The Ash Rider #3
Icy horror washed through him as realization sank into him.
The Fae—the children — who would disappear, assigned to duties outside the cliffs.
They had all been killed for simply not being powerful enough.
For not being born with the gifts the Baroness desired.
Who would carry out those types of orders?
But he would have a few years ago. No questions asked if the Baroness had told him it was required to keep them safe. Fuck, maybe he had, and she just hadn’t told him the truth about those he had killed. She had never ordered him to kill a child, but would he have questioned her?
He had to believe he would have said no because if not…
But he hadn’t said no to any of the orders he’d been given to hand out death.
The sword strapped down his back had innocent blood on it.
His gifts had been used to maim and destroy and kill those who had never deserved it.
Who had simply been born in the wrong place at the wrong moment in time.
They had been taught the gods had blessed them to be born away from the world in the safety of the cliffs, when in reality they had been abandoned by the gods and cursed by the Fates.
He skidded to a halt outside the iron door. He couldn’t cross the wards to this chamber of his own volition. One of the few rooms he did not have free access to.
Now he knew why.
Two guards came rushing up behind him, confusion etched along their features. “Do either of you have access to this chamber?” Rayner demanded.
“No, Ash Rider,” one answered, his confusion shifting to trepidation as he watched Rayner. “Only the Baroness and the Marshals can enter at will.”
The Marshals. He’d known they could enter at will, but that was because there were cells in that chamber to hold criminals while they served time for their crimes. Not because…
But the more he thought about it, that fit too.
The Marshals not only oversaw the cells, but were in charge of the overseers who monitored the Fae and one Marshal, Feris, was the Captain of them all.
He was a mean fucker that Rayner was grateful he’d rarely had to deal with, let alone answer to, but gods.
Would he have put everything together sooner if he had been around the male more?
Could he have stopped or changed any of this?
The iron door creaked, and one of the Marshals stuck his head out, a flickering torch in his hand. “What the fuck is going on out here? Don’t you lot know it’s the middle of the godsdamn night?” he grunted.
But that door opening was all Rayner needed.
He moved among the smoke wafting up from the flames, appearing behind the Marshal, a dagger already pulled and slicing across the male’s throat.
He’d snatched the torch from his hand and was racing down the passageway before the Marshal’s body had hit the ground.
He could hear them, the sounds of frightened people.
He could smell the fear in the air. Moving again among the smoke, he left the torch behind and appeared in the large chamber where the stream filled a large pool.
He materialized in the middle of a group of Marshals, two daggers leaving his hands and flying in opposite directions.
Ducking when a sword came for him, he pulled a knife from his boot.
He threw it, and the knife disappeared among ashes that swirled in his palm.
He followed in another wisp of smoke, reappearing behind the swordsman.
Rayner spun towards a large hearth along one wall of the chamber where the knife appeared in the ashes, still airborne from the force of his throw, lodging itself in the male’s gut.
He heard more boots thundering down the passageway, and he moved to meet the guards, drawing his sword as he did.
Arrows flew for him, but ashes were pouring out of one palm, creating a shield around him that the arrows bounced off of, clattering harmlessly to the ground.
He lost track of how many guards he killed, the screams of frightened children and Fae echoing in the chamber.
He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop until they were all dead, and Breya would be safe and—
“Rayner.”
The sound of her voice had him spinning around to find her. How had she gotten down here so fast? But when his eyes landed on Moranna, his magic guttered. His shield fell away, bits of white ashes floating to the ground. She held a dagger in her hand, blood dripping off the end onto…
Onto the still form of a child with bright red hair lying in a growing pool of blood at her feet.
He’d dropped to his knees at some point, because suddenly Moranna’s red painted nail was tipping up his chin, and he was staring into depthless dark eyes. She clicked her tongue at him, and a pitying pout formed on her lips. “Such poor choices, my Ash Rider.”
“She was a child,” he rasped, his eyes dropping back to the unmoving body.
