Page 13 of Where We Belong

“We must rile up hearts in our favour and unite them with one common goal. The greater good here is that they are returned, and we live to see another day, is it not? But it must be believable first. We must show them we want equality just as much as they do.”

Theron huffs like a child. “Then simply give it to them. You sit here in the finest clothes, eating the best ingredients, lazing about your acres of land. How convenient the monarchy suddenly gives a shit about the people of Sheyole, their losses and their freedom, when they now hold the key to something you want. They wouldn’t crave freedom so desperately if they had equity at the very least.”

I tilt my head to the side and open my mouth, but Nykholas gets there first. His voice as smooth as a stream of black silk.

“It seems you continually forget your place, Theron. And that you, too, eat at the King’s table and live on his land. The hilt of your sword alone could feed a hundred families from your slum town for months. The humans say something about biting the hand that feeds you. Perhaps look into that and whilst you do, keep your Godsdamned mouth closed.” Theron’s jaw tightens and something he has not quite buried yet moves across his face, before the familiar sneer returns. He is about to retort when my uncle says,

“Do it. Whatever it takes Aiden, Captain Nykholas, Theron. Just find them both. Before it is too late.” Nykholas winces at being addressed by his friends’ title. He has denied us from addressing him as such since he was taken hostage, refusing to wear what Kaed earned. Though I do wonder if a thing can still be earned if it was prophesied.

“We must take the necessary measures to extract information if we do find any rebels or empathisers.” I nod to Leander. The council murmurs and shuffles. I do not miss the way Nykholas raises his thick, dark eyebrows and lets out a low whistle. The conflict on the King’s face is plain as he weighs torment for truth. He once taught me a ruler must sometimes choose what he despises for the common good. Now is that time.

“We have been good for the entire time Captain Kaed has been taken hostage. To no avail. We must use force now. We did not use it when Ashen sent the ash clouds to wilt Ember’s crops. Or when Cinder closed their borders and sent students back to their territories, except for Ashen’s.” I press. “We were understanding when Ember stopped exporting textiles and food, when Obsidian closed the mines. What needs to happen for us to show our hand, uncle? They have taken from us, from you. Is there no consequence for opposing our King?”

Though the members of the counsel hold some contempt for me, I have no doubt voiced what they feel they can only whisper behind closed doors. A phenomenon I have never understood. If one has an opinion, surely the point is to say it. He studies Leander from the shadows for what feels like an eternity, his brows furrowed.

“I would need to sit with my counsel privately and get the territory leaders on board with that. I vowed to leave those practices behind. They would need to sign the treaty immediately lest we offend them by detaining their people. I shall also need to speak with you first, Leander. I would like the chance to read any detainees before we use force. That is an order. Aiden.”

I smile politely at Nykholas, ignoring my uncles pointed stare. “Yes, Your Majesty.” I gather my things from the table. “We shall meet back here by the ninth hour. You are all dismissed. Oh, Lieutenant Nykholas,” I call over the grating sound of chairs and shuffling papers, “please fetch Vale for me, I have been looking for him all morning.”

Chapter 16

Ashley

so long as my faith doesn’t break when I stumble,

I will not be condemned.

Six times, they came back to question me. Six times, he tied me to that chair and burned me, cut me, threw buckets of water over me again and again and again. Six times, I screamed until my throat was raw. When it was over, I fainted, only to wake up slumped in a puddle of my own piss and vomit. Theron’s non-stop questions aren’t about the death of my father. He keeps asking me about this ritual. Just my luck to be abducted by a magic, murderous cult. Every time I come to, their Captain is there, perched on that damn chair like a gargoyle, just watching me. He doesn’t talk. Does he sleep? I don’t give a shit anyway. Between blackouts, I catch glimpses of that little bottle. They hold it up to his nose and make him breathe it in. Maybe that’s where he gets his magic from. Maybe that’s where he got the strength to break two of my fingers.

He did it so quickly it didn’t even register until I heard the crunch of my bone and screamed so loudly it rattled my own skull. I wonder if I had imagined it before, when his eyes blazed, and I felt that rush in my lungs. It was something like breathing for the first time. Like a sunset and a sunrise. Dawn and dusk. The thrill of winter and the burn of the sun. But it seems like my mind is trying to cope with whatever is happening to me by making shit up.

