The Ash Queen, page 1
© 2023 Georgina Makalani
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Deranged Doctor Designs
(www.derangeddoctordesign.com/)
ISBN: 978-0-6453956-5-5
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Acknowledgements
About the Author
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Chapter 1
General Nuris Graewyth dragged in a deep breath, taking in the scent of the dense forest, the horse beneath him, and the overwhelming silence. It did nothing to slow the swirl of thoughts racing through his mind. He should have been enjoying the peace of being so far from the castle, back in an environment he’d longed for. Instead, the events of the last few days and weeks tormented him.
He looked across at the young man on horseback beside him. Heath focused on their surroundings, looking for what might lie ahead—or what might have followed them from Sunsong. He glanced at Nuris as though knowing he was thinking of him. Nuris nodded to the young man. There was far more to him than either of them had realised. Nelda had insisted that Nuris take Heath with him, that they could help each other, and Pip had nodded agreement.
Both witches had been quieter since the last attack on the king. Pip had remained close to Nuris, and despite Nelda’s healing ability she wore a scar across her arm. She was very lucky that was all she had sustained in the throne room that night. It made him shiver just to think of it. They had already lost one witch, a girl ready to die at the time, but Frayne was still reeling from her loss.
“She visited,” Heath said, and Nuris blinked at him. “Grace,” he answered as though they had been talking of her rather than Nuris thinking of her. Nuris wondered how much of Pip’s skill the boy had appeared to absorb. “She came when we needed her to.”
“Do you think she would come again?” Nuris asked.
“I would like to hope so,” Heath answered softly, “but no, I don’t think she will.”
“There are more witches out there,” Nuris said.
“Are you suggesting she can be replaced?” Heath sounded hurt by the idea.
“No. I am suggesting there are many more out there who need our help.”
“But we aren’t searching out witches,” Heath replied.
“No,” Nuris whispered, wondering just what Aphera had become. Or had she always been such a woman? As a witch’s twin, he had power of his own, a sense of the world more attuned than the average man, as did Frayne. He knew when there was trouble brewing, and yet he had not sensed it with Aphera. He had allowed himself to be lost to her. It was only once Nelda and her children had returned to Sunsong that he had begun to understand just what she was.
“She hid it from you,” Heath said, his focus on the path ahead.
“Frayne is as certain as Nelda that men can’t hold magic,” Nuris said. The boy turned to him with raised eyebrows. “Not that I claim you have it.”
“But there is something,” Heath murmured, looking back along the path. “You and Frayne were tainted by the magic of your sisters, in a way—in a good way. I am a witch’s twin’s twin,” he said, shaking his head. “I am not the same, and yet I am.”
“I do not think we fully understand the magic. Any of it.”
Heath closed his eyes and sighed before he pulled his horse to a stop, his eyes still closed.
“What is it?” Nuris asked.
“We are far from the world,” he whispered, sitting still upon the horse. Nuris wondered then if they were going in the wrong direction or if the young man missed his brother and Nelda. Heath had parents, other parents, and yet he also called Nelda mother from time to time.
“Can you explain the connection you have to Nelda?”
“No,” Heath whispered, unmoving.
Nuris looked at him closely. He was tempted to get down from his horse and check the area, but he remained beside the young man.
“I cannot explain it,” Heath whispered, “not that I won’t. She is Frayne’s mother?” He looked at Nuris then, confused, as though asking if that was the reason. “I knew her in the first moment, knew I had to look out for her, watch over her, and that she would do the same for me.”
Nuris nodded, although he did not fully understand the feeling.
“I won’t tell you who they were,” Heath said, looking around slowly.
Nuris had tried before to learn who had raised Frayne, who had taken him from the castle that night and kept him safe or hidden, and why they might have done that. Although Nelda was certain it had saved his life, Nuris didn’t know if that was the intent or if they had fully understood the danger he was in.
“She is lost,” Heath murmured.
“Nelda?”
“The queen.”
“Did she run away?” Nuris asked.
