Page 37 of We Were Meant to Burn (Ashes and Ruin Saga #1)

Iripped myself away from the basin, staggering backward, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Cold water clung to my skin, soaked through my clothes, but I barely felt it. My pulse roared in my ears, a frantic, deafening drumbeat.

No.

No, this couldn’t be real.

My mind thrashed against the images I’d just seen, against the truth that had unraveled before me like a tapestry being torn at the seams. My fingers dug into the stone edge of the basin, gripping it as if it could anchor me to something solid. Something true.

But there was nothing.

Nothing but lies—lies I had believed for my entire life. Lies that had shaped me, hardened me, turned me into something that had never been real.

Everything Dom had ever said was true.

Danixtl had led the coup against the Mondragón family. She had killed everyone in her path. She had buried the truth in the blood of her enemies and rewritten history with a steady, merciless hand.

Everyone had died.

Everyone except—

Me.

And Dom.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my chest heaving. The woman I had called Mother—the woman whose shadow I had lived under, whose cruelty had carved itself into my bones—was not my mother at all.

She was my aunt.

Which meant that Danixtl was Dom’s aunt, too.

Which meant—

I couldn’t go there yet.

My stomach twisted violently.

“He knew.”

The words fell from my lips in a whisper, more breath than sound. My fingers curled tighter against the stone, white-knuckled.

"This whole time . . . Dom knew that Danixtl was his mother’s sister.”

The queen’s voice was a warm, honeyed murmur, soft and laced with something almost . . . pitying.

"Not by blood, though,”

she corrected gently. She took a slow step forward, the silks of her gown whispering against the floor.

"Your mother, Zyanya, was the only female heir begotten by your grandmother, the Mondragón Empress. Her wife, the Queen Consort, bore Danixtl.”

The words barely registered. They floated through the fog of my thoughts like ghosts, weightless and distant.

It didn’t matter.

Blood or not—Dom had known.

He had known.

My throat tightened, rage thick and searing in my veins.

"But he still knew that Danixtl was his aunt. That any child she bore would be his cousin.”

My voice came through gritted teeth, raw and sharp.

My nails bit into my palms, deep enough that the pain barely even registered.

Dom had spent the last six months with me and had not once uttered a word about our connection. I had only barely learned that we were somehow distantly related thanks to the marcas we both bore, and guilt had torn at me for not revealing the truth to him. Yet, he had already known.

He had known, and he had said nothing.

All of his hatred for me in the beginning suddenly made even more sense.

“Yes,”

the queen agreed, her voice soothing, measured.

"But he did not know that Danixtl kept you for herself. He truly believes his sister is dead.”

The finality of her words hit like a dagger between my ribs.

“Which, clearly—you are not.”

I couldn’t breathe.

And there it was. The truth that I was coming around to accepting. The truth that I wasn’t sure I could stomach.

I was Dom’s sister.

And worse? Danixtl had lied. Had stolen me. Had erased me from history.

The room spun, the weight of it all pressing down on my chest like a vice. Everything I had ever fought for, everything I had ever bled for—

A lie.

A carefully crafted lie that I had killed for. That I had suffered for.

I had spent my entire life as a blade in Danixtl’s hand, cutting down enemies that had never been mine.

It was too much.

My knees threatened to give out, my body betraying me under the force of the truth. My hands trembled at my sides, my breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

It felt as if my entire world were splitting into two.

One—the truth. A world I didn’t recognize, one that had been stolen from me before I ever had a chance to claim it.

The other—the lie. The world I had known. The world I had built my entire existence around.

But now, it was a world that no longer existed.

What had it all been for?

The blood? The pain? The war I had waged inside myself for so many years?

What had any of it been for?

A warm hand settled on my shoulder. The queen. Her touch was gentle, almost motherly.

I flinched away.

She sighed, her voice heavy with something that almost sounded like regret.

"You have been fighting a war that was never meant to be yours, Nix.”

I swallowed hard, my throat raw. I wanted to tell her she was wrong. That nothing I had just seen or heard could possibly be true.

But the truth settled over me like a shroud.

I had never had a choice.

Danixtl had made sure of that.

