staying in Saltspire Palace within a matter of weeks for the remainder of the trials. If you’re not, you’ll be nothing more of a mess that the rest of us will have to clean up.”
Cassandra gave a sniff of her delicate nose as she cast a glance at the puddle of a man a few feet away from her.
“Illumia be with you,” she said and nodded at all of us.
“ Illumia be with you ,” voices responded in unison, and then everyone turned to their right, following the prisoner in front of them down another hallway. I followed the others, not breaking the single file, feeling Cassandra’s gaze on my back.
The single-file line curled through another dizzying set of stone hallways adjacent to the silo’s ground floor until we reached a large mess hall that felt like it was born out of the earth. Tables and benches seemed to have burst forth from the ground, covered in thick vines and wood. Even the buffet line—manned by staff in gold and white uniforms—seemed to originate from the soil. Food trays were refilled from the hollow of a tree, steaming as if it were some sort of oven. The line connected right to the end of the buffet table, prisoners grabbing wooden trays with the ease of repetition.
I watched the redheaded woman in front of me and copied her movements. I took my lunch tray and went down the line of surprisingly fresh-looking foods that seemed to have been offered up by the loamy soil itself.
“None for you, Rachelle,” one of the servers said to the redhead. I zeroed in on her and her empty plate.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rachelle said, vibrating with anger, her wavy red hair and freckles making her look as fiery as her temper. “It was one time!”
“You’re lucky you attempted to escape last week,” the worker replied. “The punishment this week is much worse than a missed meal.”
Raachelle’s face flushed, and she stepped out of line with a sigh. I watched her from the corner of my eye as I moved through the line and collected mushrooms and strange root vegetables of different textures that were offered to me.
As I reached the end of the food line, I turned and surveyed the mess hall.
Prisoners had already chosen the groups they were sitting with at different tables. There was that hulking man, Ajax, and his equally large goons beside him. The willowy twins, Priscilla and Felicity, sat at a table with some of the more fair female prisoners. Then, there was a table of prisoners who looked deeply unhinged, which included Otto. Another of them stood silently by his table, doing pirouettes and locking eyes with me with each turn. Lastly, there was a table of smaller and weaker prisoners, including the young boy I had taken note of earlier, Issac, who eyed me with curiosity. Everyone had their own social caste and friend group here—everyone but me.
I shuddered at the unnerving presence of those around me, shifting my glance as I tried to size up the different groups…
…but my gaze snagged again on the red-haired woman, Rachelle, sitting alone with her head in her hands at a far table that looked even more covered in vines than the others, sloping at an odd angle.
I felt myself walking over to Rachelle. I needed an ally . But as I sat next to Rachelle, who was holding back tears in front of an empty plate, I knew my reasoning ran deeper than just finding an ally.
The truth shuddered through me as it floated to the surface. In my past life, I had known hunger. And I didn’t wish it on anyone.
“Have some,” I said, sitting next to Rachelle, who looked up at me with watery eyes. I slid onto the wooden bench beside her and pushed my plate in front of her.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked.
“You need it just as bad as I do,” Rachelle said, nodding down at me and my pointy collarbones protruding with silent protest against my skin. But I didn’t care.
“Have some,” I insisted once more, pushing my wooden tray to her like a treaty.
Rachelle took it as gratitude filled her gaze. She stabbed a large mushroom with a wooden fork. “I’m Rachelle Deveraux.”
“Saffron. Saffron Vale,” I said, remembering the last name that had been called out for me at roll call. It felt right when I tried it on my tongue.
“You’re new, aren’t you?” Rachelle asked.
“That’s what they tell me.”
She eyed me. “You’re here to compete in the trials?
“As far as I know,” I said, the truth just one layer down.
Rachelle grinned. “You’re right. What do I know? Maybe you are the first trial. You could just be a wraith come to fuck with us from The Foggy Forest of Embermere.”
“Embermere?”
Rachelle raised an eyebrow as she stuffed another forkful of food into her mouth. “You don’t know the name of this island? Gods, maybe you are a wraith. In that case, just drain my life energy and get on with it, already. The trials are going to be brutal and slipping into a quick death might be a mercy.”
“How bad can they be?”
