Page 53 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

Her hands lingered in my hair, tucking it gently behind my pointed ear like she had a thousand times before. Her eyes held mine—warm and fierce—until her lips curved into that familiar, heart-aching smile.

And then she said it. The words she’d always said when I left the house, words I never thought would be our last or even hear again. “I’ll save you a seat.”

It shattered me—because I knew now she meant in a place I couldn’t follow yet.

“I love you!” I blurted out. But she was already gone.

The wildflowers swirled into shadow. Her touch faded. I woke with a gasp. My body still ached, but my skin… it wasn’t as raw. The burns were tighter, faintly healed. Misun’s magic was still in me, working.

You need to forgive yourself. I thought to myself.

A flicker of darkness slipped past the doorframe, a silhouette that sent a shiver down my spine. Peering through the narrow crack, my heart sank as I recognized him—King Aymon.

His presence was both imposing and sinister, a twisted smile curled on his lips like a serpent ready to strike.

“I have your little friends,” he drawled, his voice laced with a chilling blend of amusement and malice.

“And your love. They’ll all meet their doom soon enough, once the town finishes gathering outside the castle.

I’ll put their pretty little heads on spikes, too.

Soon, my castle will be lined with heads of everyone you’ve ever loved. Even my son’s.”

My eyes went wide, my stomach knotting in disbelief. “You’d kill your own son?!” The words scraped out of me, half-shock, half-rage.

A cruel smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before it twisted into a snarl.

“I would burn my own blood to ash if it meant securing my throne. I will rule every kingdom, and I will slaughter anyone—family or not—who dares to stand in my way.” His spit had hit the floor between us, sharp and final, like a blade being driven home.

My blood ran cold, but I forced my lip to curl. “Fuck you. I’m going to kill you, you bastard!”

He laughed. “Please. You are nothing without your magic. Nothing but a peasant and a whore!” He laughed again, wicked and cruel, “Who would be afraid of a little girl like you?”

I smiled—sharp, dangerous. “You should be.”

“I should come in there right now and wipe that smile off your face! Perhaps, whip you again. You do not speak to your King like that! You will kneel!”

“You are not my King. And it is you who will kneel to me,” I snapped back, my words laced with threat.

His smirk faltered just enough to make me savor it before he turned.

“Wait,” I said, and he stopped.

“She’s controlling you,” I chuckled. “You stupid idiot, she has been controlling you this whole time. How does it feel, to be a little bitch controlled by a woman who is the very thing you hate… a woman who is stronger than you? Stronger than you’ll ever be, even with the dragon.”

He turned to me with rage in his eyes. “What do you know of the dragon!? What are you even—”

I cut him off.

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid pile of trash. Gods, you are so dumb, it’s a miracle you can breathe without someone reminding you how.

The Queen is a Mage and she’s been pulling your strings like the spineless puppet you are.

You’re nothing. You’ve always been nothing. Just a crown on an empty skull.”

I let the pause hang, watching the fury build in his face before twisting the knife. “Tell me—does that shriveled, pea-sized brain of yours ever manage an original thought, or is it just a pile of rotting mush your wife plays with when she’s bored?”

His nostrils flared, but before he could speak, I cut him off.

“The dragon does not belong to you. And his name is Misundranaryan.” I smiled, slow and deliberate.

“Remember it well—because I’m going to make you say it as you beg for mercy.

He will be the last thing you’ll ever see before he rips you apart and scatters what’s left of you so far across the realms no one will even bother to bury you. ”

Aymon’s jaw worked, but no words came. He turned and stalked away, the weight of my promise at his back.

Time passed.

I need to forgive myself.

I am worthy.

I do not bow.

I am the storm they fear.

I am the fire they cannot cage.

I am a motherfucking Elementara Fae. And I am the rightful heir of all the thrones.

The truth didn’t whisper—it roared. I couldn’t hold all of my magic while my heart was still bound in chains of shame. I had been my own prison, my own jailer. And it ended now.

I took a deep breath. And then another—deep, steady, unshaking.

My wrists flexed against the barbed wire, blood dripped down, making it easier for me pull my hands out.

Scalding pain burst through me as it tore into my skin.