A tremor ran through my body, a violent, uncontrollable quake of rage, grief, and something darker—something colder. It slithered beneath my skin, coiling in my chest, a silent scream that clawed its way up my throat, begging to be unleashed.

I swallowed it down, forcing air through my clenched teeth. My pulse pounded in my ears, in my skull, in every nerve of my body as Dom’s words from all those months ago resurfaced, weaving together with the images I had just seen.

The coup. The massacre.

The slaughter of my family.

My stomach twisted, nausea rising like bile. My family.

Not Danixtl’s.

Not hers.

The realization struck like a blade to the ribs, sharp and brutal. My fingers curled into a fist so tight I felt something sharp bite into my palm.

I hissed, forcing my fingers open.

There, nestled in the center of my hand, lay a small jade pendant—carved into the shape of a hummingbird. The sigil of Quiacatl.

Proof.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my vision swimming. This wasn’t a fevered dream. It wasn’t some trick of the Hada queen’s magic.

It had all been real.

The air in the chamber grew thin, suffocating. A weight bore down on my shoulders, pressing against my ribs, squeezing my lungs. My thoughts twisted in on themselves, a vicious spiral of memories—things I had ignored, things I had refused to see.

For years, I had fought against the truth, railing against the cracks in Danixtl’s stories, against the uneasy feeling that had settled in my gut every time I questioned her. I had shoved it all down, buried it beneath duty and survival because the alternative was too painful, too monstrous to fathom.

But now?

Now there was no going back.

I couldn’t unsee the truth. I couldn’t unknow it.

Danixtl was not my mother.

She had stolen me.

She had kidnapped me from my true family, from a life that had never been hers to take.

And she had molded me into her perfect weapon.

I had killed for her.

I had bled for her.

I had suffered for her.

The weight of it was unbearable. It splintered through me, breaking me apart piece by piece, grinding me into dust.

A bitter, wretched laugh clawed its way up my throat.

All this time, I had been pushing against the truth. Against what it would mean if I accepted it.

And for what?

To remain in the dark? To keep living the lie Danixtl had so carefully crafted?

No more.

I exhaled shakily, my grip tightening around the pendant. The small carving pressed into my palm, grounding me, tethering me to reality.

Danixtl had lied.

She had raised me in the ruins of my own family’s empire. Had forced me to spill blood in her name. Had told me whatever she needed to, in order to make me obedient.

And Dom—

My breath hitched, a new wave of fury rolling through me, searing hot.

He had known.

He had known this whole time that we were kin.

And still, he had treated me like scum.

My fingers trembled around the pendant.

"So, I’m really his sister?”

My voice was hoarse, raw.

"The one he’s been grieving for all these years?”

The queen stepped closer, her golden skirts whispering against the stone floor. She reached out, fingers warm as they brushed my cheek, wiping away a tear I hadn’t even realized had fallen.

I didn’t pull away.

Didn’t flinch.

I was too numb to care.

“Yes, dearest,”

she murmured.

"You are the rightful Empress of Rojas.”

The title sent a fresh ripple of dread through me.

Empress of Rojas.

For so long, I had worn a title of death. A name Danixtl had given me, branding me with the weight of her legacy, her vengeance. Nightshade of Rojas.

But this? This was something else entirely.

And yet, it still felt like a chain around my throat.

Still felt like a prison.

My stomach churned, nausea curling in my gut. This was too much. Too big. My entire identity had been stripped away, shattered in the span of a single night, and all I could do was stand there, drowning in the wreckage of who I thought I was.

The queen tilted her head, studying me with something akin to curiosity.

"Do you believe me now?”

I looked down at the hummingbird pendant.

It was all the proof I needed.

I swallowed hard and gave a stiff nod, my throat too tight to speak.

Something flickered in the queen’s violet eyes, something sharp and knowing.

“Then you are ready to see the next truth.”

A shiver skated down my spine.

The queen gestured toward the basin, the water inside still rippling from where I had torn myself away from it moments ago.

The dread in my stomach thickened, solidified into something ice cold.

I didn’t want to look.

Didn’t want to see what came next.

But the truth had already begun unraveling, and I was powerless to stop it now.