“Win and become a hero for Luminaria, or die on this island and become worm food,” Rachelle quipped. “That’s what they always tell us, and the kingdoms beyond these trials only know whisperings of what happens here. Each year, The Ash Trials are thrown to honor the gods and the prophecy—not that gods have walked this earth for millennia. All of our gods are dead—well, as close to death as gods can be. But if you win, you gain your freedom—after five years in service to King Owen West’s army in the fight against Stormgard and the rebel kingdom they’ve formed after breaking off from Luminaria fifty years ago. The winner gets the honor of being bestowed the role of a high general—and all of the riches, land, and freedom that goes along with it. Survive the trials, and you get to live a renewed life. That’s the closest to godliness any of us scoundrels can hope to get close to after our crimes, anyways. At least, that’s what our precious King would have us to believe.” Rachelle stabbed a vegetable with her fork with so much force I thought the metal utensil might splinter.
“Not a fan of the King?”
Rachelle laughed, a sound that was surprisingly singsong for the dire situation she was in. “The King is a loathsome royal, which is why death might be nicer than being back under his thumb.”
“So that’s why you were trying to escape?”
“Yes,” Rachelle sighed. “I am magnificent, my dear Saffron. When you see me roar in the trials, you’ll understand.” She pointed her fork in my direction, a gleaming smile curling across her face. “But even I in all of my magnificence know that The Ash Trials are a death sentence. A way to cull magical prisoners in a way that entertains the King’s courtiers and his allied kingdoms that he invites to come and watch. And I do not perform for them .”
“There will be an audience?”
“As with everything the King does, yes, to an extent. So what did you do to end up on the wrong side of his laws?”
“I don’t know.”
Rachelle snorted. “That’s what they all say. Fine, you don’t have to tell me.”
“I would if I remembered. All I remember is waking up in a cell in a wedding dress. The rest is just… nothingness before that.”
Rachelle’s fork froze. “Oh. Shit. You’re being serious.” She put down the fork, studying me more closely. “Do you even know what your power is?”
I hesitated, but something in me wanted to trust Rachelle. I needed her as an ally, so I made the risky decision to be vulnerable. “I think I may be a… hollow . One who doesn’t have powers, I’ve been told.”
Rachelle’s eyes widened. “Gods, Saffron. You’re not going to last a day here.”
I leaned forward, folding my hands underneath my forearms so Rachelle wouldn’t see them shaking as I swallowed my fear. “I know. I overheard that you tried to escape. How?”
Rachelle dropped her gaze, and she seemed to go to a different place. “Not just me. Lucille and I.”
“Lucille,” I said, remembering what had been said earlier this morning. “She…”
“Didn’t make it,” Rachelle said through clenched teeth. “She made a run for it just as the guards caught me. The island made sure she didn’t get far.”
The words made something on the back of my neck prickle, as if I was being watched. “What do you mean the island made sure she didn’t get far?”
Rachelle stared me down. “No one who is branded with the mark of The Ash Trials may leave this island, Saffron. Not unless the gods will it. That’s why you have no choice but to try and survive the first trial.”
“I hope to last much longer than that,” I said. As soon as the words tumbled from my lips, I realized they were true. I had a resolve that came from something I didn’t fully understand.
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream echoed through the prison. All of the prisoners stopped eating, looking around for the source of the noise.
The guards who were stationed in the mess hall turned and ran back to the center of the silo, leaving us alone.
“What’s happening?” I asked.
Rachelle watched every last guard run out of the hall. “I don’t know, but I want to find out,” Rachelle said, pulling me after her. “This way.”
Rachelle dragged me down a separate weaving tunnel, toward the sound of screams. A boom tore through the prison, a rattling aftermath of an explosion that shook the walls. Dust and pebbles rained down on us as we ran through a narrow stone corridor.
Rachelle and I came to a stop at a tunnel opening that led into the circle of the silo where we had been earlier. As the dust from some kind of blast started to clear, I tripped on something below my feet. As I tumbled to the stone floor of the silo, I turned back to see that a guard’s dead body had caused me to fall. I raised my head, and saw dozens of bodies of fallen guards littering the silo floor with piles of debris and fallen stone. The damage was massive—crumbling stone was littered everywhere.
“Saffron!” Rachelle called a few paces behind me where she stood half-hidden by the lip of the tunnel.
“What—” I started, but I screamed and jumped back as another body fell from above, another blast rocking the silo.
I looked up just one level above where I stood, and my eyes caught on a flash of dark green-and-blue flame— shadowfire , a voice from within me supplied the name. Even from here, I could feel the flame, but instead of rippling heat, I felt a blast of cold air—so cold I could see my breath.
But it wasn’t the vast, all-consuming ripple of raw magic that nearly brought me to my knees. It was the immensity of the man who wielded it.
