A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire, #1)

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

I ran a finger across the blade. A god could be killed if their brain or heart were destroyed by shadowstone. And paralyzed by it if the blade were left in their body. But a Primal was different. Destroying their heart and/or brain would only injure them, not kill them. It would weaken them but not enough to make them truly vulnerable to shadowstone.

But they could be killed. By love. Make him fall in love, become his weakness, and end him.

Any deal made between a god or Primal and a mortal ended in the favor of whoever had been granted the boon upon the death of the god or Primal who answered the summons. In our case, it meant that all the things that had happened to restore Lasania two hundred years ago would return and remain until the end of time. That was the piece of information my family had discovered in the years it’d taken for me to be born.

“Child, the Fates know you were touched by life and death, creating something that should not be. How could she be anything but afraid?”

“Death wants nothing to do with life. None of you can be surprised.”

hate to disappoint you, child, but that’s not a question I can answer. It’s what the Fates claimed upon your birth. Only the Fates can tell you what that means.”

I often wondered if they were mates of the heart—if there was even such a thing that was written about in poems and songs. Two halves of a whole. It was said that the touch between one was full of energy and that their souls would recognize one another. It was even said that they could walk in the dreams of another, and that the loss of one wasn’t something repairable.

Shadowstone could kill a god if they were stabbed in the heart, and my aim had only been off by a fraction of an inch—if

mouth. “What does liessa mean?” The god didn’t answer for what felt like a small eternity. “It has different meanings to different people.” The eather pulsed in his eyes, swirling once more through the silver. “But all of them mean something beautiful and powerful.”

It was a kiyou wolf. They were the largest breed of wolves in all the kingdoms. I’d often heard their calls in the woods, and sometimes even from within the castle.

“They’re known as Gyrms,” he answered. “This type? They’re called Hunters.”

“There are two types of Gyrms. These were mortals who had summoned a god. In exchange for whatever need or desire they had, they offered themselves for eternal servitude. Once they died, that is what they became.”

“Those who offered eternal servitude in return are typically known as Hunters and Seekers. Their purpose is usually to locate and retrieve things. There are other classes of Gyrms, dozens really, but those are the main ones.” Ash’s fingers moved over my collarbone in a slow, idle circle, startling me. “Then there are those who enter servitude as a way to atone for their sins in lieu of being sentenced to the Abyss.”

“No. For them it is for a set amount of time. They are usually known as Sentinels, who are, in a way, soldiers. The Priests fall into that group. They are more…mortal than the first group in the sense that they have their own thoughts.”

“What happens if they turn to ash like the Hunters did?” “For those who are atoning for their sins, it depends on how long they’ve been in service. They may return to the Primal or god they serve, or choose to go to the Abyss. The Hunters? They return to the Abyss.”

Ash shook his head. “Some gods have even walked both realms far longer than the Primals.” If I weren’t already lying down, I would’ve fallen over. What he said sounded unbelievable. And he was right. I had no idea how old the Primal of Death was. He, like Kolis, the Primal of Life, had never been depicted in paintings.

The City of the Gods, where the Primal of Life—Kolis—and his Court resided. “Is it true that the buildings reach the clouds there?”

“There was a riot last night in Croft’s Cross. It started as a protest against the Crown and what little was being done to stop the Rot, but the guards turned it into a riot by the way they responded.”

“I overheard her speaking with my father after supper about him. His name is Callum.” Her chin dipped. “He’s from the Court of Dalos.” My stomach flipped. “He’s from The Primal of Life’s Court?” She nodded. “I imagine it has something to do with the upcoming Rite.”

“Sotoria.” It took me a moment to remember who that was. “The girl so frightened by a god that she fell to her death from the Cliffs of Sorrow?”

