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

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“Got it,” I cut him off. “What I don’t understand is why it makes you all feel any of that. I couldn’t have Ascended her.” A limp curl fell across my face. “I don’t even fully understand what that means for a god.”

“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?” “No,” Ector said and then frowned. “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,”

“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.” “And you think that the mortals killed by those gods were these viktors?”

“He means they’re neither mortal nor god. But they are eternal, like the Fates,” Saion said. My brows lifted. “Well, that clarifies everything.” Saion smirked. “They are born into their roles, much like a mortal is born, but their souls have lived many lives.”

As we approached, the man placed a hand over his heart and bowed at the waist, as did the goddess.

“Penellaphe?” Surprise filled Nyktos’ tone.

“We will wait for you in the hall,” Nektas answered, nodding in my direction as he put a hand on the back of Reaver’s head, ushering the young boy forward. “We will wait for both of you.” A knot formed in my throat. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because Nektas had acknowledged me. I swallowed hard, looking toward the thrones and the dais. Maybe I just needed more sleep or— Everything in me stopped. My legs refused to move. My head emptied because what I was seeing—who I saw standing before the dais, cast in the soft light of the candles and the stars—brought me up short. It made no sense. None at all. My eyes had to be playing tricks on me. Because it couldn’t be Sir Holland.

“You can just call me Holland,” he told me. “That is my name.” “But you’re…why are you here?” Confusion pounded through me as Penellaphe glided past him, entering the airy chamber. “Are you a viktor?” “No. That honor is not mine,” he said. “He’s here because he’s a Spirit of Fate,” Nyktos stated coldly. “He’s an Arae. One who’s apparently been masquerading as a mortal.” He eyed Holland. “Now I understand how you had knowledge of a certain potion.”

“The better question is what your father did exactly,” Holland countered. “As you know, your father was the true Primal of Life. Kolis couldn’t take everything. That would be impossible. Embers of life still remained in Eythos, just as embers of death remained in Kolis. And when you were conceived, part of that ember passed on to you. Just a flicker of the power. Not as strong as the ember that remained in your father, but enough.”

“What was it? This prophecy?” Nyktos asked. “Can you tell us?”

“What I saw was just disjointed images. People ruling in the mortal realm that didn’t appear mortal—places I don’t think yet exist.” “Like what?” “Like cities forever laid to waste. Kingdoms shattered and rebuilt. Great and…terrible wars—wars between Kings…and between Queens.” Her brows pinched. “A forest made of trees the color of blood.”

“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.”

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.’”

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.’”

Nyktos nodded slowly. “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. He, along with my father, were born in the west.” Nyktos looked down at me. “They were born in the mortal realm. Roughly where present-day Carsodonia stands.” “And the last part of the prophecy means that he will destroy all the lands, from west to east, including the mortal realm?” I wiped my hands down my thighs.

“Prophecies…they are only a possibility. So many things can change them, and from what I understand, not every word is to be taken literally. The problem is, we do not often know which words should be.”

“She has your blood in her, doesn’t she?”

“It was just a drop. Barely even that.”

“But it was enough,” Holland stated. “The ember of life in you is strong enough to cause you to have the symptoms of the Culling, but it wasn’t strong enough to push you into the change. The symptoms would’ve eased off, but not now. Not with the blood of a powerful Primal in you. You will go into the Culling.” “No.” Nyktos shook his head, twists of eather swirling in his eyes. “She can’t. She’s not a godling. She’s mortal—” “Mostly,” Penellaphe whispered. “Her body is mortal. As is her mind.” She looked at me, her eyes glistening. “But what has always been inside of you is Primal. It doesn’t matter that both of your parents were mortal. You were born with an ember of not one but two Primals inside you. That’s what will attempt to come out.”

“And what is that?” Nyktos asked, his hands closing into fists at his sides. “And how do I find it?”

“It can’t be found,” she said, and I was one second from screaming my frustration.

“It’s love,” Holland answered. “Love is the one thing that not even fate can contend with.” I blinked.

“Love is more powerful than fate.”

“What exactly are you saying?” I asked. “Your body cannot withstand the Culling. Not without the sheer will of what is more powerful than fate and even death.” Holland looked to Nyktos. “Not without the love of the one who would aid her Ascension.”

“You’re talking about the blood of a god. Saying that I would need the blood of a god who loves me?”

“Not just a god. A Primal. And not just any Primal.” Penellaphe’s blue eyes fixed on Nyktos. “The blood of the Primal the ember belonged to—that and the pure will of love can unravel fate.”

He hid the ember of life where it could be safe and where it could grow in power until a new Primal was ready to be born—in

A new Primal was ready to be born… “‘Born of mortal flesh, a shadow in the ember,’”

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