Ten guards lunged at him, and he lazily raised a hand, sending them flying over the banister with a smirk. He strolled past another dozen guards, descending down the spiraling staircase, giving me a better view of him as he strode across the ground floor of the silo, just ten paces away from me. He had dark black hair and high cheekbones that could cut glass. A swagger in his stride that looked casual, but belied a lethal grace. His black cloak flowed behind him as he summoned shadows that curled out of the ground around him. He was terrifying and devastatingly handsome—and I could feel the waves of absolute power rippling off him.
It was then that Callum emerged from the shadows opposite this strange man. Callum unsheathed his sword, standing strong and undaunted in front of this new threat.
“Stop. There will be no more bloodshed today, Assassin ,” Callum spat at him.
The man growled. “When I get what I want, the bloodshed will end.”
“Will it?” Callum challenged.
“Where is—” the man started to yell but then stopped. The air shifted. Suddenly, he took a step back from Callum, and Callum followed the line of his gaze?—
—to where I lay on the ground amidst the rubble and the bodies of the guards.
The world seemed to pause in that moment as the stranger’s deep black eyes locked with mine. His gaze was intense, as if galaxies were unraveling and being reborn in his irises. His dark black hair framed his face, his hands glowing with the power of shadowfire. He seemed to be illuminated by a glow that was otherworldly, and having all of his attention—all of that power radiating off him—focused on me felt heady. Intoxicating, even in the danger that rippled from this predator.
The stranger took a step toward me, transfixed.
“No!” Callum shouted, and in that instant, he dropped to a knee, blasting his shield over himself, and stretching the shimmering magical shield over to where Rachelle and I were with a grunt of effort.
But the stranger kept walking. As if in a trance, he headed toward me with that piercing gaze that felt like it was dismantling every fiber of my being and rebuilding it again and again. It kept me glued to the floor, unable to move even as Rachelle lunged for me, trying to get me to move. To run . But I couldn’t.
“Who are you?” I whispered. The question forced him to stillness, just a few feet in front of me. Some deep battle raging inside of him.
“Careful,” Rachelle warned, gripping my arm. I couldn’t tell if she was warning me or him.
But instead, a smirk stretched across this dark stranger’s lips, and he bowed. “I am the Shadowfire Assassin. But you may call me Tristen Greywood.”
The shield glowed around Rachelle and I in warning.
“Get away from them,” Callum called from behind the stranger— Tristen Greywood —and Callum slowly rose to stand while keeping his arms crossed as he continued to channel his magic into the shield.
Tristen turned and, with a flick of his wrist, sent a bolt of shadows after Callum, who was thrown backward, his shield lifting.
“Callum!” I yelled, but Callum was up in an instant, his sword glowing as he deflected Tristen’s darts of magic. Tristen turned fully and shot a powerful blow of shadows toward Callum, but Callum expertly dodged. He threw out another blast of his shield, tossing Tristen off his feet, but Tristen quickly recovered, landing catlike in a fighting stance.
“We’re done here,” Tristen said, flicking his wrist as more shadows poured out from around him, the temperature in the silo dropping a few more degrees. I shivered as the shadowfire continued to gather at his hands, the building shadows making Tristen look like a god of death.
“We’re done when I say we’re done,” Callum said, unsheathing his sword.
Tristen stalked toward Callum, his body glittering with raw power. Then, Tristen raised his hands, and the deadly blue-green flame shot out. Callum was shoved backward, hitting the stone wall behind him with a groan as he slid down it, his shield buckling under the force of Tristen’s blast.
“I’m just here to take what’s mine,” Tristen said.
Callum struggled to his feet, and I could see the pain in that movement as he squared off against Tristen, his shield glowing around him once more. “I won’t let you.”
Something pushed me to a run just as Tristen’s power began to build once more.
“STOP!” I screamed, and I slid in between the two men, throwing my arms around Callum. “Please,” I said, looking up at Tristen.
The flames on Tristen’s hands flickered, pausing. “You throw yourself in front of this man? To die for him?”
“He… he’s the only one here who knows me,” I confessed, my motives laid bare. “He’s my friend.” Or, that’s who he said he had been to the past version of me. I needed Callum to help me uncover the puzzle of the void that threatened to swallow my sanity.
But I also didn’t want any more blood to be shed today. I was exhausted by it—all of those who had been killed in front of me in the mere hours since I had awoken in my cell.
Tristen watched me, that piercing gaze heating with what felt like… hatred? Anger? I couldn’t tell, but I was still made breathless by that heated intensity, the chill of his strange shadowfire causing goosebumps to rise on my skin.
Would I die here, before the trials even began?
But the shadowfire died on Tristen’s hands. As it did, I realized that he was wearing a wedding band on his left hand. He was married?
