Page 55 of A Storm of Fire and Ash

Zayn

I hadn’t been able to reach Elara through our bond. No whispers, no flickers of her emotions—just silence. But I knew she was alive. I could feel it in my bones, in the way my chest still ached for her.

Makar, Gavrin, Eryn, and I had been trapped for hours, the stink of rust and blood thick in the air.

Cold iron dug into the skin of my neck, burning, searing—though it didn’t mark Makar the same.

Being Mage spared him the pain, but not the restraint.

The iron cuff still stripped him of his power, leaving him as helpless as the rest of us.

The heat from the metal had become a constant throb, and my hands itched for the chance to rip it off and make someone pay. My jaw ached from clenching it so damn hard.

That’s when I heard her.

Not Elara. Someone else. A voice slid into my mind as smooth as silk and twice as dangerous.

I wasn’t dreaming. I was awake.

“Moonblade.” She said, her tone laced with amusement, as if my confusion entertained her.

My head snapped up. “Who the hell—?”

“It’s Ninaria, silly. I tried sounding like a scary Dragon… did it work?” She laughed. The fucking Dragon laughed…

“Uhhh, yeah. Very scary indeed,” I whispered back to her.

“Moonblade. Do you like it? Misun has a cool nickname for Elara, so I wanted one for you too. I thought of your hair, and—it reminds me of the moon.”

I chuckled to myself.

“It’s perfect. Ninaria?” I asked, making sure I didn’t piss off what seemed like a sweet dragon but I knew there was no such thing.

Then she told me what she was—who she was—and every word seemed more impossible than the last. She wasn’t my enemy. She wasn’t here to harm me.

And though I wasn’t Elementara, I was bonded to one; therefore, Elara shared her powers with me when our bond fully formed.

At least, that’s what Ninaria explained, and I believed her.

I could feel our bond. I knew I could trust her.

She was sharp-witted, almost infuriatingly so, with a humor that made it impossible not to smirk even while chained.

And when she revealed her own bond—to Misundranaryan—I felt the corner pieces of a much bigger puzzle snapping into place.

And Elara… Elara was still out there.

Now

Flames split the sky.

My mate—my gods-damned, glorious mate—was flying through the air as if she had wings. Elara’s Fae form blazed in the cloudy sky, as flame-tipped arrows rained down from her bow, cutting through the guards at my back before they could take another step toward me, Makar, Eryn, or Gavrin.

The queen was dead. Just like that.

But it wasn’t the relief that made my chest tighten—it was the shock.

Mage Hand. Elara just summoned Mage Hand.

That was magic most full-blooded Mages couldn’t even dream of conjuring, and here she was, wielding it like it was hers by birthright.

I hadn’t known she could do it. She didn’t tell me.

And gods, I didn’t care. I wasn’t angry.

I was fucking proud. Proud enough that it burned hotter than the fire around us.

Mage Hand’s invisible grip tore the iron from my neck, the searing bite gone in an instant, and I sucked in a breath that wasn’t laced with rust and pain. The cuffs fell from the others as well, clattering against the ground like the death knell for anyone still loyal to the king.

Makar ripped the cuff from his neck and let out a dramatic gasp. “Ah, sweet freedom—and here I thought I was about to spend the rest of my life as an ugly necklace display.”

There was so much fucking chaos.

“Bring me my son’s head!” King Aymon roared.

Makar’s attention snapped across the courtyard. Fintan stood there, wide-eyed, the air around him humming with power—raw, newly unleashed magic. It clung to him like a second skin.

“Shit,” Makar muttered, already running toward him before he even heard Elara’s command. “Stay alive, Silverthorn, I’m not babysitting you in the afterlife,” he shouted at Fintan as if he could hear him.

Eryn reached down and hauled me to my feet. “Get up, soldier,” she said, voice low and steady, the kind of tone that could drag a man out of the grave. “Our Queen isn’t done yet.”

Before I could answer, three guards rushed us, blades raised.

Gavrin slammed into the first one, knocking him flat.

Makar ducked under a swing from another and drove his elbow into the man’s throat with surprising precision, sending him to his knees as he ran towards Fintan and Elara.

Eryn caught the last guard’s blade on her own, shoved him back, and snarled.

She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Go to her, Zayn. We’ve got this.”

And I didn’t hesitate.

I sprinted for Elara. My boots hit the stone hard, the sound of steel on steel and the dying groans of men fading behind me. The only thing I saw was her—my mate—standing in the middle of the chaos, her hair wild, her power a blaze of fire and fury, the king already ensnared in her magic.

