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  Scorched: a Soul in Ashes prequel

  Text copyright © 2017 Shauna E. Black

  Cover images © Tverdokhlib, vikea, and Black_blood

  licensed by Bigstock.com

  Published by Vivienza

  ISBN 978-1-940855-18-9

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of Shauna E. Black.

  Scorched: a Soul in Ashes prequel / Shauna E. Black

  Summary: When her betrothed leads her down the dark path of forbidden magic, Alswyn must determine where her loyalties lie. Will she serve the goddess of destruction, or save her people from a fate worse than death?

  This is a work of fiction. Settings and events are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance characters may have to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  To Rachel | For your strength

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  NEXT! | Forgotten Embers | Alswyn’s story continues two years later!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To Rachel

  For your strength

  CHAPTER 1

  It was our last night of feasting in the Great Hall. “Feasting” was a misnomer, because it had been a hard winter, and there wasn’t much variety on the table. But even if the platters had been overflowing, I was too nervous to eat. As it was, I had hardly touched my shriveled potatoes and stringy partridge by the time the servants cleared the dishes.

  I fidgeted in my seat, not really hearing the polite conversation between the other occupants of the High Table. Even though our little castle was much smaller than King Talorc’s wooden fortress in the south, King Talorc had opted to spend the winter here with his closest friend and ally, Lord Riata, my father.

  “How long has that minstrel been with your household?” King Talorc asked before guzzling the rest of his drink.

  “Since my daughters were small,” my father replied. “I believe it’s important for the young folk to be educated in the legends of the past.”

  Prince Cynet glanced at me and rolled his eyes. It made my heart thump harder in my chest. Beneath the table, his hand crept over my knee. I pushed it off. Just because we were engaged didn’t mean he could disregard propriety.

  “But the forgotten god?” King Talorc laughed. “I haven’t heard those legends since I was a boy.”

  The King was a burly man, all corded muscle and bushy blond hair. He sat at the center of the High Table in the place of honor. My father sat beside him.

  In appearance, King Talorc and Lord Riata were similar, both large men and strong as polar bears. But my father’s head was bald, his beard white and speckled with bits of red. His manner was also different. He was more soft-spoken and refined, something I had come to appreciate over the long winter.

  Father leaned toward King Talorc and quietly asked, “May I have your leave to dismiss everyone, your Highness?”

  King Talorc licked the grease from the tips of his fingers and nodded his head.

  My father stood and addressed the room. “Thank you for your company this evening. You may retire for the night.”

  “About time,” Bridei grumbled. My older sister was staring moodily into the remains of her own cup, her multitude of red braids hiding the expression on her face. She’d been moping the entire meal, but I’d learned to ignore it. Lately, she was often prickly as a thorn bush.

  The household of Riata stood from the lesser tables below us with the clatter of chair legs scraping wood. Unlike the buildings of the south, our castle was made of stone, carved from the side of the mountain itself. But my people, the T’yatha, worshipped Ragnell. Her strength, her magic, was found in wood, and so my father and his artisans had used their carving skills to adorn the castle with timber from the valley. The walls were hung with intricately carved scenes of battles fought and won, the ceiling adorned with wooden beams, and the floor covered by planks. It gave a cozier feel to Great Hall until you looked past the wood and saw the rock.

  Before exiting the room by one of the many doors, the people came forward to bow and show their respect to the head table. My mother stood to thank them graciously. Even without her battle leather and plate, she was imposing. She wore a flowing gown of dark velvet as confidently as she did her armor. The dress set off the faded red of her hair, piled fancifully on her head. Her chin was a delicate point in a heart-shaped face. People said I resembled her, but I couldn’t match her poise, especially in a dress.

  The room emptied quickly. People moved off through the stone hallways of the castle to their various chambers and nighttime activities. The thought made my stomach clench. Soon, it would be my turn to leave.

  King Talorc stood up, jostling the table so I had to catch my goblet before it spilled. “Let’s adjourn to the Council Chamber, Riata. We have business to discuss.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” My father gave a sharp nod to my mother, then to me and Bridei.

  Bridei frowned. “I’m not in the mood for councils tonight.”

  Mother tipped her chin down, staring at Bridei in a familiar manner that brooked no argument. “The training ground is not always on the battlefield, Bridei. Those who are wise learn their lessons in all facets of life.”

  Usually, I dreaded the boring discussions punctuated by King Talorc’s sharp temper as much as Bridei. But now, I welcomed the invitation. I could put off the task of this night a little longer.

  I stood on legs that trembled only slightly, grateful for the hated skirts that hid them. Cynet placed a hand on the small of my back to guide me from the table. As always, his touch set my heart pounding and threw my emotions into turmoil. He gave me a wink that sent a shiver of pleasure through me. It was still hard for me to believe that Father had agreed to this alliance last year. I was certainly the envy of every young woman in T’yatha. This summer, Cynet would become my husband.

  “I guess our plans will have to wait.” His whisper was barely audible, but it had the effect of a scream on my raw nerves. Almost as though he could read my mind, his full mouth twitched in its customary amused expression.