“Very well, Sael ,” Tristen said to me. “If that is what you wish.”
I frowned at the odd word— Sael —but Callum’s expression hardened as he pulled me close.
“ Now !” a voice called from behind Tristen.
As Tristen whirled, a dark net with a glowing aura was cast over him. The moment the heavy iron net landed in a sea around his body, the guards swarmed him. I felt an immediate dampening of the power in the room as the net closed in on him. The immensity of his shadows receded back into him, lifting the darkness that had dampened the room, the torches on the wall flaring once more.
Callum held me closer. “Shackle him in iron and take him away,” he directed his guards.
“Yes, Commander,” a chorus of guards replied, and they descended on Tristen, who emerged from the dark net with new iron bands on his arms and legs like the other prisoners. But despite his loss, he still looked unbothered. Nearly lounging in his new iron bands, he threw a smirk over his shoulder?—
“See you soon,” he said to me, his eyes sparkling. And then he strolled away, the guards leading him back to that staircase, toward the higher floors. Maybe even the highest, as the lethal nature of his magic would warrant the most secure cell block as his cage.
I unwrapped myself from Callum as he pulled away to look at me.
“Are you okay?”
“I think so. Who was that?”
Callum glanced around, seeing a few guards cast curious gazes our way. “Not here. Go back to the dining hall. I’ll find you later.”
I walked back to where Rachelle was standing in the corridor, her face pale.
“Fuckin’ gods, Saffron,” Rachelle said.
“What?”
“You threw yourself in front of the realm’s most powerful magic wielder. Tristen Greywood, the Shadowfire Assassin . You’re lucky he didn’t shatter you with his power.”
I shivered, my instincts about him being a predator being proven right. “Why didn’t he?”
“I don’t know, but you have to stay away from him. He’s not just one of the most powerful wielders—he’s a mindweavyr . And not the kind that respects your privacy.”
“Mindweavyr?”
“This way,” Rachelle said, pulling me back down the maze of tunnels to the mess hall. “Mindweavyrs can jumble your memories. Compel you to do things you don’t want to. Tristen Greywood has been working with the rebels for a long time. He’s killed many of King West’s highest-level advisors—by warping their minds and leaving them for dead. Some he has the mercy to kill after he’s ransacked their minds.”
“Can he do that here?”
“Not while he’s wearing those iron bands. But once we begin a trial… all bets are off. When the iron is gone, so is our protection from him.” Rachelle leaned in closer. “The rumors say he once killed an entire village of Luminaria loyalists—just by convincing them to walk off a nearby cliff to their own deaths. Including the children. He’s that powerful—and ruthless.”
“If he’s so powerful, how did he end up here?”
Rachelle shrugged. “Betrayed by his own, maybe? Our dear old King West has quite the spoils of war to feed his never-ending reserves of blackmail and persuasion. The King must be overjoyed to have such a powerful rebel leader in his clutches—all the better reason for you to stay away from him.”
“Noted,” I said as we slipped back into our corner table just as the guards returned. Rachelle didn’t have to convince me to stay away from a man who had taken down a dozen guards with next to no effort. But I still wondered what had stopped him from destroying me.
“Everyone back to your cells!” the guards called, and there was a sea of white and gold as the guards started yanking prisoners up, herding them back down separate tunnels. The guards made it to our table, pulling us up by our arms.
“They never do this,” Rachelle said before she was forced by her guard to head in a different direction. “Usually they give us some time to train.”
“Then why now?”
“I bet we have the special guest to blame for this. I hope it doesn’t last,” Rachelle said. “See you soon, Saffron.”
Rachelle was led down another hallway, and a single guard herded me down the maze of dark hallways that I was trying to commit to memory.
I was once more locked in my dark cell lit by the single row of torches, and I folded myself onto the cold cot. I tried to calm my sprinting heart, but everything I’d witnessed that morning kept replaying in my mind.
I hadn’t lied to Tristen when I had flung myself in front of Callum. I knew that Callum was a key for a door in my mind—a door I would pay to unlock at any cost. Anything to banish the suffocating darkness of not knowing who I was and how I got here. And, selfishly, I saw Callum as an ally. Someone my past self trusted. I needed him to survive here.
Footsteps made me jump up as Callum rounded a corner with a lantern. As he found my gaze, he smiled. A brilliant, easy smile that softened his warrior’s appearance.
“Here, I brought you something from the guards’ mess.”
His other hand held out a tin mug that was steaming with something hot. He bent down and slid it under the bars by the door where there was enough space for it to get through. I gently rotated it to pick it up by its handle, bringing it to my mouth as I stood back up. It smelled warm, earthy—and had a rich chocolate smell. Despite the steam and heat coming off the mug, I desperately tried to take a sip.
