Page 24 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

The forest flew past me in a blur of emerald and gold, sunlight piercing through the canopy in glittering beams that dappled the moss-covered floor.

The air was rich with the scent of pine and wildflowers, fresh and sharp in my lungs as I leapt over a fallen tree, landing silently on the balls of my feet.

Eryn was just behind me. I was faster, moving like a ghost through the underbrush.

Fae’s speed was exhilarating. Addicting. The wind whipped through my hair as I pushed to stay ahead of her, my heart pounding not from exhaustion, but from the sheer thrill of it.

Birds burst from the trees as we passed, their wings flapping in startled protest. We were deep in the Highgrove woods now, far from the castle, surrounded by towering oaks older than the first war.

“Faster!” I called back to Eryn with a grin, my voice barely winded. “You’re getting lazy!”

“Lazy?!” She barked back with a half-laugh, vaulting over a rock and keeping stride. “You’re the one cheating with wind magic!”

I glanced over my shoulder and smirked. “Then maybe you should learn to cheat too.”

I knew Non-Royal Fae didn’t harness any elemental powers, so I enjoyed teasing Eryn about it.

Moments later, we skidded to a halt in a sunlit clearing, the light cascading down in golden rays through the shifting branches. The autumn air felt cooler here, calmer. Birds called in the distance, and somewhere nearby, a creek whispered over stones.

I doubled over slightly, hands on my knees, catching my breath. Eryn barely looked winded, of course. She straightened, brushed a leaf from her shoulder, and cracked her knuckles.

“Alright,” she said, stepping closer. “Now that you’re warmed up, let’s work on that punch.”

I groaned. “Again? I thought I was getting better.”

“You’re getting better at not breaking your own fingers. That’s about it,” she teased. “But if you want to be more than just pretty fire and moody lightning, you’re going to have to hit harder than a butterfly.”

I rolled my eyes but squared my shoulders, fists raised the way she’d shown me before. Eryn took up position across from me, bouncing on the balls of her feet with a predator’s ease. Her expression turned serious.

“Now focus. Keep your guard up, core tight. And don’t flinch when I hit you.”

I barely had time to register that last part before her fist came swinging toward my shoulder. I yelped and ducked, just missing it.

“Oh come on,” I muttered, straightening.

“You flinched,” she said flatly. “Do it again.”

We went back and forth like that—me trying to land a proper hit while Eryn dodged and corrected my stance with quick, stinging jabs to my ribs or arms when I slipped up. Sweat dripped down my spine. My hair stuck to my face. I was breathing harder, and my knuckles ached from poor alignment.

“That’s it,” Eryn barked. “Step in with your whole body, Elara. You can’t just throw your arm and hope it lands. You have to mean it.”

“I am!” I snapped, frustration bubbling up. “I just—ugh—it’s hard when you keep hitting me!”

“Good. It should be hard. You think they’ll go easy on you when war comes?”

Her words struck me like a physical blow. I froze, lowering my hands slightly. “War?”

Eryn exhaled, brushing a strand of lilac hair from her damp forehead. “Yes. Thrandor is preparing. Whatever King Aymon has locked away in that castle of his… they want it.”

My heart dropped at the mention of his name.

I blinked, confused. “A weapon?”

Eryn nodded. “We don’t know what it is. No one does. Not even Aymon’s highest generals. But the kings have started whispering. The borderlands are bristling. Zayn left to return to Windaria—probably forced to by his repulsive father…”

I stared at her, my heart skipping a beat. “Windaria? Zayn’s from Windaria?”

Before she could respond, a slow, amused voice drawled from the shadows near the tree line. “She tells you everything except the good bits, doesn’t she?”

Makar stepped into the clearing like he’d been there all along—lean, wild, and infuriatingly confident.

His dark red hair was wind-swept, eyes gleaming with something between mischief and calculation.

He gave me a once-over, head tilted. “Nice form, though you still drop your left elbow when you throw.”

I bristled. “Thanks for the commentary.”

He only grinned, walking a lazy circle around me. “You’ll need more than a decent punch if you want to survive what’s coming. Which is why I’m here.”

I turned, following his movement. “Here to annoy me into submission?”

