Page 51 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

I was dragged through the familiar halls, my heels scraping against the stone as we passed the queen’s garden. The scent of frostbitten roses lingered in the air, a cruel contrast to the grip digging into my arms. We stopped in front of the large iron doors.

I laughed. A sharp, humorless sound.

Of course my prison cell would be just beyond these doors.

When the doors groaned open, darkness spilled out like a living thing.

Water dripped steadily somewhere in the distance, each drop echoing down the torch-lit stairwell that descended into the earth.

The air grew colder with every step they forced me to take.

My breath clouded in front of me, curling into the shadows.

At the bottom, I expected the forbidden books that the queen once claimed were kept here.

But there were none. Instead, in the center of the vast chamber, a single cell stood—windowless, its contents hidden from view.

My gaze darted around, taking in every detail, every possible escape, my pulse hammering in my throat.

And then I felt it—Misun. His presence pressed against me, heavier, sharper, more vivid than I had ever known.

My eyes caught onto a massive door to the far right, sealed tight and looming like a silent sentinel.

Before I could focus on it, rough hands shoved me forward.

The iron cuff was clamped around my neck tightly as they threw me into the Argentum Chamber. The weight of it was bad enough, but the bite of cold metal made my stomach churn—it reeked of iron and silver. It burned my skin when it was first put on, but somehow, it wasn’t burning anymore.

My panic deepened when I looked around. The walls weren’t stone. They were silver.

Not polished, beautiful silver—dull, deadly sheets of it.

I barely had time to think before my hand brushed against one in my struggle, and the skin on my knuckles hissed and blistered.

I yanked back with a hiss of pain, cradling my hand to my chest. The burn was deep, hot, and unrelenting, eating at me as if the silver wanted to crawl into my veins.

I didn’t have long to react. Two guards shoved me into the center of the room where a single chair waited—bolted to the floor, its frame cold iron.

Barbed wire wound around my wrists and ankles as they restrained me.

It wasn’t silver—my father had banned its use in the weapons he was making—but the bite of the wire still made blood bead and trickle down my arms.

The door slammed behind them, and Queen Faylinn’s heels clicked against the silver floor.

She didn’t speak right away. She circled me, the sharp scent of her perfume cut through the metallic tang of the room. Then she smiled—too wide, too knowing—and let out a soft, mocking laugh. “I thought you would’ve figured it out sooner, darling.”

My throat was raw from crying—Landen, my father, Yara… all gone—but rage burned hotter than grief. “Why are you doing this?! What do you want from me?!”

Her laughter deepened, rolling in her chest like she truly found me amusing.

She stepped closer, eyes glittering. “I only ever wanted you to marry Fintan. Everything would’ve been perfectly fine if you just stayed with my son. Do you know why?”

I swallowed, jaw tight.

“So the two of you could reproduce. A new line of Fae… powerful Fae. You two would own every throne in this world.”

Anger sliced through me. My brows furrowed, but before I could speak, she kept going.

“You see, Elara, I knew you were Elementara the moment I met you.”

Mothers words echoed in my mind, “I think your parents were more than just Fae.”

My eyes went wide despite myself. “How? How could you possibly know?”

Her smile sharpened. “Magic calls to magic.”

Then she lifted her hands, and tendrils of deep violet magic coiled around her fingers like living smoke.

Without warning, she thrust it forward. The blow slammed into my stomach.

Agony exploded outward, curling me forward as far as the restraints allowed.

My scream ripped through the chamber, raw and shaking.

The magic felt wrong—cold and burning all at once—flooding through me like it was trying to strip my magic from the inside out.

Faylinn leaned in, her voice almost conversational as she reached for something on the tray beside her—a gleam of steel caught my eye. “Fintan is an innocent man. He has no idea what he is, because he’s never felt his power. I’ve been taking it from him since he turned eighteen.”

My breath came in sharp gasps as she turned the blade in her hand, almost admiring it.

“It’s what’s made me so strong,” she purred, “and what’s allowed me to control the King’s every move when I’m near him.”

The realization struck like lightning—every time Faylinn was near Aymon, he bent to her will. Submitted to her.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she went on, her tone dripped with false sweetness, “the King still despises you, Elara. He just tolerates you when I’m around…

because I wanted something from you. But you ruined it all, you stupid, stupid girl.