With a slow, measured breath, I forced myself forward, leaning over the basin once more.

The water stilled.

The world tilted.

And then—I fell.

The desert wind howled around me, a whispering, rasping voice that tangled in my hair, catching in the fabric of my battle leathers. The air was thick with the scent of blood, the metallic tang sharp enough to cut.

I stood at the heart of the execution circle, towering over the huddled men on their knees. The sand beneath them was dark, wet—stained with sweat. With suffering. With blood.

They had fought. That much was clear.

Their clothing was torn, their faces smeared with dirt and blood. But it was the man in the center who looked the worst. His silver-blonde hair, now streaked with crimson, fell in front of his face, partially obscuring his violet eyes. He was barely upright, leaning heavily against the man to his right—a dark-haired figure whose jaw was clenched tight, his hands bound behind his back.

Even without their weapons, without their armor, they were still warriors. Still dangerous.

I recognized them.

I knew them.

A shudder crawled up my spine, rattling my ribs like an iron cage. No.

The heat pressed down on me, thick and suffocating, and yet I couldn’t move. I couldn’t turn away.

I wore red battle leathers, the ones that clung to my frame like a second skin, the ones I had trained in for years. Strapped to my thighs were a dozen throwing knives, the hilts familiar against my fingers. Across my chest, the sigil of Rojas was stitched in black thread—the endless dragon, eating its own tail.

And over my face, I wore the mask.

The inakara.

It was heavy, the weight of it pressing against my skin like a second skull, sealing me inside. It had been carved from obsidian, polished into the shape of a hummingbird mid-flight, its jade and gold-tipped wings sweeping along the cheeks.

This was who I was. Who I had been made to be.

And yet—this wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be real.

Then Danixtl stepped forward, her black veil whispering against the sand as she passed me, her presence filling the space like a void, pulling all the light from the world.

She was dressed in her ceremonial robes, the ones stitched with gold thread, each fold of fabric curling like a snake in the underbrush. A predator’s skin.

She didn’t look at me. She didn’t need to.

“Do it,”

Danixtl commanded, her voice smooth as silk.

The moment the words left her lips, I felt it. I felt her.

Her magic slammed into me like a hurricane, tendrils of Mentedor power latching onto my mind with barbed hooks, sinking deep into the marrow of my thoughts.

My body seized. My lungs clenched.

No, no, no—

The voice slithered through me, a sickly-sweet croon that seeped into the cracks of my mind, pressing, clawing.

Submit.

I reeled back, struggling against the invisible grip around my mind, but it was already too late. Her magic was inside me, rooting itself into my bones, stripping me bare.

I felt my body move—not of my own accord, but of hers, her will wrapping around my limbs like chains, tightening, forcing.

One step forward.

Then another.

I was a puppet, a blade held in her grip.

The men in front of me raised their heads, and my breath stopped.

Malakai.

Dom.

Eliás.

Lian.

Kerun.

Their faces swam before me, battered and bruised, but unmistakably theirs.

No.

Danixtl’s voice coiled in my skull, smooth, insidious. Heel to me, little Nightshade. Be a good girl and do what you were made for.

A strangled noise caught in my throat. I tried to fight, tried to resist, but her power was a vice, squeezing, pressing, warping—

A dagger was in my hand.

I didn’t remember drawing it.

Malakai lifted his head. He was bleeding. The left side of his face was streaked with red, but his eyes—his violet eyes—were steady. Watching me. Knowing me.

“Don’t,”

he rasped.

My grip tightened on the dagger.

Please, no—

The Empress’s magic dug in deeper, her will slamming against my own. My body moved, my arm rising, the dagger gleaming under the molten sun—

Malakai didn’t flinch.

His eyes burned into mine.

“Please.”

My voice was raw, hoarse, as if I had been screaming for hours. Maybe I had. My entire body trembled, my fingers locked in a white-knuckled grip around the hilt of the blade. I could feel the weight of it—real, solid, unyielding.

“Don’t make me do this.”

Danixtl’s magic coiled around my mind, slithering through my veins like poison. I could feel her inside me, her Mentedor power a vice crushing down on my will, turning my body into a puppet on fraying strings.