He chuckled. “Tempting. But no. I’m here to keep your head from becoming a sieve and help you control your magic. Shields up, Elara. Now.”

I groaned, dragging my fingers through my hair. “Why do I need to keep a mental shield up while Eryn’s trying to break my jaw?”

“Because in battle,” Makar said, his tone suddenly sharp, “no one attacks you with just fists. They’ll claw through your mind if you’re not protected. Charm you. Trick you. Control you. Some won’t even need to touch you to make you fall.”

Eryn crossed her arms. “And I’m not going to go easy on her just because she’s multitasking.”

I gave them both an exasperated look. “You guys are the worst.”

“And yet,” Makar murmured, stepping closer, his voice like velvet, “you like having us around.”

My breath caught. His nearness always did something to me—frayed the edge of my focus, stirred heat in my chest and in between my legs. He tilted his head and smiled faintly, all teasing set aside. “Shield up, Elara. I’m coming in.”

I braced myself. A second later, I felt the brush of his presence against my mind, like fingers trailing over glass. I slammed the wall up hard, mentally shoving back.

“Better,” he said approvingly. “But I could still slip through.”

“Try,” I challenged.

His grin turned wicked. “Don’t tempt me, darling.”

The pressure built as I held the barrier against him, sweat prickling my skin as I tried to block him out and keep my stance with Eryn at the same time as I kept blocking her assaults. My mind strained. My body screamed for reprieve.

But I didn’t break.

After a moment, Makar pulled back with a satisfied hum. “She’s learning.”

I collapsed to my knees, gasping for breath. “You two are psychopaths.”

Eryn laughed. “We prefer experienced.”

I sat there, catching my breath, until something clicked in the back of my mind. “Wait… Windaria. You said Zayn went to see his father.”

Eryn and Makar exchanged a glance.

I narrowed my eyes. “Who is his father?”

Makar folded his arms, expression unreadable. “King Thrandor.”

That hit me like a blade to the gut. Ice flooded my veins.

King Thrandor.

The man who killed my Fae parents. The butcher of so many lives. The man who is disgusted with any being that is not Royal Fae. The man that wants to rule everything. The man who has no business to sitting on a throne.

My father’s throne.

My voice came out hollow. “That’s… Zayn’s father?”

Makar’s eyes darkened. “Yuuup. Real son of a bitch too. Happy to not be anywhere near him.”

And just like that, the forest didn’t feel quite so golden anymore.

I stared blankly at Makar, the world tilting under me.

King Thrandor. The name rang in my ears like a death bell. My breath came short and sharp, and for a moment, all I could hear was the blood rushing in my head.

“That can’t be right,” I whispered. “Zayn’s father…?”

“He is,” Makar confirmed, watching me carefully. “But don’t twist the bloodline.”

Eryn stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. Her grip was grounding, solid. “Elara,” she said, gently but firmly, “Zayn is nothing like Thrandor. None of us are.”

I looked up, and the sincerity in her eyes struck me quiet.

“Zayn has spent his entire life trying to distance himself from that gods-awful man,” she continued.

“He wants the crown only so he can tear it from his father’s hands and end the legacy of violence Thrandor built.

Even if Zayn is not marked by Windaria, he’s working from the inside, risking everything to stop the cycle.

You may not trust him now, but I do. With my life.

Zayn is on our side—the correct side of history. ”

I swallowed, the weight of her words settled in my chest. My fury didn’t leave me—it simmered like hot coals under my skin—but it twisted into something else. Something rawer. Conflicted.

I frowned. “What does it mean… to be marked by Windaria?”

Eryn’s expression softened, though reverence flickered in her eyes. “It means the land itself claims you. The air bends to your presence, the winds know your name before you even speak it. No spell—”

“Well, almost no spell,” Makar cut in with a smirk.

Eryn shot him a look but continued, “No crown, no army can forge that connection. It is older than kings, older than the courts themselves. Only those chosen by prophecy are marked, and only they can sit the throne without tearing the kingdom apart.”

Confusion twisted through me. “But then… how can Thrandor rule if he wasn’t marked?”

The two of them exchanged a look. Makar’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know he wasn’t?”

