Wings of Ash & Flame (The Winged Wars #1)

Chapter 1

One

A laire was no stranger to death and suffering. She wore them as a cloak—a sobering reminder that survival in Starling Gate meant keeping your head down and your mouth shut. Not that she was particularly good at the latter.

Especially when grandiose ideas of revenge and bloodshed whispered their plans in her rounded ears.

The evening air bit at her cheeks as she pulled her coat collar higher, eyeing the fae guard patrolling the cobblestone street ahead. His index finger spun in a circle as the breeze around his feet kicked up.

Alaire navigated the streets with practiced precision. The library job she walked farther away from had been no easy feat to secure—had cost her shreds of her dignity she would never get back—but it was her ticket out of this wretched place.

Three more months then I’m gone.

A bridge of black moonstone separated the fae quarters from the human districts, its surface absorbing what little sunlight remained. The lone guard nodded as she passed, his eyes sliding over her, lingering on the velvet breaches that clung to her legs.

He arched an eyebrow when he noticed her staring.

Keep dreaming, buddy . Alaire shoved her hands deeper into her pockets to avoid flipping him off.

She picked up her pace. Attention was a luxury she couldn’t afford. Like many others, she flowed in and out of the city for her livelihood, anonymous and forgettable.

Tonight was different. The flow of traffic on the bridge was practically nonexistent.

It was the Night of Remembrance, the one human-observed holiday, when an ancient decree banned fae from the human districts.

Once a solemn day of mourning for those who died in the humans’ final uprising, now it was nothing but an excuse for debauchery—drinking, fighting, gambling—anything to forget the reality waiting for them at sunrise.

Alaire moved swiftly, keeping to the shadows out of habit. Home was a few blocks away. A sparse room with a door that locked. Not much, but it was hers. Everything she owned had been earned through calculated risk and meticulous planning.

Burning heat prickled the nape of Alaire’s neck. She scanned the street and rooftops. Nothing apart from the stench of piss, shit, sewage, and ale. She clenched her hands into fists, pressing her thumbs against the top of her knuckles to try and steady the thrash of her staccato heartbeat.

Alaire had learned long ago that her gut was the only thing she could rely on in this world.

Something was wrong.

She was passing her favorite tea shop when a crack like thunder shattered the silence.

Alaire’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that sound. Was intimately familiar with it. Had the marks on her body to prove it.

The lash against bare skin. The copper scent of blood. The pleas for mercy that never came. She tried to swallow past the feeling of ash coating her tongue.

Alaire couldn’t afford trouble. Not when freedom from this hellhole was just within reach. Every piece of coin earned meant one step closer to a life beyond these walls.

A second, then a third consecutive crack . Alaire faltered when she heard a whimper fracturing into a sob.

Damn it all .

A wall she’d carefully built between survival and compassion crumbled at the sound.

She was moving before she realized she’d made a decision, following the distraught sounds into the gathering darkness.

Alaire stood before a narrow alley. Another crack and muffled cry vibrated through her body. Her hand automatically went to the hidden knife tucked into her waistband. Squaring her shoulders, she rolled her neck and headed toward what was surely nothing good.

The darkness gave way to dim light. Mandallay’s Market’s familiar green-speckled sign came into view.

Garbage spilled from containers that hadn’t been emptied in days.

A sack of misshapen apples had toppled; one had rolled amongst the cobblestones to stop against a polished riding boot that cost more than she earned in months.

Alaire’s eyes traveled up the navy uniform of a Cielore fae guard. The polished gold buttons caught what little light filtered into the alley. A matching, gaudy belt buckle clinked against the handle of a whip. The air around him rippled subtly—magic.

His wrist flicked as the whip connected with someone. A child . The sound that followed made her scars burn in recognition.

Alaire’s blood turned to ice. The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve, his skin pale beneath dirt and blood, his back laid open by repeated lashes.

The boy clutched his stomach as his back arched, splitting open a wound that’d begun to clot. His crime was evident in the half-eaten apple by his feet.

For a heartbeat, Alaire saw herself in his place—starving, desperate, broken. No one had stepped in to save a human orphan from punishment.

Alaire surveyed the space as she silently crept along the perimeter, praying the fae guard wouldn’t detect her with his advanced hearing.

“Eating food that isn’t yours is against the law, boy,” he sneered. “It’s stealing.”

Sadistic monster.

She slipped off her coat, swallowing down her dread. Alaire couldn’t turn her back on an injured child, regardless of the consequences.

Show no fear; have no mercy.

Alaire stepped out from the shadows. “Tsk, tsk.” She cocked her head. “I didn’t know defiling the Consortium’s laws was what they taught cadets these days.”

He swung his neck to see who had interrupted his fun, the whip still firmly grasped in his hand.

Alaire’s stomach clenched. She forced herself to maintain a relaxed posture despite her racing heart.

“Who do you think you are to question me, human ?” He spat the last word like poison. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, but you see, it does,” Alaire said sweetly.

“When a man decides to punish someone for the heinous crime of eating, it becomes everyone’s concern.

” She flicked her gaze up and down his pathetic, athletic, but lanky frame.

He was obviously overcompensating for something.

“Thinking may be a bit of a foreign concept to you. Unless… you’re not important enough to know the rules.

Is that it? They don’t bother telling grunt guards about the Night of Remembrance protocol? ”

He pivoted completely away from the boy. Good . Alaire needed to hold his attention for as long as it took the boy to recover. To get away.

“Your mistake was even thinking at all,” he said pompously. “Humans only live because the Consortium decrees it. I can do whatever I want to whoever I want, and no one would object otherwise.”