And now, well, now I’m going to steal your power.

Strip by strip, until you have nothing left.

Then, I’ll let my husband finish you off.

And since I will have your powers, I will steal those Fae thrones and be the most powerful Queen this land has ever seen! ”

Pain tore through me as she drove the tip of the instrument into my thigh. It wasn’t deep, but the edge was jagged, and she twisted it just enough to make white-hot fire shoot up my leg.

I screamed, my voice echoing off the silver walls, the sound swallowed by the Queen’s soft, satisfied chuckle. My magic should have risen instinctively, coiling in my chest, clawing to protect me.

But it didn’t.

I tried to call it—tried to feel that familiar heat—but it was gone, like someone had scooped the core of me hollow. Panic flared sharper than the burns on my wrists. I tried mentally speaking to Zayn, but nothing.

Faylinn noticed. Of course she noticed. Her eyes gleamed with cruel satisfaction.

“Your magic is no good in here,” she said, voice thick with mockery.

“Fae can’t use magic around silver. But surely you already knew that.

” She tilted her head, as if studying a curious insect.

“Silver doesn’t affect me because I warded this room myself.

Twisted the very air to bend around the metal so I could keep my power while any other’s would be left hollow.

” Her gaze swept over me. “And you… even though you’re Fae…

and a very rare and powerful one at that…

you are helpless in here.” A slow, wicked smile curved her lips.

“What a pity. I rather enjoy hearing your screams.” She leaned forward, her voice low and deadly.

“Now… tell me, Elara. Who sent you here?”

A thin, gleaming needle appeared in her hand, the point catching the torchlight. She brought it up slowly—too slowly—and held it dangerously close to my eye. My breath hitched, every muscle locked. I could feel the cold bite of the metal hovering over the softest, most vulnerable part of me.

My brows pulled together. “No one. I was brought here by Fintan!”

Her smile curdled into something feral. “Liar.”

The needle slid forward, pricking into the corner of my eye—just enough to send a hot, tearing sting through my skull without blinding me. My body convulsed against the restraints, but she held me steady, savoring every flinch. Then she drew the needle back with a smirk and set it aside.

She didn’t reach for a blade. Instead, she took my left hand in hers with surprised gentleness—almost like she meant to comfort me. Then her other hand came up, gripping a slim, curved set of pliers from the tray.

I jerked, but the barbed wire bit deep, holding me still.

The cold steel clamped over my fingernail.

She twisted, once. Twice. My stomach lurched.

Then she wrenched it up and away in a sharp, wet rip.

Flame-red torment exploded through me. My scream was raw, the sound tearing out of my throat.

Blood welled instantly, spilling down my fingers, hot against my skin.

“Who sent you?” she asked again, her tone like a lover coaxing a confession.

“No one!” My voice cracked. “My house burned down—Mother died—and I was brought here!”

Another nail was gone before I could draw another breath. The fresh wound throbbed with a sickening pulse, each heartbeat sending new flares of pain up my arm.

“Who sent you?” she asked again, this time taking the edge of the knife and sliding it under my thumbnail—slowly, deliberately—pressing until hot agony screamed through my nerves.

“I DON’T KNOW ANYTHING!” My voice broke into a ragged cry. “I’ve only just figured me out!”

The queen’s lips curved in dark amusement as she lifted the blade—and with a sharp, merciless motion, tore my thumbnail clean off.

I could barely see through the tears when she nodded toward the door. It opened, and a guard stepped inside—a man I didn’t recognize. He didn’t speak, just slipped a set of silver-coated brass knuckles over his hand. The sight alone made my stomach twist.

The punch came fast and hard. Silver met skin with a crack of bone and a bloom of white light behind my eyes. Pain splintered through my skull, and then the world bled away into darkness.

All I saw was black.

In the dark, a voice came. Deep. Resonant. Like it was vibrating through my very bones.

“We do not give up, Flameborn.”

“Misun…” My voice was nothing but thought, but he heard me.

“You can make it out.”

“But I don’t know how!”

Silence. Then the rumble of his breath, steady and sure. “You will. We will.”