Page 18 of The Ember and the Emerald

Clang. He slammed the blade into his thigh. Metal against metal.

I jolted. “Please stop! You’ll hurt yourself.”

“You’re the one who will hurt. I’ll make you suffer a thousand deaths.” Clang. “Where am I? Who are you?” He tossed the questions as if they were daggers laced with poison. Clang.

“I’ll buy another memory restoration serum,” I screeched at Elowen over my shoulder.

Clang, clang.

“There isn’t a big enough payment in all the worlds, darling.” The maiden wagged her head at me, as if disappointed I’d even asked. “Some of the same ingredients that awakened him are also used in the memory wipe tonic. Doubly potent for monstra.”

Dread suffused every cell in my body. “Just name your price.” I reached for Jasher but he swung the axe again. Clang. “I’ll pay it.”

No response. I threw another glance over my shoulder. Gone.

I backtracked, swooping down to collect the cuffs. A sharp prick in the pad of my index finger registered, but I didn’t stop to analyze what had cut me. Driven by instinct—protect my parents—I rushed back to the executioner. Reaching out, preparing to dodge the axe and slap the cuffs around his wrists…

He moved with lightning speed, not attacking with the weapon but using his free hand, raking those razor-edged claws across my chest.

Searing pain. Rising bile. Flashing stars. I experienced all as I hit the ground, losing my hold on the shackles. A cry burst from my lips.

Jasher dropped the axe and reached down to wrench now-flesh legs free of his metal boots, the last barrier. Free at last, he arrowed straight for me, swiping up one axe then its twin along the way. My vision righted as he drew back his elbows, intending to take my head.

I saw the act play out inside his irises, as if projecting his thoughts. Swing. Blood. Death.

A shovel slammed into the side of his head, flinging him aside. The weapons flew from his grip. My dad stood with the tool in hand, ready to strike again as Jasher regained his bearings and turned the full breadth of his fury onto the older man.

Half executioner, half monster, the man I loved now pawed at the dirt with supersized wings flared at his sides. Bony protrusions spiked from every joint.

“I suggest you dial it down a notch, creature,” my dad stated, shovel ready for another blow.

“I can already taste your death, human.” Jasher spit blood and laughed. His irises flared neon red. “Ash and flame.”

As I climbed to my feet, the two opponents launched at each other. Grunts and growls replaced ragged breaths. No, no, no. Ignoring every burst of pain, I slammed into Jasher, driving him to the ground.

We crashed into the floor, shaking the entire barn. Making use of a monstra weakness, I clasped his cheeks and captured his gaze with my own. Yes! He froze in place as expected, utterly snared.

The thing about monstra—they couldn’t strike while you held their gaze. They could do nothing but look at you.

Without daring to blink, I extended a trembling arm to my dad. “Get me the cuffs. And hurry.”

Though bleeding, he rushed to obey.

Don’t blink, don’t blink. My corneas burned, demanding moisture. Not yet. I accepted the cold metal without looking away. Maintained eye contact while securing the bands around Jasher’s wrists. Held his gaze until the latch engaged.

Blink.

His entire body went lax next to the old tractor, as if his muscles had ceased working.

My tremors intensified as I lumbered up. Part of me expected protests from him, perhaps an apology or two, but he did nothing more than pant.

“What happened?” my dad commanded.

A gasp drew our attention to the right. Mom and Emma huddled together in the sunny doorway, one peering at Jasher with hatred, the other with regret. Then Mom moaned and clutched her stomach. A second later, her water broke.

Emma’s gaze shot to me. “The queen is in labor.”

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