  He raised his left arm parallel to the floor and held it out to me. His shoulders had broadened over the winter as he trained with my mother’s troops, and muscles rippled inside the thin cotton of his tunic. The drooping folds of his mantle glittered with gold thread and silver embroidery. His blond hair swept across the side of his face, hiding one of his piercing blue eyes. He hadn’t shaved today, and stubble prickled his square jawline. His kisses would be rough tonight.

  I placed my right hand over his, clutching too tightly. But before we could follow my father and King Talorc from the Great Hall, one of the serving girls scuttled up to us. Bowing so low, her hair touched the wooden planks on the floor, the girl held up a pastry to Cynet in one hand.

  “I baked this ‘specially for you, my prince.”

  The pastry looked burned around the edges and ill-formed, but I was impressed by her sincerity. I recognized the girl as a new apprentice in the kitchen. It had probably taken her the entire evening to work up enough nerve to approach Cynet. I smiled at her, hoping the expression was a fair imitation of my mother’s.

  Cynet took the gift with a gracious nod. “Thank you, Miss—”

  “Netl,” I supplied as the girl looked up. Complete adoration was splattered across her young face.

  “Netl.” Cynet handed me the
pastry and took Netl’s arm to raise her from the floor. She looked like she might faint at his touch. I knew the feeling. “That’s very kind of you. I will eat your wonderful concoction with pure delight and relish.”

  She gave him an awkward curtsy. “Thank you, my lord,” she said breathlessly.

  As she scurried away, Cynet took back the pastry and led me from the room.

  “Our people adore you,” I said fondly.

  “True.” The spring in his step told me he was preening a little at the girl’s attention and my words. “My father doesn’t seem to understand how important it is to gain the trust and love of the people.”

  “The King’s manner is rougher than yours, that’s all.”

  Cynet paused next to a vase displayed in a niche in the wall. I thought for a moment that he was admiring it. It was a sturdy piece with smooth curves and a wide neck. The coral pottery was decorated with black designs. Father had imported it from the Moqui lands in the southeast.

  Cynet snorted. “Father’s manner will be his undoing.” To my surprise, Cynet pushed the pastry into the neck of the vase and wiped his hand carefully on one hanging sleeve. His voice was calm and calculating. “No one will mourn the King’s loss when he’s gone.”

  As we resumed our walk down the hall, I repressed a shiver. Cynet talked of the trust and love of the people, but his kindness toward them was merely a mask he wore to gain their trust while he secretly despised them. I’d seen evidence of his disdain before, and I wondered how long that mask would remain in place once Cynet’s plans reached fruition and he ruled in his father’s stead. The thought reminded me of the task that still lay before me this night. I tried to push the fear away as we came to the Council Chamber.

  This room was much smaller than the Great Hall. It was simply adorned, with an oblong table in the center of the room. The others were already seated. King Talorc gave his son an annoyed look, but Cynet ignored it.

  We had barely taken our seats when King Talorc spoke. “We must strike now, while we still have the advantage of surprise.”

  My mother’s eyes narrowed, her expression deepening the lines around her eyes and mouth. “Reports say the snow hasn’t yet melted in Volas Pass, my King. How do you expect troops to move swiftly enough to take the Quahtl by surprise?” As the King’s Champion, it was my mother’s job to advise him, but the look on King Talorc’s face said he didn’t appreciate her disagreement.

  “I won’t allow that greedy Eagle King to get any closer to our mines.” King Talorc pounded a fist on the table, startling me. “This is the year we finish this war, one way or another.”

  The end of the war was almost incomprehensible. We’d been fighting with the Quahtl for ten years. I could scarcely remember a time when we weren’t preparing for battle. I’d only been six years old the last time the T’yatha had a summer of peace.

  “What if we moved a small force through the pass?” Father asked. He often played the part of mediator between my mother and King Talorc. “They could move swiftly enough to take the Quahtl by surprise, yet keep them engaged long enough to allow the rest of our troops time to catch up.”

  King Talorc seldom smiled, but a grin sped across his face as he clapped my father on the shoulder. “I like it! They’ll have to leave right away, before the weather warms more; otherwise, the Quahtl will guess that we’re coming. Skya, put together a small force of our best warriors. I want you at their head.”

  My mother frowned. “Your Highness, you’ve forgotten that I’m training new troops in the Central Fortress. I leave tomorrow.”

  The smile was gone from the King’s face as quickly as it had appeared. “Confound it, Skya, you’re my champion!”

  My parents glanced at each other, and something passed between them. I shuffled my feet nervously.

  “My lord,” Mother said slowly, “the time has come for me to retire from that position and appoint another.”

  We all stared at her in shock.

  “Mother, you can’t—” Bridei began. Mother gave her a sharp look, and she snapped her mouth closed.

  King Talorc hadn’t noticed Bridei’s unwarranted outburst. His face was like a dark cloud gathering for a storm.

  “You knew this day would come, your Highness.” Father’s voice was calm, a tone of reason in the growing tension of the room. “She will announce her intention in the morning, and we’ll hold the tournament after her return from the Central Fortress.”

