Lord of Silver Ashes (Rowan Blood, #2)

by Kellen Graves

though the chance to change fate only ever came to those born into lives already brimming with indulgence.

It was normal for silence to come at night. He enjoyed the silence at night; he was terrified of silence that came during the day.

Between every refilled glass, replaced utensil, introduction of the next course, he eavesdropped without being obvious, watched how each member of the table interacted with one another. Like witnessing wild fey in the woods, Saffron once again wished he had his sketchbook to jot down observation notes.

Did Saffron really think himself better than Icarus, who lasted hardly a moment in the sky before sweeping toward the loving sun right within reach?

Icarus’ sun emerged from behind the clouds. Saffron’s wax wings slumped. The first drips of melt slithered between fibrous feathers, gathered individually by hand during his two weeks of imprisonment. Saffron could deny the sun once. But not twice.

Saffron understood—how all the spirits trapped in the crypt felt when no one came looking for them again, either.

Saffron liked watching the siblings interact. Every movement was doused with sarcasm, with the intent of teasing one another, like how Cylvan made fun of Asche’s height and Asche used Cylvan’s hair like a leash to pull him in another direction—but at the same time, there was a clear harmony to their movements.

Saffron sat cross-legged on the floor in the far corner. It was his instinct to be small, to try and go unnoticed,

That was what Saffron wanted—to be small enough to disappear, especially into the arms of someone he trusted. Someone he clung to with a pitiful hope—that

Saffron couldn’t help pressing his face into the glass as landscapes blurred by, wanting to see everything as it came and passed. That was, until Cylvan leaned in slightly and teased him. “Careful, beantighe. You’ll give yourself whiplash.”

Saffron might never know what it was like to live a simple, peaceful, wonderful life with someone he cared for—but perhaps, if he did everything he could, he could ensure that opportunity for someone else like him in the future.

“Gather these books for me, will you, beantighe?” Saffron nodded right away, unfolding the paper—before pausing, and looking at Cylvan again with his eyebrows raised. Anything you like. Really? He mouthed, and Cylvan smiled mischievously.

Cylvan’s stories of his occasional trips into the human world to learn about the theologies and religions trending on that side, unable to stop laughing every time he talked about someone spotting his fey form and accusing him of being something called a demon from hell and attempting to exorcize him.

It was all so simple. Saffron wished they could continue doing it forever. Just two ghosts. Living… freely.

“I am Cylvan’s divine mercy,” Saffron declared viciously. “And the sun you flew too close to. Remember that—the next time you underestimate me.”

BADDIE MOVES FR FR

Cylvan, who played the violin. Who controlled the wind and the sky. Who taught Saffron to love romantic myths—and then showed him what it was like to live in one, tragic ending and all.

screaming. crying. punching the wall.

Bursting through the soil that finally pinned him in death, Saffron’s lungs tore at the air in a horrific gasp. Jolting in his body, he slammed upward—only to be wrenched back against the pillows by bindings around his wrists.

“Everyone who matters is absolutely fine,” Cylvan reassured him,