Heath nodded, but his brow furrowed as though he was not sure that was the answer. Who was she running from? Nuris doubted she would be willing to answer that when they found her. She might have had an idea of what the monks were doing, but did she understand it all? Was she working with them or running from them? Or even both? Did they even know what she was?
Either way, there was no sign of her out here. Heath was certain he had found some trace of her, and yet Nuris could not sense her and was not nearly as certain as the boy that they could find her. Had he ever really known this woman?
Heath looked back at him and sighed. “I don’t think she ever allowed you to know her,” he said kindly.
Nuris nodded slowly. He was sure the boy was right, and yet he had cared for her very much at some point. He wasn’t sure now if that was partly due to his missing Nelda, a sister lost and another quickly trying to fill her place. At least she had wanted a place in his life. He sighed as he looked at the boy watching him.
“Was I so naïve?” he asked.
“You are a man,” Heath said, turning back along the trail and nudging his horse into movement.
“I am not the average man.” Nuris hoped it was not simply having his head turned by a beautiful woman.
“That is why she chose you,” Heath said, still looking out into the scrub around them.
Nuris wanted to ask more questions, demand an answer, learn just why she had done as she had and whether he was the only one. But then, he had understood earlier that he was likely not, no matter what she might have told him. The boy might not have the answers—or worse, he did and Nuris was not sure he wanted to hear the truth from him.
“I can only tell you what I feel,” Heath said. “I’m not sure even she understands the truth, or the reason behind any of what she might have done.”
“Does that include killing her child and so many others with the fire she started?”
Heath nodded slowly and then pulled the horse to a stop again. This was going to be a long night, and they might never find her. For a moment, he wondered if that was best. Leaving her to her own devices and away from Nelda and Frayne. He might not know where she was, but he was certain that she would be a danger to them both if she were to return to Sunsong.
“There,” Heath whispered, slipping down from the horse, and disappearing into the brush.
Nuris lost sight of him. He waited and closed his eyes, trying to feel what the boy could feel. Although he had a sense they were moving in the right direction, it was not with the same certainty Heath had. For a boy with no direct connection to magic, it was interesting the skill he held. Those who had stolen magic from the witches were likely jealous of such skill. He wondered then if that put the boy at more risk. They might try to steal his skill or use him for their own purposes. Fear started to rise in Nuris’s throat.
The horse beside his started to move about, and he was not sure whether it was sensing his own fear or it had the same understanding. His own horse huffed as though there was no issue. Heath reappeared from the brush, shaking his head.
“Do you think she came this way or she is here?” Nuris asked.
“Not here,” Heath said, a little despondent, as though he was losing hope.
They had not been searching for long, but the longer they were away from Sunsong the more Nu
“She won’t allow anything to happen to him,” Heath said, climbing back up onto the horse. It was almost as though Pip were reading him.
“Who will ensure nothing happens to her?”
“Frayne,” Heath said without hesitation.
Nuris could still see him in the dim green glow of the throne room, slicing through the shadows. His sword moving as though with a magic of its own.
There were times he still was not sure he could trust the king. There were moments when the king looked at Nelda as though the only way forward was for her to die, and he didn’t know how to work around that. Nuris understood the danger; he had lived his life hunting them out. But he no longer felt that fear or hatred.
Chapter 2
The sword was heavy, heavier than King Dunstan Sunsorrow remembered a sword could be. Frayne had said he’d just wanted to be sure the king could use one and had handed him the one he carried. It was larger than any sword Dunstan had seen carried by any man previously.
Frayne had borrowed one from a soldier, but Dunstan was sure the one he held was better quality. It made him wonder at where the sword had come from and who might have given it to his son. It also reminded him of the sword he had carried as a younger man.
Both Dunstan and his father had carried swords then, had not relied solely on the men around them. He had been stronger then. He wondered at what point he had put it down, and why he hadn’t thought of it in a lifetime.
Dunstan was not even sure where that sword might be. Despite the weight of his son’s sword in his hand, he ran back to the castle and along the hallways. It was only once he’d reached the door of what had been his father’s rooms that he stopped and looked back at Frayne, only a step behind him.
“Are you that keen to see Mother?” Frayne asked.