“Is that the lie you tell yourself to feel powerful?” Alaire took a step forward. Out of her peripheral vision, she noticed the boy inching his way to the mouth of the alley—not before snatching the half-eaten apple near his feet. All the while, her eyes never left the guard’s.

Alaire jabbed a finger into his chest. “You thought once you became a guard, all your problems would disappear. Females would flock to you in droves. But they all refuse you, don’t they? I’d bet solid Cielorian gold that it’s because of, um, the small artillery you’re carrying,” she crooned.

“Enough.” His face contorted, composure cracking. “You’ll regret that,” he said, stepping away from her.

I really need to learn when to shut up .

“I doubt it.” She shrugged nonchalantly, despite her heart hammering so hard it might burst from her chest. “I’ve regretted many things in my life, but standing up to assholes isn’t one of them.”

The boy had nearly reached the exit. He hesitated a moment before finally disappearing the way she came.

“I will not be mocked by the likes of you ,” he spat. The air around him began to swirl.

Years of forced deference, combined with the superiority lacing his tone, cracked something loose within her.

“Yet, here we are.”

Without warning, the fae flicked the whip, and it cut a deadly arc toward her.

Any fear that surfaced was quickly smothered by her refusal to ever go back there —to have to do those things. Never again. She would never be vulnerable and weak again.

Alaire dodged it—barely—feeling the whistle of wind against her skin.

The guard was faster than she anticipated, but he lacked precision.

He stood firm in the assurance of his power and wore his rage at the world like a badge on his chest, daring anyone to test him. She hoped this would make him clumsy.

Despite the roaring in her ears, she entrenched herself in the endorphins of the fight. Her ceaseless training had prepared her for scenarios just like this. Alaire forced her mind to clear and steadied her breath.

She feinted left, then dove right, closing the distance between them. Surprise flickered across his face. Humans usually fled; they rarely attacked. She seized his momentary confusion.

Alaire grabbed his wrist and twisted violently, forcing his fingers to drop the whip, then kicked him straight in the kneecap.

As he lay on the ground, Alaire reached for the dagger in her waistband and pressed the blade to his throat.

“Stay away from here,” she said, hovering. “And if I ever catch you hurting children again, I’ll gut you like a fish.”

As she turned to reclaim her coat, invisible hands pressed against her ribs, slowing her movements.

She’d foolishly forgotten about the guard’s magic.

“Humans are pathetic,” the guard gritted out, still lying on the ground. His fingers were splayed toward her, eyes gleaming with malice.

The pressure around her ribs increased. Alaire’s limbs felt heavy, as if she were pushing through water. Her nails dug into the hilt of the dagger.

Pain erupted from her scalp as she was roughly yanked by her hair against someone solid, someone else . Their breath stank of ale and onions. Her dagger clattered to the ground. A familiar buckle dug into her back—a second guard.

Her heart sank.

“What do we have here?” the newcomer drawled.

“Nothing in particular. Though if I had to say, that one”—Alaire pointed to the guard still lying on the ground—“rolling in his urine is swift justice.”

The guard, still holding her tightly by her hair, landed a hard blow to the back of her skull. Stars exploded across her vision. It was always her mouth that got her into trouble, even if it was the truth.

“A human who’s forgotten their place,” he said, licking the sweat that had gathered at her nape. “I’d be happy to give you a reminder—especially with that big mouth of yours.”

She felt the familiar sting of a blade digging into her neck.

Alaire’s knees threatened to buckle, but she straightened, refusing to show weakness even as fear clawed at her insides.

“Has anyone ever told you that brushing your teeth after you eat is common courtesy? Your breath could kill a person where they stand.”

He growled, tugging her hair harder as he dug the blade deeper into her skin.

“Has anyone ever told you that those with sharp tongues often find them cut out? Shall we see?” he taunted, dragging the blade across her skin, drawing a thin line of blood.

“My tongue is the least of your worries.”

She felt his weight shift from one foot to the other. Both his hands were full—a plan formed in her mind.

Alaire stomped on the guard’s foot, twisting away from his blade as her lungs screamed for air. Blood trickled down her neck where the edge had caught her skin. She pivoted, using the momentum to land a blow to his solar plexus.

She stumbled away, scooping up her weapon.

The guard charged toward her, his blade a blur as he sliced through her shirt. With him no longer pressed against her back, Alaire could see he was wielding a sword. She’d have to get much closer to inflict any real damage.

The guard matched her pace, forcing her onto the defensive. Breaking apart, they circled one another, each trying to wait the other out. But time was not something Alaire had tonight.

I need to end this now .

Alaire faked a move to the left and lunged right, aiming for his eye. Anticipating her move, he swept out his leg, attempting to trip her. She jumped back onto the balls of her feet, her dagger slicing the vulnerable skin of his underarm while he was still crouched low.

Suddenly, wind whipped around the alley with unnatural force, lifting her off her feet and slamming her into the wall. Her dagger flew down the alley, too far to reach.

Pain reverberated across her back and side. Something cracked—a rib, maybe two. Still, she dug her fingers into the wall behind her, refusing to end this on her knees.

“You made a mistake tonight,” the first guard said, standing at his full height as he slowly approached. His nose flared. “One you won’t live to repeat.”

He snickered at her injured body before punching her jaw. She crumpled against the wall again. He stood over her, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

“To repay the favor.”

An agonizing burn erupted in her side.

Her eyes darted to the source of her pain—sticky, thick blood coated her fingers.

The second guard’s fist connected with her temple.

Alaire swayed, the world tilting as her knees buckled. She fought to stay conscious, but darkness crept in. The guard’s voice was the last thing she heard, a vicious promise that followed her into oblivion.

“You should have stayed away.”

A bitter thought echoed in her last fleeting moment of consciousness: I should have stayed away. But I couldn’t .