Page 1 of The Blade in the Ashes
Chapter One
Thea
The damned quill wouldn’t move.
“Ugh!” I groaned out in frustration, the sound soon followed by a splintering crash as I threw my glass across the room. Sharpened fragments fell, splattering into the now-puddling tea I had refused to drink.
They kept bringing me tea.
As if tea would make any of this better.
As if tea would make that cursed quill move.
Already, I had been staring at it for hours. Maybe longer. Honestly, it felt like I had spent days in this position, huddled over my desk, willing that quill to move with everything I had in me.
I had begged and pleaded.
I had felt every emotion possible in an attempt to trigger some minor spark of power.
First, I had thought of the Dragon slamming down on my back with that horse crop and the way his body had looked when Hyrax had flayed him.
Then, I thought about Iris. I had thought about how much I missed her. Then, I’d remembered that look on her face when she saw I had freed Camilla from the prison cells.
Then I thought of him.
Golden hair. Golden eyes. Golden scales.
Clayton Vail.
My everything.
Still, the quill didn’t move.
My magic was as gone from me as he was.
A creak sounded behind me as weight shifted onto the floorboards of my bedchamber. I whirled, grabbing onto the blade I had placed atop my desk and holding it steadily in front of me, baring my teeth at whoever had tried to sneak up on me.
Dark boots. Dark clothes. Dark hair.
He scanned over the mess on the floor before lifting his brows and meeting my stare. “I’m fairly certain we have people who can take away your drinks when you’re finished with them.”
“Get out, Caldrius.”
I scratched at my wrists, still not accustomed to the feeling of the iron marriage bands there. Most of the time, I could ignore them, but I always felt more aware of them when I looked at him. On the night I swore myself to Caldrius as his wife, the bands had fused to me, one onto each of my wrists. They were supposed to be a reminder of the lifelong commitment. That constant reminder might have brought happiness to a woman in love.
They felt more like shackles to me.
I sensed his attention on my fingers, felt his eyes on their movement as I tugged unhappily at the bands, and he sighed, folding his hands behind him. He was the picture of politeness—head held tall, dark hair trimmed neatly, beard cleanly shaven. A pleasant smile danced on his face as he rocked on his heels.
“Have you eaten today?”
I ignored him, and he made a humming sound as if my silence were answer enough.
“Well, I thought I’d see if you were interested in leaving our room today?”
Our room. I scoffed at the words.
It was my room.
