Page 58 of A Thousand Burning Ravens

With thighs on either side of her and a blast of fire choking her in place, Imogene seems as though she may be defeated until Ivan doubles over, a wing wrapped around his middle. A sphere of energy thuds from his body, shaking the ground around them up onto the cliffside where Myla watches.

The wave is sucked into Imogene’s body and with a riveting gasp for air, she launches Bryar from her. An explosion of flames sizzles from his body, as he collides with a thicket of trees behind him.

Myla presses a hand to her chest, watching the searing hole in the woods dance with embers, waiting for him to emerge. He does. His flames have rescinded, and his body is covered from head to toe in ash and blood.

Finally, Ivan stands, motioning to his wife to cease her test of strength. His eyes turn to Bryar, who is knelt on one knee panting, his wings, the last sign of Ashborn, dissolving within his body. Myla realizes they are something he summons, like she does with her magic. They clearly are different from Ivan and Imogene’s; theirs are constants, a physical attribute.

Myla turns and hurries down the stairs, rushing to hear what is said, and more importantly, to inspect Bryar closeup. As she approaches, inaudible words begin to clarify and form sentences.

“It is evident, though deeply concealed within your being, that Ashborn blood runs through your veins,” Ivan speaks, glancing at his panting wife, a slight smirk washing over him. “Though you fought well, it was still as tactless as a fledgling.”

Myla slips into the opening, lingering in the background and watching how Bryar is slumped slightly forward, one hand braced on the ground to keep him from collapsing totally. His shoulders heave with effort, as he sucks in deep breaths of air. She aches to go to him, but something inside her knows this is his moment, one she does not belong in.

“How is it you were unaware of this?” Imogene asks, sitting upon her husband’s lap once more.

Bryar shakes his head, sweat dripping from the curls partially concealing his eyes. Breathlessly, he speaks. “I have always been a fire wielder. But my father never spoke of my mother. I never knew to look for anything more.”

Ivan nods slowly. “You may have heard it spoken of before; Ashborn are not supposed to mate with humans. Can you imagine why?”

Bryar laughs, his tone nearly mocking. “I can only assume it has something to do with whatever you and Her Grace were conjuring together.”

Ivan grins. “It is erotic, really. Watching your woman destroy her foe. But even more so is fueling her fury with your own. You see, when Ashborn marry, their magic becomes one; it pools together. I can draw from her energy, and she can draw from mine. We are one. So, our power is precious to us. When your mother mated with your human father, she compromised the strength the Ashborn built as a whole. Ask yourself why our territories are impenetrable. It is because we are impenetrable.”

Bryar stands now, his frame straightening with defiance. “I did not come here to hear you speak of my father as though he is a lesser man than you.”

Myla’s skin prickles at his audacity. That is erotic, really, she mocks Ivan silently, admiring Bryar’s gumption to speak his truth.

“I do not presume to make assumptions about your father. He clearly did his job well enough, as you stand here with what . . . integrity? Passion for your convictions? These are the premises with which we raise our fledglings.” The Ashborn king and queen exchange glances. There is something hidden within their gaze, something Myla can not put her finger on. But it is unnerving.

“I do, however, believe I can speak for my queen,” Ivan continues, “in saying, we would be delighted to offer you a position among our other trainees. You bear remarkable powers, and with time, we can help you hone them, should you accept.”

Myla stiffens at their offer. They are not doing him a favor. They do not want him taking that power elsewhere.

Bryar nods in appreciation. “I am honored,” he says, glancing briefly back at her. “I must take my queen into consideration, Your Grace. How long will she be protected within your walls?”

Ivan’s eyes flicker to where Myla stands before returning to Bryar. “The Blood Stealer’s tactics have not penetrated our territories in centuries. Your queen will be safe here, if she wishes to stay.”

Myla feels a weight tumble off her shoulders, realizing she can lie in bed this evening and not worry about him haunting her dreams or tugging at her impulses. Everything within her screams at Bryar to accept.

Admirably, he simply says: “I thank you. I will have to discuss both of your offers with her before I give you an answer.”

“Understandably,” Imogene responds, wiping smudges of ash from her brow. “Will you attend a feast this evening? It is in your honor, Ashborn celebrating Ashborn.”

Bryar’s chin bobs and he bows slightly. “Thank you, yes.”

He turns to leave now, making toward her first. As he approaches, she can see the ash buildup on his face and a cut along his abdomen which slowly drips blood.

“Bryar!” she hisses, examining him closely. “Are you alright? That was terrible.”

“I am fine,” he replies with an unconvincing chuckle. “Just a little sore.”

“Let us get you cleaned up,” Myla insists, taking his hand and leading him back to her chambers.

STEAM RISES FROM the tub of water where Bryar is reclined. Myla had asked that two baths be prepared for him, the first to wash the grime off, and the second to soak in and ease his muscles.

She sits and watches from across the room, silently observing as his jaw grinds back and forth, his mind clearly racing, though his closed eyes could be deceiving. She wonders what it must feel like to be him over the last several weeks. Years, really. In the last hour, a darkness has washed over him; something is gnawing at him.

“Bryar,” she says gently, almost hesitant to disturb the tranquility of the room.