The Nightshade of Rojas, the most infamous assassin in Corinea, stood shaking before her Empress, powerless to do anything but beg.

“Just let them go,”

I rasped, swallowing against the bile rising in my throat.

Danixtl stepped closer, her gaze heavy, indulgent.

"Have no fear,”

she crooned.

I flinched as she raised a hand to my face, but I couldn’t move away—not fully. Not while her magic was inside me, gripping me like a collar around my throat. I jerked back as much as I could, recoiling from the cool press of her fingers, but it was enough to spark irritation across her sharp features.

Her lips curled in a sneer before she turned from me, her attention shifting back to the kneeling men before us.

Danixtl stepped toward Malakai and fisted a hand in his hair, yanking his head back with a violent jerk. He made no sound, but his teeth clenched, his jaw tightening as he glared up at her. Even now, broken as he was, there was defiance in his violet eyes.

Danixtl tilted her head, amused.

"This man is a fool,”

she said, her voice smooth, mocking.

"He fought when he should have fallen to his knees.”

Then, as if proving a point, she dragged her nails down his cheek, reopening a cut that had only just begun to clot. Malakai hissed through his teeth, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away.

I couldn’t breathe.

“Don’t touch him.”

The thought screamed through my head, but my lips wouldn’t move, my tongue felt like lead in my mouth.

I wanted to fight. I needed to fight. But my body refused to listen.

Danixtl let go of Malakai and turned to Dom.

My heart lurched.

Dom jerked his head away before she could touch him, but Danixtl caught his chin between her fingers, forcing his gaze to hers.

Her lip curled.

"This whelp should have died twenty-five years ago,”

she murmured.

"A shame your mother’s magic does not flow through your veins. You would have had a purpose if it did.”

Dom glared at her, his chest rising and falling with sharp, measured breaths, but he said nothing. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Leave him alone,”

I gasped, the words barely making it past my throat.

Danixtl turned her head slightly, her eyes flicking back to me. A slow, cruel smile curved her lips.

“Oh, my darling Nightshade,”

she said, tilting her head.

"I think not.”

She released Dom’s chin with a flick of her fingers, straightening.

"Why don’t we finish the job?”

A sharp pressure slammed against my mind, and I moved.

I had no control over it—my body lurched forward, my limbs stiff and jerky, like a puppet yanked by its strings. My fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger as Danixtl’s magic tore through my mind, forcing its way deeper, deeper—

No. No, no, no.

I struggled, fought against the crushing weight of her influence, but it was like trying to swim against a tidal wave.

Pain seared through my head, burning bright behind my eyes, like claws tearing through my thoughts.

Dom’s breathing was steady as he lifted his head. He didn’t look afraid. He didn’t even flinch as the blade in my hand rose, the tip pressing against his throat.

The pulse in his neck thrummed beneath the steel.

His eyes locked onto mine.

Understanding. Sadness.

Forgiveness.

I screamed inside my mind, pushing against the force controlling me, but it was useless.

My body wasn’t my own.

I was a blade in Danixtl’s hand.

A weapon.

The dagger pressed harder against Dom’s skin.

A single drop of blood bloomed against the edge.

I couldn’t stop it.

“No, please—”

The world shattered.

The desert flickered like a dying candle—images warping, twisting—before vanishing into nothing.

And I was falling.

The world blurred, colors smearing together in streaks of red and black as I stumbled back from the basin. My breath came in ragged gasps, my chest constricting like a vice had wrapped around my ribs.

“No.”

The word clawed its way out of my throat, hoarse, broken.

Dom’s body had crumpled before me, his blood staining the sand. His lifeless eyes stared up at nothing, glassy and vacant. I had watched myself slit his throat. Watched my own hand grip the dagger. Watched the blade bite deep, watched the warmth spill from him in a crimson flood.

I choked on a sob, scrambling away, my palms dragging against the cold, wet floor. I could still feel it—the weight of the dagger in my grip, the ghost of blood dripping down my fingers. A phantom warmth, so vivid it sent a shudder racking through me.

I wrenched my hands up in front of me.

Clean.

They were clean.

For now.

My stomach lurched.

