An Ember in the Ashes (An Ember in the Ashes, #1)

by Sabaa Tahir

If Marcus tried to remove his mask now, he’d take off half his face with it. Which would be an improvement.

Lolll

The missions, the rote viciousness, will wear me down until there’s nothing left of the boy the Augurs stole fourteen years ago. Maybe that’s a type of destiny. But it’s not one I’d choose for myself.

“You are an ember in the ashes, Elias Veturius. You will spark and burn, ravage and destroy. You cannot change it. You cannot stop it.”

Shadows will bloom in your heart, and you will become everything you hate—evil, merciless, cruel. You will be chained to the darkness within yourself as surely as if chained to the walls of a prison cell.”

They’ll want me to be fearless and charismatic, like Mother. They’ll want me to be brilliant and serene, like Father. But I’m not any of those things.

So my choices are to stay and be evil or to run and be evil. Wonderful.

“I don’t need to believe in the supernatural. Not when there’s worse that roams the night.”

“You’ll never forget them, not even after years. But one day, you’ll go a whole minute without feeling the pain. Then an hour. A day. That’s all you can ask for, really.” His voice drops. “You’ll heal. I promise.”

Helene never struck me as a Scholar sympathizer. I like her more for it.

True freedom—of body and soul. That’s what I’m fighting for, I remind myself. Not rulership. Not power. Freedom.

I feel heartless as I leave her there to face Mother’s punishment. I feel like a Mask.

No. I will not kill my oldest, best friend. This is a fact, not a wish. I will not kill her.

Exhaustion is temporary. Pain is temporary. But Helene dying because I didn’t find a way to get her back on time—that’s permanent.

The man blinks, taking in the sight before him: two Masks, one so covered in blood it appears that she’s been tortured, and the other practically naked with a week’s worth of beard, wild hair, and a mad look in his eyes.

No one has touched me for the past ten days except to hurt me.

Why here? Why now? How can creatures of my own mind not be controllable by me? Why can I not will them away?

He doesn’t need weapons because he is one,

She is half of me. My own reaction—that ravenous lust for violence—is proof. I’m not like her.

“Laia’s a person, Helene. Someone’s daughter or sister. If you or I had been born to different parents, we might be in her shoes instead of our own.”

He holds happiness at bay, I realize. He doesn’t trust it.

No one looks at me with loathing or fear. I don’t have to watch my back or keep up the granite exterior. I feel free.

He’s not bad-looking, I suppose, but he seems too grim to be any fun. Also, he’s shorter than me. Considerably shorter. Half a foot, at least.

lmfao

“I live with the guilt. But there are two kinds of guilt, girl: the kind that drowns you until you’re useless, and the kind that fires your soul to purpose.

Life is hard enough without having to avoid entire rooms in my own head.

Do I want to kiss her because I love her or because I need something from her? Or both?

“You’re in love with me!” I shout at her now because I’m so angry at her for loving me, even though the logical part of me knows that I’m being cruelly unfair. “But I’m not in love with you, and you hate me for it. You’ve let that ruin our friendship.”

“Loving you is the worst thing that has ever happened to me—worse than the Commandant’s whippings, worse than the Trials. It’s torture, Elias.”

“Who did this?” he asks.

I’m Death himself, presiding over this butchery.

Demetrius, who screamed in futile rage after he watched his ten-year-old brother whipped to death by the Commandant for desertion. He smiles when he sees me coming, drops his weapon and waits as if the edge of my blade is a gift.

Draw a line in your mind. Never cross it again. You have a soul. It’s damaged, but it’s there. Don’t let them take it from you, Elias.”

Because if I allow Helene to kill Laia, I won’t have a soul.

We are everything to each other. And I’m betraying her. Again.

I know I’ve never felt the type of desolation and hopelessness I see in Elias’s eyes at that moment.

“You are full, Laia. Full of life and dark and strength and spirit. You are in our dreams. You will burn, for you are an ember in the ashes. That is your destiny.

Strange, to have survived the Great Wastes, to have fought supernatural creatures, to have sunk so low as to kill my own friends, only to die now—in chains, still masked, stripped of my name, branded a traitor. Disgraced—an unwanted bastard, a failure of a grandson, a murderer. A nobody. A man whose life means nothing.

I wasn’t afraid. Suffering and blood I knew well. The loneliness was an old friend. The anger—I used it to carry me through.

This—this—was what Cain spoke of: the freedom to go to my death knowing it’s for the right reason. The freedom to call my soul my own. The freedom to salvage some small goodness by refusing to become like my mother, by dying for something that is worth dying for.

I know my death won’t free you. It won’t give you peace. You’re not the one killing me. I chose to die. Because I’d rather die than become like you. I’d rather die than live with no mercy, no honor, no soul.”

The killing blow is my release. Death is coming for me. Death is nearly here. I am ready for him.

“Fear can be good, Laia. It can keep you alive. But don’t let it control you. Don’t let it sow doubts within you. When the fear takes over, use the only thing more powerful, more indestructible, to fight it: your spirit. Your heart.”

I wonder if the new Emperor misses his twin. I wonder if he will think rulership is worth the death of the only human who ever understood him.

Even if none of the rest of my plan works, this wasn’t all for nothing. I got Izzi out. I saved my friend.

I do not doubt. I do not hesitate. I am the Lioness’s daughter, and I have the Lioness’s strength.

Then I swing out from my hiding place and hop onto the execution stage. It’s time to free Elias Veturius.

“Let me go, Elias.” She puts soft fingers to my face and smiles a sad, sweet smile that’s mine alone. “Let me go.”