Page 6 of Of Ash and Iron (Flame Cursed Fae #3)

Chapter 6

Maddy

M y arrow thunk s into the target a bare centimeter from the previous one I landed.

"You're getting better."

Valdis' voice startles me, and I turn to her. "Thank you, hersir ," I say.

"You know, to improve, you'll need to get a better weapon."

I raise my eyebrows at her. All around us rooks are shooting arrows into targets that are now moving, spinning on their axis. "A better weapon?"

"Yes, one you've crafted yourself, much like that shield you've been working on."

So, Valdis has been paying attention to what I'm doing in my spare time as well.

"I don't know how to craft a bow," I say. It's woodwork, not forging, and I haven't done anywhere near as much with wood so far. I wouldn't know how to string one, either.

"You can learn," Valdis says.

She's right. I can. I'm good at learning.

"There's power in a bow that's suited to your frame, fits your body. You know how it's gone together, so you can put your entire faith in it."

I nod. I like the sound of that a lot.

"Make a start, and I'll guide you if you need help." Before I can thank her, she's strolled on to the next rook to adjust their stance.

I take aim, waiting for the target to come back around. I've only got about two more forging sessions left before I'll finish my shield, and I think Valdis is right—making myself a bow is a good idea. Archery is still my strongest offensive skill.

I loose my arrow, watch it hit the center of the target, and then look down the row of rooks. Orgid is glaring at me, but Inga won't meet my eyes. She's firing arrow after arrow into the target from beside him. Ulrika's not here. Once she was let down from the post, she left the Battleyard before everyone else and hasn't been seen since. At least she was feeling some remorse.

Dimec and Thira only look mildly embarrassed, which I guess anyone would be after a public display of humiliation like that, but I wouldn't go as far as to say they look ashamed.

This afternoon in formation fighting, I'm going to have to interact with them directly. It annoys me that nerves flutter in my stomach at this, and I square my shoulders, steeling my nerves. I have nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to fear. I will face them head-on.

I should have been nervous for a different reason.

Everybody seems to be avoiding both me and Inga. I assume the explosive arrival of Inga's bear that morning was a stark reminder that we both have colossal, vicious bears and not a huge amount of control or magic to go with them.

Honestly, I think I would be nervous of me too, after what happened with Branka.

We're trying to complete an exercise where a huge wooden crate on wheels must be pushed exact distances by teams on either side without our being able to see each other. But nobody will stand within a foot of either of us, which is making executing the task difficult. The gaps cause the crate to spin instead of move in a straight line.

"You need to communicate with one another," calls Erik, but one of the earth-fae rooks, Selma, gives a small shriek and stumbles out to the side, breaking the line of fae.

There are a few muttered gasps and points, and when I follow the raised fingers, I see a bird. It's a falcon, its feathers the deep bronze of autumn leaves. It circles Selma with deadly elegance, and she stares at it with her mouth hanging open. Then she holds her hand up, and it lands on her outstretched fingers, its talons careful, gentle against her skin. It blinks twice and vanishes.

For a beat, there's complete silence. Then Harald's bark sounds loud across the Battleyard as he strides over. "Rooks! Why have you stopped?"

Erik, who saw it happen, moves toward the awed earth-fae, a knowing smile playing at his lips. She breathes, "My val-tivar ."

Harald pauses mid-stride and looks at Erik.

"A bird," Erik confirms, his smile growing.

"And everybody else saw it?" Harald asks, his usual gruffness tinged with interest.

We all nod, mutters starting up all around me, a rising tide of excitement and envy.

"It was a bird—did you see it too?"

"Do you think she'll be able to see into the future?"

"She'll be faster!"

"No, she'll be wiser!"

"I want a bird."

"A bird? No chance. I'll take a bear any day."

I shut the voices out and look between Harald and Erik, the only Valkyrie present right now. Their expressions are careful, controlled, but there's something unsaid between them. I can't tell if it's excitement or alarm on their faces, but they are definitely both accepting the same thing that I am.

When Thyrvi showed up, visible to all, it might have just been me who had a power animal that manifested this way. When Inga's bear showed up this morning, it might have just been bear val-tivars. But now a bird for Selma, visible for moments, then vanishing?

Brynhild's prediction about my future rings in my mind.

"I know that you will change Featherblade, but I don't know how you will change it, and I don't know if it will be for the better or for the worse. I don't know if this brand-new type of val-tivar you seem to have is responsible for the future I saw, or if it's because you keep company with the most dangerous fire-fae in Yggdrasil . All I know is that you will have an impact on this place, and possibly the rest of the Valkyrie that follow here."