“She was no longer of any use to me. Why would I feed and house something that is unable to offer me anything in return?” she replied, finger sliding along his jaw. “You’ve created quite the mess down here, Rayner. I cannot let this go unpunished.”
He dragged his eyes back to her, but before he could reply, something was clamped onto his wrist. “Shirastone does not work on me,” he snarled, jerking away from her touch.
“I know,” she said soothingly. Then she leaned in closer to whisper into his ear, “That’s why it is not shirastone.”
He felt it then. The smothering of his magic. It was like shirastone but magnified by thousands. And the draining. Gods, he could feel his magic draining away. More than that, he could feel his very life-force draining away.
“What is the final count?” Moranna asked, straightening and taking a step back from him.
“Fifty-two,” came the gruff voice of Feris.
She clicked her tongue again. “Fifty-two of my sentries and Marshals, Rayner. I am so disappointed.”
His lip curled back, baring his elongated canines at her. “I am going to kill you. I am going to kill you and everyone who knew what was going on here and did nothing. I am to kill every Fae that followed your orders without questioning a fucking thing.”
“And you, my pious Ash Rider?” Moranna asked, her arms folding and her chin resting on a thumb and forefinger. “You have killed on my orders. Did you question me?”
“You told me they deserved their deaths,” he snapped.
“And they did. They would have drained valuable resources from the colony. Everything I do is to keep those in my charge well-taken care of. You know this,” she replied placatingly.
“Where is Aravis?”
“Who?” she asked, her brow furrowing in feigned puzzlement.
At his snarl, she continued, “Oh! The other child? She has been assigned as a power vessel. I already told you this.” She stepped closer once more, bending down to speak softly to him again.
Her fingers sank into his hair, her lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“As soon as she has her first bleeding, she will be used until she is with child. She will bear many young for me. Surely one of them will be born as strong as you, not? I shall need someone to replace you in my bed one day.” Her fingers tightened, tugging at his scalp.
“But now, my Ash Rider, it is time to come back to bed.”
“I will never bow to you again.”
There were muffled gasps from the sentries still alive, and a low whistle came from Feris.
“Want him in a cell, your Grace?” the Captain asked, stepping to her side. He sneered down at him.
Moranna stood. “As much as it will hurt my heart to do so, perhaps that would be best for the remainder of the night,” she agreed.
“Give him one with a proper view of what you will finish carrying out tonight.” She patted Rayner’s cheek twice before moving to the opposite end of the chamber.
Her palm pressed to the rocky wall, and an archway appeared, a set of stairs that wound up appearing.
A hidden passageway. That’s how she had made her way here so quickly.
Feris pulled him roughly to his feet, dragging him to a cell directly across from the pool and the boats tied to the wooden docks. A perfect view indeed.
The door clanged shut after he was shoved inside. Rayner felt wards sealing it up.
“The Baroness’s favorite. Locked up. Can’t say I haven’t dreamed of this day, Ash Rider.”
“I am sure it will be your favorite memory of me.”
Feris snickered.
Rayner smiled back. A dark, wicked thing. The smile of a monster that had been awoken at the sight of Breya’s lifeless body on the ground. “My favorite memory of you will be when I watch the life drain from your eyes while I hold your heart in the palm of my hand.”
Feris stared back at him, blinking once, clearly unsure of how to respond to such a statement. Then he huffed a laugh. “I knew those swirling eyes meant you weren’t all there, Ash Rider.”
“You have no idea how true that statement is.”
Feris didn’t bother to reply, turning away and striding back to the remaining Marshals. There was a group of Fae, young and grown, huddled in the center of the chamber. Rayner counted them. Sixteen. Sixteen remained alive, while twelve were already dead.
Then he watched.
He watched as they drew daggers across throats. He watched every Fae fall to the ground, listened to every plea for mercy, and heard every cry of fear from a child. He watched as they filled the boats, and the Marshals boarded to ferry them outside the cliffs.
He watched as Breya was tossed thoughtlessly into the last boat. She would not be given a Farewell. None of them would. Her body might be burned, but she would not receive the rites of the Fire Court like she deserved.