  “My skills are not what they once were,” Mother said, “and I believe it is time—”

  King Talorc pounded a fist on the table again. The wood bounced under the force. “I won’t have it, Skya! You’re the best champion I’ve ever had! The best warrior in T’yatha! I refuse to accept anyone else!”

  Mother arose to her feet. Outwardly, she seemed unruffled, but I recognized the hard glint in her eyes, the firm set of her mouth. They were about to engage in one of their famous battles of will.

  Before Mother could speak, Cynet stood. “By your leave, Father?” he asked smoothly.

  King Talorc looked at his son, blinking rapidly as though trying to clear the red anger from his vision. “What do you want?”

  Cynet pulled me up beside him, speaking rapidly. “Father, we are fatigued and wish to retire. It seems you have important matters to discuss with your champion and general that do not require our presence.”

  King Talorc ground his teeth for several tense moments. My mother gave me a searching look, raising one delicate eyebrow, and I wondered what was going through her head. There was no way she could suspect what we would do tonight, but her attention made me nervous all the same.

  “Yes!” King Talorc finally spat. “Begone!” He waved his hand dismissively, already turning back to my mother and seeming to forget all about us.

  Cynet pulled me to the door. I glanced back at Bridei. She seemed uncertain, eyes shifting from my parents to me. Finally, she stood and followed us from the room.

  Once we were in the hall, Cynet let go of my hand and gave me a formal bow. “My lady, I bid you good night.”

  My emotions were in turmoil as I watched him turn and stride away. He was leaving? So suddenly? What about our plans?

  It was only as Bridei came up behind me that I realized he was probably putting on a show for her sake. Somehow, the thought didn’t comfort me.

  “You can already hear them shouting,” Bridei said, glancing back at the Council Chamber door.

  King Talorc’s voice was the loudest, like a wave crashing against the rock that was Mother’s firm reply.

  “She’ll win,” I said. “She always does.”

  We walked together through the halls of the castle, neither speaking. The silence hovered awkwardly between us, and I didn’t know how to broach it. Bridei had been aloof ever since my betrothal to Cynet was announced. It was almost as though she resented the marriage, but that was silly. As the eldest, her first duty was to T’yatha and its armies. A husband would only muddle her responsibilities.

  There were barely one hundred rooms in our castle, a small fortress by southern standards. Bridei’s chamber was down the hall from mine. As I bid her a good night and slipped through my door, I saw that the servants had kept my fire blazing. They had strict instructions to never let it die.

  My skirts made a swishing sound against the rock floor as I moved to the hearth and stretched my hands to it. The Great Hall was the only room covered in wooden floor planks. The rest of the castle had been left to its natural state. In the private quarters, animal skins made a softer covering and helped retain the warmth of the room. I was grateful for them. My feet were always cold in the thin slippers I had to wear around the castle. I much preferred my warrior’s boots.

  The fire cast huge shadows against the far wall. My bed chamber wasn’t large, barely twenty paces across. Heavy drapes hid a window that led out onto a balcony overlooking the valley below. Against the far wall, opposite the hearth, was a mattress piled high with animal furs. I gave a hea
vy sigh. My warm bed had seen little of me lately, and tonight was no exception.

  I moved past wooden chairs and a divan to a wardrobe on the far side of the hearth. The furniture had all been crafted by my father himself or his artisans. They favored animal designs, effortlessly reproducing the heads and feet of bears, foxes, rabbits, and other native creatures found in our mountains. Each piece was beautiful, carved and polished and varnished until it shone. But there was one chair that stood out like a mangled root.

  It was a lopsided piece, one arm higher than the other. I had made it myself when my father tried to teach me his skills. But I couldn’t imbue the wood with magic, as he could. He instilled spells of peace, strength, healing, and power. Once, he had even taken a small piece of kindling and created a tree using Ragnell’s magic. The sight of my poorly cobbled chair was sore against his more elegant creations. But I kept it as a reminder that Ragnell would never bless me with her magic. There was only one way I could become a powerful sorcerer.

  I opened the doors of the wardrobe and pulled out a leather uniform hung there. I would be grateful to change from this velvet finery and into my warrior’s garb. I was still nervous about tonight, but if I wanted magic, I had to pay the price.

  It took me longer than I would have liked to wrestle out of the dress. I never called the servants for help with dressing. I didn’t like them poking around my chambers unless it was absolutely necessary.

  The uniform was easier to pull on, after so many years of practice. A leather vest buckled on over my wool tunic, followed by a metal breastplate and shoulder and arm guards. A short, white skirt of polar bear fur covered black leather leggings that clung to my legs. Silver knee braces were buckled over each knee.

  I was just bending over to yank the boot onto my right leg when I felt hands slip around my waist. I spun, knocking the hands away and sweeping one leg out to trip my assailant. He went down, but one hand grabbed my leg and pulled it out from under me, so that we both landed in a heap on the rug. I tried to roll away from him, but his arms clinched tight around me. Then I was being showered with kisses.