The queen’s voice slithered from the darkness, rich and knowing.

"Danixtl has learned that you are alive, Nightshade.”

The title dripped from her lips like venom.

"She wants her weapon returned.”

A tremor of fear coiled around my spine.

Weapon.

That was all I had ever been to Danixtl. A blade honed sharp, wielded without hesitation.

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the image of Dom’s lifeless body from my mind, but the queen continued, relentless.

“If you thought you had to fear Aguatitlan, you were mistaken. The Crown Prince of Aguatitlan is a strategist. He may be ruthless, but he thinks before he acts. He can be swayed when presented with the facts.”

I swallowed thickly, my pulse hammering against my ribs.

That day in the throne room. And after. Tadeo’s quiet, steady voice as he questioned me. The flicker of pity in his eyes.

“Under his stoic exterior is a young man with the blood of the Hada running through his veins,”

the queen continued, her voice smooth, coaxing.

"Though he doesn’t know it, his Hada blood makes him sympathetic to Bruja. But it’s not him you need to fear.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

“It’s his uncle, the King Regent, who you should be wary of.”

Rafael Aguirre.

I felt my stomach twist into knots.

“He is just like Danixtl,”

the queen mused, circling me like a predator.

"Single-minded in what he wants. And what they both want is power.”

The words slotted into place, sharp as the daggers I kept strapped to my thighs.

From my time in Aguatitlan’s dungeons, I had seen enough to know Rafael Aguirre wasn’t just dangerous—he was unhinged.

Rafael was a man who didn’t just crave power—he devoured it.

Both he and Danixtl wanted me back.

A shudder wracked my frame.

The queen was playing me like a well-tuned instrument, plucking at my fears, weaving them together into a melody I could not ignore.

And the worst part?

She was right.

The sharp crack of a whip sliced through my mind like a blade. My body stiffened, muscle memory dragging me back into the past, back into the suffocating darkness of the Red Tower, back into the searing bite of leather against flesh. Danixtl’s voice coiled through my thoughts, smooth as silk, sharp as a dagger.

“You belong to me, Nightshade. You will always belong to me.”

A shudder racked through me.

I forced myself to focus on the present, but the queen’s next words sent another tremor down my spine.

“Now that Danixtl knows you survived,”

she continued, her voice eerily devoid of emotion, “she will stop at nothing to recover you.”

I swallowed hard, but the air in my throat felt thick, unbreathable.

The queen took a slow step toward me, her violet eyes gleaming.

"She has released the Malditas to retrieve you.”

My blood turned to ice.

The Malditas.

Danixtl’s most loyal, most ruthless hunters.

Terror gripped my chest, but I smothered it, pushing it down, locking it away. I couldn’t afford fear. I couldn’t afford to let my body remember the way they had dragged me through the palace halls when I was barely more than a child. The way they had trained me, broken me, reforged me into something unrecognizable.

I clenched my fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms so hard I was sure they’d draw blood.

I would not let them take me back.

I would not become her weapon again.

But the queen’s words slithered through me like a creeping vine, curling around the parts of myself I didn’t want to examine too closely. The parts that whispered the same fears in the dead of night.

What if Danixtl was unstoppable?

What if Malakai and the others were already doomed?

What if no matter how hard I fought, no matter what I did, I was destined to destroy them?

My breath hitched.

It didn’t matter that Dom had known the truth of our connection all along. It didn’t matter that Malakai and the others must have known, or at the very least, suspected.

They didn’t deserve this.

I lifted my chin, forcing my spine to steel, forcing my voice to hold steady even as the weight of what I was asking settled in my bones.

“You said the River of Time is ever flowing,”

I said, my voice measured, even.

"That one decision could create endless forks, that a single choice could carve a new path.”

The queen’s gaze softened, just slightly.

"Yes, child. That is true.”

I took a steadying breath, gripping the pendant in my palm so tightly the edges bit into my skin.

“Then I need to know,”

I said, forcing every ounce of my will into the words.

"What do I have to do to stop that from happening?”

Because I would do it.

I would burn every bridge. Sever every tie. Become whatever monster I had to be.

If it meant saving them, I would tear the River of Time apart with my own hands.