“I am known as the Asher,” he said, and I shuddered. Is it short for something? I’d asked when he told me his name. It is short for many things. “The One who is Blessed. I am the Guardian of Souls and the Primal God of Common Men and Endings.” His voice traveled through the Great Hall, and absolute silence answered. I could barely force air through my lungs. “I am Nyktos, ruler of the Shadowlands, the Primal of Death.”

“Actually, we were about to take little Reaver-Butt here out for some airtime.” Lailah grinned as the draken let out a squawk of agreement. “The draken’s name is Reaver-Butt?” I blurted. Lailah laughed softly as she sent me a quick smile. “His name is Reaver,” she said, and he hopped on his hind legs. “But I like to add the butt part. He seems to enjoy it, too.”

“Godlings?” I repeated, brows pinching. “The offspring of a mortal and a god,” he explained. “If a godling then has a child with a mortal, that child would carry some mark upon them, too, but they would not be a godling.”

“No. Not if we’re careful. Obviously, a mortal may feel the effects of the feeding more than any of us would, and if we were to take too much, then…well, it would be a tragedy if they were not third sons or daughters.” Her lips tensed. “It’s forbidden to Ascend them—to save them.” Curiosity trickled through me. “Why?” Tension bracketed her mouth. “They would become what we call demis—a being with godlike power that was never meant to carry such a gift…and burden. They are something else.”

“As the Primal of Death, I risk destroying the mortal’s soul if they’re in my presence for any extended period of time, at least for those who have passed through judgement. That is a balance to prevent the Primal of Death from creating his or her version of life. There is no exact rule against it for gods or other mortals, but it wouldn’t be wise. Visiting loved ones who have moved on can cause both the one living and the one who has passed to become stuck—to want what neither can have, whether that be to continue seeing their loved one or to return to the living. It can even cause them to leave the Vale, and that does not end well.”

nor mortal.” I nodded as Jadis’s neck vibrated against my finger. Mortals tended to destroy things they’d never seen before or were afraid of. “I

never should’ve been the first daughter born after the deal had been made. Anyone or anything would be far better suited for this task than me. Possibly even a barrat.

“Those things were not Shades. You are standing in the Red Woods, where the blood of entombed gods soaks every root of every tree. These are blood trees.”

“Wherever a god or Primal is entombed, or where their blood spills, you will see a blood tree. It serves as either a memorial or a warning,” he explained. “Either way, it is not land one should ever disturb.”

“But you did,” he stated, his eyes flaring bright once more. “You bled.” At first, I didn’t understand, having forgotten the scratches. I glanced down at my arm. “Barely.” “That doesn’t matter. A single drop would’ve roused those who are not so deeply entombed. They are drawn to anything alive, and you, liessa, are very much alive. If I hadn’t come when I did, they would’ve devoured you whole.”

A missing woman. A beautiful Primal in a pale-yellow gown and a wounded, silver hawk. Hunters

“They don’t,” Ash stated flatly. “What you know of the Rite and the Chosen is nothing but a lie.” A muscle ticked along Ash’s jaw. “The Rite you celebrate—the one you hold feasts and parties in honor of? You’re celebrating what will ultimately be the death of most of them. It wasn’t always that way. At one time, the Chosen were Ascended. They did serve the gods. But that is not what it is now, and it hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“The Pits of Endless Flames,” he explained. “I made sure his soul was immediately sent there. He burns until I free him.” Oh. Damn.

“My father was the true Primal of Life.” Ash’s cool fingers touched my cheek. “Until his brother stole it from him. His twin, Kolis.”

My father wasn’t wholly innocent in that, but from what I’ve learned, there was an issue of jealousy. After all, my father was the Primal of Life, worshipped and loved by gods and mortals alike.” Nektas nodded. “He was a fair King, kind and generous, and curious by nature. It was him who gave the dragon a mortal form.”

“Only the Primal of Life could give Sotoria back her life. So, he found a way to become that.” “How?” I breathed. “I don’t know,” Ash admitted with a shake of his head. “None of us do. Only Kolis and my father know, and one will never speak of it, and the other is no longer here to tell.”