They bring me food here and there, if you can even call it that. Mouldy bread and a cup of something watery and herby. One day, I crawled to the tray from across my cell, the hot stone scraping my knees and elbows. By the time I reached it, my arms shook so violently I could barely lift the bread. I tried pulling apart the crust, but it was too hard, and my broken fingers screamed in protest. I can’t do this for much longer. I thought I had problems before, but right now, I would give absolutely anything for my biggest issue to be running out of weed.

And I don’t see it getting any better. Because no matter how many times they ask, no matter how many ways they twist their questions or try to catch me out, my story isn’t going to change. No one had trained me or hid me. Yes, I saw my dad’s magic. And yes, before he died, he started to lose his mind. He’d see things that weren’t there, talk to people who didn’t exist. Then the fire happened, and yes, it was my magic that caused it. The flames were jet black. That is the story, and that is the truth.

But the one thing that burns me more than their Captain’s smoke is that they know my name. My real name. I’d buried it so deep I sometimes forgot it myself. Agni. Hearing it from their mouths makes my blood run cold; it’s not theirs to say. I haven’t heard it spoken since that night the fire swallowed everything I knew. I can still feel the heat nipping at my skin. And then… his arms. A stranger’s arms, lifting me out of the dark flames, cradling me like I was something precious. He smelled like the forest. Woody and earthy and wild.

“What’s your name?” The police kept asking me after the stranger handed me over. I stayed silent all the way to the care home. There were no records of me at all, no birth certificate, no proof that I had even existed before that night. And every time someone asked me my name, I tried to think of something to say that wasn’t Agni. That name belonged to my parents’ screams, to their last breaths. And there it would stay. So, when they asked me again, I just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Ashley.”

I think it was because it rhymes. I was nine, what the hell did I know? It worked, though. The lady with the slick bun and scar across her left eye wrote it down, and just like that, I became someone else. But now, hearing that name thrown at me like a fucking grenade, I feel like that scared little girl all over again. The girl who burned her world down and hates herself every day for it.

The Captain’s angular face is hollow and cold. His beard scruffy and his wings weak wisps of black smoke trickling from his shoulder blades. I study the hardened lines of his face. What has he been through to become this? To treat someone this way and feel nothing? I’m about to say something to him, but his ear twitches slightly. It’s such a tiny movement, but with nothing else to look at down here, I’m learning him. Immense pressure builds in my chest. It means they’re coming. The lock clicks. It’s Theron. I have learned to fear him, though it’s a different kind of fear than the one I feel for Vale. Vale is horrible, but he has limits. He sticks mostly to spectating from the door, eyeing me grimly. He is the one who eventually says enough is enough, though most of the time, Theron doesn’t listen. Sometimes I see a sadness in his eyes. But what the hell am I supposed to do with his pity? Frame it?

“Captain.”

I flinch as if squeezing my eyes tight and curling into a ball will make it all go away, but smoke carries me to the chair. Today it’s a little gentler, maybe he’s tired, or maybe he’s saving his strength for whatever he’s about to do to me. I ball my good hand into a fist, trying to stop the shake, but it doesn’t work; my entire body trembles like I’m standing naked in a snowstorm.

“Princess, we’re going to conduct some experiments on you.” Theron’s grin is borderline feral. He starts to pace, the rough brown papers in his fist rustling.

“As you know, rumour said you were dead. Rumour being, your uncle.”

I press my tongue to the roof of my dry mouth before I gag. This “all-powerful King.” My uncle. Apparently, he faked my death and kept me out of reach so no one would look for me and ruin his little dictatorship. Because if they’re ever free, they aren’t subjects anymore. They’re equals. And if there’s one thing Kings don’t survive, it’s equality. “And you are the key to releasing us from this prison. Along with Captain Kaed here — your mate.” His eyes flick to the chair. Mate? We are not and never will be friends.

“We’re unsure how the ritual works yet since Cinder Cliffs refuse to give up the information. But we have theories.” He waves the stack of crumpled papers. “And we’re going to test them all, using every last drop of your blood if we must. Some believe you must choose to free us, but that’s a fallacy.” Spit flies from his mouth as something manic takes over his eyes. “You will free us. It is written. And it will take your life. Whether you like it or not.”

The cell spins around me at the promises falling from his thin lips, my breath comes in short, panicked gasps, I wish I had it in me to resist and not give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear, but my pride is in Raph’s apartment somewhere. I had imagined this ritual as some kind of hocus pocus spell I have to recite. But no, I have been brought here to suffer and die. I just want to go home. Theron’s voice pulls me from my panicked thoughts.