Vines thick as rope and lined with dagger-like thorns coiled around Aymon’s body, tightening until blood welled along his skin. He twisted, strained, but the more he fought, the deeper the thorns bit.

Elara’s words were powerful as she spoke to the people.

“Stand with him, and you’ll die. Stand with us, and we will tear down every chain, every wall, every lie.

We will build a kingdom not of kings and subjects—but of people who stand as equals.

Magic and mortal, side by side. This is not just rebellion.

This is the beginning of a world worth fighting for. ”

People scattered.

“Choose wisely,” She called, her voice sending goosebumps down my body. She sounded more like a Queen than she ever has before. “Because once you take a step, there will be no turning back.”

I wanted to wrap my arms around her. Kiss her. Fall to my knees and bow.

Then the air shifted.

A ripple of something primal moved over the courtyard, brushing along my skin like a living thing. People screamed. Wings.

That’s when it hit me—like the world itself shifted under my feet.

Ninaria’s power didn’t just touch me; it slammed into me, surging through my veins like a lightning strike made flesh.

It was sharp, wild, and intoxicating, every pulse of it setting my blood on fire.

My breath caught, my pulse hammering in my ears as her magic curled around mine—not gentle, but fierce, possessive.

She didn’t give it to me. She claimed me with it.

Her essence coiled through me like ivy finding its way up ancient stone—wrapping tight, leaving no space between where I ended and she began.

It was a challenge and a promise all at once, daring me to match her strength, to rise to meet her.

I felt my own magic rise in answer, locking with hers until the two became something greater—something unstoppable.

The air around me shifted, heavier, hotter, and I knew… I was no longer just a warrior. I was bonded. Fully, completely, irrevocably. With her fire in my blood and her strength in my veins, I was no longer just worthy of a dragon.

I was hers.

I was worthy.

I didn’t need to look up to know Ninaria was in the sky—and she wasn’t alone. I could feel her, and I could feel the deep, burning presence of Elara’s dragon right beside her.

The sound of their wingbeats rolled over us, heavy and endless. Shadows swallowed the sunlight. The king’s face drained of color.

Some of those who had been huddled behind Aymon now scattered, scrambling to stand behind us. Now, the numbers were on our side. But when one poor fool glanced up and screamed, the rest began edging away—putting as much distance between themselves and my mate as possible.

I didn’t move. I stepped closer, so close I could almost touch her, could almost claim that wicked smile for myself. But I kept my hands to my sides and my eyes forward, my grin matching hers—sharp, dangerous.

The ground shook under our boots.

Another scream split the air. Then a roar—deep and guttural—ripped through the courtyard, the force of it whipping our hair forward like a storm wind. We didn’t flinch. We didn’t move. We only smiled.

The first dragon hit the ground behind us, claws like blades striking stone, sending another tremor through the courtyard. A second, slightly lighter landing followed—Ninaria.

“I’m here,” she whispered in my head, molten steel in her tone.

“As if I didn’t notice.”

“Well, you could at least gasp, maybe faint a little,” she said, her voice curled with smug amusement. “Most mortals cry in awe when I land.”

A smirk tugged at my mouth. “Great. I get the dragon who needs to be the center of attention.”

Her roar ripped through the courtyard, so loud and fierce it rattled in my bones. Aymon pissed himself, and a few guards who stood behind him fainted.

I chuckled in my head. “Alright, point proven.”

I didn’t turn around to look. The heat of their presence was at our backs, a living wall of fire and shadow.

Elara fixed her gaze on the king. “Do you remember his name?”

Aymon’s lips trembled. His voice cracked.

Gods, she was unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Not just beautiful—though she was that, devastatingly so—but untouchable.

Wild. The kind of power you didn’t chain, you worshipped.

The kind of fire that could either save you or burn you to nothing, and I wanted both.

Every inch of her blazed with purpose, her magic wrapped around her like armor, her presence bending the world to its knees.

She wasn’t just standing in her truth—she was owning it. Claiming it.

And all I could think was how fucking honored I was to stand at her side for it.

Through our bond, I let her feel everything I couldn’t say out loud—my pride, my hunger for the chaos she was about to unleash, and the promise that I would back her no matter how much blood she spilled.

“Light it up, baby.”

“FYRTHAK!” Elara’s roar was pure command.

I knew she spoke in Dragonic, and I understood every word now. “Burn,” is what she commanded.