“You smell of death.” I stared at him from my pile of pillows, mouth hanging open. “That was rude.”

“Godlings go through the Culling because they have eather in their blood. The ember that my father placed in you is eather. That’s what fuels your gift, and it would be powerful enough to evoke symptoms—ones that can be debilitating without the right combination of herbs that was discovered ages ago by a god who had a knack for mixing potions. Took hundreds of years, or at least that’s what my father told me. A potion born of necessity since no other known medicine worked to ease the headaches and other symptoms that came with the Culling,”

“The way they seemed to track every movement you made, every beat of your heart. They were as terrifying as he was.” Her grip eased on the blanket. “He called them his reborn. His Revenants. He said they were a work in

means entering a new stage of life. A transition.” “What kind of transition? What can a god transition into?” As soon as I said that, my heart dropped. I remembered what Nyktos had told me. Primals were once gods. “She’s a Primal now?”

“At least, I don’t think she is. Her eyes changed. They were brown before. You saw them. They’re silver now. Just like a Primal. And that shockwave of energy that came out of her. That’s what happens when a god Ascends. But she’s not a Primal.” “But she’s no longer just a god,”

“Bele Ascending means that she could challenge his position of authority over the Court of Sirta, and he would’ve felt that.” My stomach flipped as I slowly shook my head. Hanan was the Primal of the Hunt and Divine Justice.

what exactly your father did.” “They are…mostly mortal, born to serve one purpose,” Nyktos explained, sitting beside me. “To guard a harbinger of great change or purpose. Some are not aware of their duty, but they serve nonetheless through numerous mechanisms of fate—like being at the right place at the right time or introducing the one they’ve been destined to oversee to someone else. Others are aware and are part of the life of the one they’re protecting. Sometimes, they’re called guardians. In all the time I’ve heard of them, I’ve never known there to be more than one to protect any given person.”

had done. “And by mostly mortal, what do you mean?” “He means they’re neither mortal nor god. But they are eternal, like the Fates,”

“They live like mortals, serving their purpose. They die either in the process of doing that or long after they have served, but when they die, their souls return to Mount Lotho, where the Arae are, and are given physical form once more. They remain there until it is their time once again.”

“When they’re reborn, they have no memory of their previous lives, only this calling that some may or may not figure out. It’s a way for the Fates to keep the balance equal,” Saion said. “But when they return to Mount Lotho, their memories of their lives return.” “All of their lives?”

good.” “But I also saw her. I saw them. A Chosen and a descendant of the First.” The eather burned brightly in Penellaphe’s eyes as they met mine. “A Queen of Flesh and Fire. And him, a King risen from Blood and Ash, who ruled side by side with man. And they…they felt right. They felt like hope.”

her hand once more and then let go. She cleared her throat. “‘From the desperation of golden crowns and born of mortal flesh, a great primal power rises as the heir to the lands and seas, to the skies and all the realms. A shadow in the ember, a light in the flame, to become a fire in the flesh. When the stars fall from the night, the great mountains crumble into the seas, and old bones raise their swords beside the gods, the false one will be stripped from glory until two born of the same misdeeds, born of the same great and Primal power in the mortal realm. A first daughter, with blood full of fire, fated for the once-promised King. And the second daughter, with blood full of ash and ice, the other half of the future King. Together, they will remake the realms as they usher in the end.’” She paused, looking up with eyes as bright as polished sapphires. “‘And so it will begin with the last Chosen blood spilled, the great conspirator birthed from the flesh and fire of the Primals will awaken as the Harbinger and the Bringer of Death and Destruction to the lands gifted by the gods. Beware, for the end will come from the west to destroy the east and lay waste to all which lies between.’”

“I think it’s safe to assume that the latter part is referencing my uncle. He is the great conspirator—the rightful Bringer of Death.

“You are the heir to the lands and seas, skies and realms. A Queen instead of a King. You are the Primal of Life.”