“Don’t burn yourself!” Callum said, laughing, but it was too late.
I felt my tastebuds scream out as I stuck out my burned tongue, but I stared at the mug longingly. “What is this? It’s so good.”
“I thought so. Cocoa root tea. You used to drink it back in Riverleaf.”
“Riverleaf?”
“Our village. Would you like me to tell you about it?”
“Yes.”
Callum smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes as a sadness crept into them. “Rolling hills—endless green grass and fields with wildflowers that were so vibrant. The main town square was cut by a wide river that the shopkeepers used for trade. There were so many beautiful boats that bobbed down that main channel. We used to watch the boats go by together from the top of our favorite hill, but you always loved Artisans’ Square, where all of the chocolatiers and seamstresses showed off their wares. Riverleaf was… peaceful.”
“Was?”
“Many battles have been fought on Riverleaf’s soil as it’s a neutral border village that stands between Luminaria and the Stormgard rebels. But I’ll always remember it as what it was before the war. Back when I used to steal tarts from your freshly baked supply. You got so mad at me—but you always baked more than your mother needed to sell. I think you saved them for me on purpose.”
I blushed. “Sounds like I liked you.”
Callum swallowed. “I think you did, too.”
His description of me had melted my heart a bit—just like the hot drink I was cradling in my hands, the sweet smell teasing my senses. But there was no time for nostalgia. I had to get the answers I needed to survive. “What do I need to know about The Ash Trials, Callum?”
Callum sighed, looking at the ceiling—our moment broken. “They are a series of six trials held every year. All prisoners must compete—but only one can win. The rest die trying.”
I shivered, my new friend Rachelle blinking into my memory. “Only one survives?”
“It’s your life or theirs. The final trial is usually just a deathmatch to decide the winner.”
“And what should I expect from the other five trials?”
He winced. “They’re brutal, Saffron. They are true trials of the mind and body, each one conjured by the island above a different burial site of a dead god. And no one knows exactly what they’ll be each year, as the island decides?—”
“The island? You’re talking of the one we’re on right now?”
“Yes. The Isle of Embermere. And it’s listening to us. Deciding what trials are fit for its inhabitants. Its only goal—a directive given to it by the gods who are imprisoned here—is to turn mortals into heroes to carry out the gods’ wishes.”
I stared at him. “A sentient island is going to decide what trials we’re going to go up against?”
Callum darkened. “Embermere is ancient. And it demands payment each year.”
“Why?”
“The Isle of Embermere is trying to claw back what it wants. To destroy every living inhabitant on it. To eat every manmade structure. To reclaim every inch for itself. And if you can survive what it thinks it is owed—then you’ll be strong enough to head up one of King West’s armies. The old gods knew that our world would need heroes. This island is the antidote to that. It prevents our kingdom from becoming weak and succumbing to the rebels. The only thing safe from the island is Saltspire Palace. It’s made from salt crystals and warded with magic so the island thinks it's organically part of itself. The King and his court live in Saltspire every autumn during the trials.”
I nodded, trying to hide my sense of unease. “Okay,” I said, processing.
“But you can’t enter the trials, Saffron. You have to beg the King for mercy. When he comes to address the prisoners tomorrow morning, offer anything he wants. Try and get out of it?—”
It dawned on me then. What he was truly saying. “You think I can’t win,” I said.
Callum’s face softened. “You’re smart, but the odds are stacked against you.”
“Because I’m powerless?”
“Yes. But also because you’re… you. ” Callum reached through the bars and took hold of one of my hands. “You’re the daughter of a baker. You make a mean tart, but… you’re not a mean fighter, Saf. I lost you before, and I don’t want to go through that again, not after I just got you back. So, please . Beg the King for mercy. For your sake. And mine.”
I looked down as Callum’s hands clasped around mine, the still-steaming mug warming my skin. He was right—I wouldn’t last one of thes trials if the blood wielder and Tristen Greywood were any indication of what types of monsters I’d be up against. Even Rachelle could be something deadly. I would have no idea who any of my fellow prisoners were until their iron bands came off and their magic was unleashed in the first trial.
So why did it feel wrong to give up before the trials even started?
“Please,” Callum said, his hands tightening around mine.
“Okay,” I said, and he nodded, relief evident on his face. “I’ll do whatever you think I should to get out of here.”
“Get some rest,” Callum said.
I curled back on the cot as Callum disappeared with the warm light of his lantern. I cradled the hot drink I used to love from a memory far, far away.