Ashes and Vows (The Ashmark #3)

Prologue

MALRIK

Ihave her exactly where I want.

Not in chains. Not on her knees, begging for their lives. No, that will come later. And right now is better. This is fractured foundations and feigned momentum.

I saw it the moment I spoke her mother’s name and watched as the truth split something open inside Rowan. Hope warred with fear. Resolve followed close behind. She didn’t crumble. She hardened.

Good.

Grief is a sharper teacher than comfort ever could be.

So, for now, I watch and wait. As I have been for nearly a century.

I didn’t know who Rowan would be, but I’ve always known this Ashmark would be the key. It’s almost a pity to watch the young one suffer, but this path can’t be avoided. Not for any reason. Not by anyone.

Because it’s just me and her now, and only one of us wins.

I’m sure she wonders why I haven’t come for them, why I would give her that knowledge and strength so freely.

Why I didn’t keep it.

But it’s all part of the plan and I have them right where I want them.

Because secrets fester when left buried, doubt breeds hesitation, and love—family or otherwise—is the most reliable forge of power I’ve ever known.

Now, Rowan’s hellbent on bringing a war to my doorstep, and her mate is intent on having an army behind them when they do.

The thought makes me grin.

This motivation is priceless. They would never have left that manor otherwise. They would have hidden behind stone walls and called it strategy. They would have waited for answers instead of becoming them.

I corrected that mistake with a single name.

I believed once that devotion would be enough. That effort could outweigh expectation, and love could exist without condition.

It took only a moment of judgment to strip that illusion away from me.

Not enough.

Not right.

Not who we need.

Their verdicts echoed louder than any prophecy ever could.

But I made sure those who had forsaken me never received what they sought. One by one.

Terror does not revoke itself so easily, and I am far from finished, even when those eyes no longer see.

Rowan is learning restraint now, continuing the lessons I set into motion. Choosing when to wield her power and when to hold it back. She still believes control is possible. That balance can be maintained, and that choice matters.

Maybe she’s right.

But those beliefs won’t survive what’s coming.

I have no intention of rushing this. I didn’t spend lifetimes preparing for this moment only to squander it on impatience. I’ll let her settle into leadership, let her earn loyalty, and let her believe strength is something earned rather than taken.

More so, I’ll let the world begin to watch.

When I step out of the shadows, I want witnesses. I want remembrance. I want the same covens that once dismissed me to understand exactly what they failed to recognize.

And when Rowan comes for her mother—because I know she will—and when she finally stands before me whole, sharpened by grief and devotion and that woeful thing she still clings to called hope…

She’ll be a formidable opponent.

One whom I’ll show the truth that this world taught me.

Worth is proven only by who survives the breaking.

I don’t intend to be the one that shatters first.