I gritted my teeth, twisting harder until the wire ripped free, shredding my arms. I unwound my ankles, barbed wire cutting into my palms.

I collapsed forward onto my knees, head bowed, chest heaving.

“I forgive myself,” I whispered into the silence.

Misun’s growl rolled through my mind—low, deep, and proud.

Something inside me split wide open—like a dam finally breaking after years of pressure. A roar tore from my throat as I slammed my palms into the silver floor.

Magic didn’t just surge out of me—it detonated.

The air split with a deafening crack, and I felt a magical ward explode like a bomb had gone off.

The chamber convulsed violently, dust and shards raining from the ceiling.

The silver walls screamed as my magic tore through them.

Veins of light raced over their surfaces before they splintered, shattering into molten fragments that hit the floor with a hiss.

Piece by piece, they crumbled away, revealing the cold stone hidden beneath.

Mage Hand shimmered into being—dark swirling light coiled around my fingers as its weightless shape formed over my hand.

Its fingers glowed brighter than I’d ever seen them.

Its movements were fluid, deliberate—like it was weaving a spell older than the stone around me.

Threads of golden light spiraled from its fingertips, coiling in the air like living runes.

It moved with unshakeable purpose, unclasping the iron-silver cuff from my neck with a precise, almost reverent touch, then it sank into the cell door’s iron.

The magic whispered through the lock—a soft, almost seductive hum—before something deep within it gave way with a sharp, echoing click. The heavy door groaned open, not with force, but as if it had been persuaded to obey.

A rush of power spilled into the room, brushing over my skin like the breath of a storm, and I felt Misun in the back of my mind—steady, watching, ready.

I felt it then—like the world itself shifted to make room for me.

A bond slammed into place between us—full and unbreakable—his fire magic poured through my veins until I could no longer tell where I ended and he began. Heat and power roared inside me, violent and alive. I rose, the wounds on my body stitched closed with molten gold light.

I stepped forward, boots crunching on the shattered silver beneath me. I am Elara Valdusian Aetheron. Rightful heir of the Fae thrones.

“It is time, Flameborn,” Misun said, his voice a velvet growl in my mind.

“I know.”

I pushed the door wide. And walked out.

The corridor stretched before me, shadows bending away from my steps. A guard came running down the stairs at a dead sprint, skidding to a halt when his eyes landed on me. His face drained of color.

He fumbled for his bow, nocking an arrow with shaking hands.

I lifted my palm. Air magic burst from me in a violent wave, slamming into him with enough force to send his body crashing into the stone wall.

The crack of his skull splitting echoed down the corridor, and he crumpled, lifeless, to the floor.

I bent, prying the bow from his slack fingers, “Thanks,” I murmured. I grasped the bow tightly but left the arrows where they fell. I didn’t need them.

I saw the door ahead and knew it led to the cave where Aymon had been keeping Misun.

But before I could take a step toward them, the ground convulsed beneath my feet—a violent, bone-rattling quake that roared through the castle—a beast breaking free of its chains.

The walls groaned, ancient stone grinding against stone.

Dust rained from the ceiling in thick clouds, torches sputtered and flickered wildly, and somewhere deep within the corridors, shouts of alarm rose, swallowed by the rumble.

Through our bond, I felt it—the precise moment the magic ward shattered, splintering like glass under a hammer.

The oppressive weight that had smothered his magic vanished, replaced by a surge of raw, untamed power that slammed into me like a tidal wave.

His freedom was mine. I could taste the cold wind rushing past his wings, see the blinding flash of his white scales as they caught the light.

And then he was in the sky, roaring his triumph so loudly it seemed to shake the very air around me.

I ran—fast and unbound, my glamour dropped away like the final shred of a lie. My full form blazed in the torchlight, shadows stretched long and jagged as the ground itself seemed to tremble beneath my steps. Every heartbeat was a war drum. Every breath was a battle cry.

I carried the weight of my own truth now, and it burned hotter than any fire I’d ever conjured.

I wasn’t here for mercy.

I wasn’t here for grace.

They had taken from me, broken me, tried to cage me.

They would all pay.

And I was about to fuck. Shit. Up.