My voice shook, but I forced the truth out. “Because he killed my parents. Sylvain and Iridessa… they were my Fae parents.”

Their mouths fell open.

“Well, holy shit. I should get down on my knees and grovel to you,” Makar muttered.

“You’d like it too much,” I said back.

Eryn drew in a sharp breath, her voice hushed but urgent.

“That explains everything. Thrandor spilled their blood, killed them both, and bound their deaths to himself. With a Mage’s forbidden spell, he tricked Windaria into letting him claim the throne.

He chained the kingdom to his will. That is how he’s ruled—by corruption, not by prophecy.

” She gripped my arm tightly. “Elara, does he know who you are? That you survived?”

“No. How would he?” I asked. My stomach turned at the thought.

“He will find out eventually,” Makar said grimly. “And when he does, he won’t be happy knowing the throne technically belongs to you… not him.”

The words hung heavy, echoing in my chest.

I tried to steady myself, but my voice cracked. “Then why would Zayn go back to tell his father anything happening here at Irongate? Wouldn’t that just be feeding information to the enemy?”

Eryn exhaled slowly. “Because Zayn was sent here as his father’s assassin. We don’t know the exact assignment, but it isn’t hard to guess—most likely, he was sent to kill King Aymon.”

My brows drew together. “But why? Why would the Fae even care about the human realm when they already have everything they want?” Panic pricked through me as another thought surfaced. “Fintan…” My chest clenched. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt him.

“As I said, King Aymon has some kind of weapon hidden in the castle,” Eryn explained with a shrug. “We don’t know what it is. But whatever it is, Aymon plans to use it to destroy the Fae realm.”

“I don’t even know what to believe anymore,” I admitted, my voice breaking as I sank against the nearest tree. “My world has been torn apart, and I don’t even know how to piece any of it back together.”

“Then believe what you see,” Makar said smoothly, stepping between us, his tone lighter though his eyes gleamed sharp. “Which is why you need to channel all that lovely fury into something more useful than standing around brooding.”

I glared at him. “Like what?”

He grinned. “Magic. Let’s see how much heat you can throw without setting the forest on fire.”

We shifted to a wide, grassy rise just beyond the tree line, where the ground was soft enough not to shatter my bones if something went wrong. Makar circled me, arms folded, as Eryn leaned against a nearby tree and watched with an amused smirk.

“Small bursts,” Makar instructed. “Nothing flashy. No infernos. You’ve done that. This is about control. Light it. Snuff it. Light it again. Let your fire and earth breathe together—find rhythm.”

I inhaled, grounding myself as I raised a palm to the sky and called the flame. It sparked into being with a crackle, golden-orange and swirled like a wisp caught in the wind. My other hand touched the ground, and I called the roots, the soil, the hum of the earth’s pulse.

Balance.

But it was like trying to dance on a tightrope in a storm. The fire wanted more. The earth resisted. The two fought in my chest, and I had to grit my teeth to keep them from exploding outward.

“Good,” Makar murmured. “Now—release.”

I exhaled sharply, extinguishing both. The stillness left me gasping, my body trembling from the strain.

“Again.”

We repeated the process until my skin was slick with sweat, my limbs trembling, and my stomach aching from hunger. My magic crackled through me in fading bursts, unpredictable and unsteady, like a dying ember in the wind.

“I can’t,” I groaned, sinking to my knees. “I’m done.”

“You’re not,” Makar said softly, crouching in front of me. “But you’re tired. And starving.”

“You think?” I snapped, rubbing my temples.

“I also think,” he said with a smug grin, “we need a break. I propose we get very, very drunk tonight. You deserve it.”

I blinked at him, too tired to argue. “What?”

“Come on,” he coaxed, turning to Eryn. “Back me up. We’ve been breaking her body and her brain all week. She needs to let loose. Right?”

Eryn chuckled. “I’m not usually one to mix battle prep with ale, but I think she’s earned it. And I wouldn’t mind getting a little reckless either.”

I looked between the two of them and sighed. “Fine. But if I end up dancing on tables, I’m blaming both of you.”

Makar’s grin widened. “I’ll hold your hand while you do it.”