This new group of Valkyrie rooks apparently have a whole new type of val-tivar. Something is changing in Featherblade, in all of us.

Excitement thrills through me at the thought of Featherblade filled with magical animals, all of them visible and powerful and part of the team. Each one a reflection of its bonded Valkyrie, changing how we fight, how we win.

I don't know if Brynhild can be right in suggesting I have any part of it, other than being the first. That doesn't mean I'm responsible for it.

"Back to work, rooks!" Harald calls, breaking into my thoughts. Everybody reluctantly moves back to the crate, only now they are moving closer to me than before. It's amazing how quickly something can be forgotten in the face of something new and exciting to think about.

Nothing like a new distraction to make them forget the last one.

As we leave the Battleyard after formation fighting, I see Staffan walking alone and speed up to catch him.

"I'm sorry I missed Merit's memorial," I tell him.

He looks down at me—he's at least a foot taller than I am, with vivid green hair tied back in a high tail and knotted securely.

"Not your fault. Those pricks are the ones that should be sorry." His words are tight, and his body stiff.

I want to ask him what happened, but I don't want to be unkind or insensitive. "I hope it was at least quick," I say. "And that neither of you suffered."

He glances at me again, then stops. "She was torn apart by a shriek, and I was bitten and paralyzed by a snake, unable to do a thing as she died," he says. "It wasn't quick, and we both suffered."

I swallow. "Shit. I'm sorry."

He lets out a long breath. "I didn't even know her well."

"How… how did you get back?" I know I shouldn't ask. He clearly doesn't want to relive it. But, as usual, the words are out before I can stop them, driven by morbid curiosity.

"Played dead," he says, so quietly I barely hear him. He's ashamed, I realize.

"That's not cowardice," I whisper. "That's common sense. That's self-preservation."

It is also interesting that shrieks are only interested in live bait, but I don't say that aloud.

Staffan meets my eyes, and I can see the struggle in them. "I got a reward. For surviving. Merit died while I watched."

"It's not your fault," I tell him, even as I burn to ask what his reward was. "The Oskorela is designed to test us, but also to acclimatize us to death."

He frowns. "Really?"

"I think so, yes. None of us have seen war. I think this is the closest way they can prepare us."

Even as I say the words, I feel the familiar fear I was just starting to shed.

Death . I'm still on the edge of death just by being here.

But it's different to the blackouts. This I can fight. I can learn. I can make allies. I can survive Valkyrie training through my own choices and actions.

Staffan looks around us. Nobody is left on the edge of the Battleyard—all the other rooks are heading straight for food, I would guess.

The huge earth-fae looks at me. "I… I keep thinking that I'm glad the monster took her, and not me. That's cowardice, right?"

"No. You're allowed to be glad you lived."

He swallows hard. "I don't know why I'm telling you this," he says, rubbing his face hard.

"I'm guessing most folk have avoided you today."

He nods.

"You just need to talk it out. You're close with Henrik, right?"

"I can't tell him I played dead," he says, again so quietly that I can hardly hear him.

"You should. It might help others survive out there."

He gives me a long look. "Don't mention this to anyone. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have put all this on you. Just… just pretend this conversation didn't happen." Before I can answer, he turns and walks slowly toward the tunnel to the High Hall, his shoulders bent as if carrying an invisible weight.

I watch him go, mind whirring.

Is this the reality of becoming a Valkyrie? It's not just about magic and power or being able to fly. It's about the weight of survival, the brutal choices we must make. The knowledge that living may mean watching others die.

Even our val-tivars , beautiful and powerful as they are, exist to make us better killers, and better survivors.

I think of Kain, and the long life he must have lived before being punished. It must have been filled with moments like the one I just saw in Staffan. Did he feel guilt when another died beside him? Or would he have trampled the body to save himself, and never given it another thought?

Did Kain start out the cold-hearted, bitter fae he is now? He was a rook once. He must have learned these lessons too, as a gods-chosen warrior of honor and valor.

Once, he would have acted with compassion. Made hard choices and struggled with the consequences.

And now?

Now, he is a convicted murderer. The voice of reality pierces the hopeful thoughts.

Can I really believe that survivor's guilt or killer's remorse keeps Kain awake at night?

No, probably not. But I can believe that it did once.