Dunstan’s face warmed. He had forgotten that he had moved Frayne and Heath into those rooms, and with them Nelda.
“I was thinking of my sword, and my father’s sword,” he said.
“And that led you here?”
“I don’t remember what I did with it. Why are there no guards?”
“They are likely with Nelda and Pip in the garden.”
“Oh,” Dunstan muttered, opening the door. He wondered at the lack of security, but he hoped Pip would be able to sense anything within the room before they entered it. Although, after a night that had seemed to last for so long, Nelda was in the garden in the sunshine as often as she could be. She might feel closer to Grace there.
“Father,” Frayne said slowly and clearly, as though talking to a child rather than the king of Burasal. Dunstan enjoyed it when he called him father.
“I think the sword is here, and yours is too heavy for my old bones.”
He held out his hand and realised that, despite the weight, he had carried it all the way there. He handed it back to Frayne, who looked it over and then sheathed it as though it were not the weighty beast it was.
Dunstan stepped into the main room and looked about. He had no idea where he might have put it, or even if it might still be there. He looked at Frayne standing in the middle of the room, watching him.
“Do you know where it is?” Dunstan asked.
“Not here,” Frayne said, closing his eyes. “I’m sure of that, but I couldn’t tell you where it is. I cannot picture you carrying a sword of your own. You do appear to know what you are doing with it.”
Dunstan tried not to scowl. They had been sparring most of the morning, mostly to work off some of his frustrations, and Frayne had a skill he had not seen. He wasn’t sure if it was the way he had been taught or a link to magic he had. “Does the magic give you the strength to lift that?” he asked, pointing to the sword now back at Frayne’s belt.
“No, many years of practice.”
“I did have one of my own, but it wasn’t really needed, and after the fire I was distracted.”
“But you hunted out the witches, didn’t you? You went out with the soldiers you directed and killed women and children.”
There was something a little harsh in the way he said it, and Dunstan wasn’t sure how to respond. He had done such things. There had been a danger in the kingdom, and there still was one. Although there did not seem to be the questions from the people that he had expected when the hunts had died off.
He was not a senile old man. He was still young, younger than his father had been when he’d died. And he had died too young. The world before seemed foggy, as though he had not really been there, had not been paying attention to what was going on around him. He had been so sure he was doing the right thing, and what was required for the kingdom to survive.
And yet in the last little while, surrounded by witches, it had all seemed like a very bad idea. He should have been protecting these women, not helping hunt them out. But they had been a threat to the kingdom, hadn’t they?
“What did they do?” Dunstan asked, looking around the room as though his father might still be here.
“Who?” Frayne asked.
“The witches—the women we have chased for so long.”
“Was it because of Nelda?” Frayne asked.
Dunstan shook his head. “No, and yes.”
Frayne sighed and headed for the door.
“Do you hate me for what I’ve done?”
Frayne stopped and looked back, appearing confused by the question. “I don’t know you,” he said. “I would like to,” he added, a small smile lighting his face. “But first, let us find your sword.”
Dunstan nodded and joined him at the door, and Frayne led the way back towards the room he had not revisited since the shadows and Grace’s death.
It felt cold and uninviting when they stepped inside. Frayne’s focus was directed at the floor, the centre of the room where Grace had fallen. Dunstan reached out and rested a hand on his arm. “I didn’t want that,” he said, honestly. He had wanted to find a way to save the girl, if only for Frayne.
Frayne took a deep breath and moved around the space on the floor, although there was nothing to indicate what had unfolded there. The fire even blazed in the fireplace, yet the room was cold.
“Is she still here?” Dunstan asked.
“No,” Frayne whispered. Although he sounded very sure of the answer, his step faltered as he glanced about.
“I don’t think the sword is here.” Dunstan was unsure whether he should change the subject, but it was the reason they were in the room.
Frayne ran his hand over a chest that was tucked away in a corner, then sat down on it as though his legs had failed. Dunstan sat beside him and leaned against the wall.
“I appreciate what you are trying to do,” Frayne said. “But it is hard. I still see her scared in the garden, shaking in my arms, and then that last moment...” He closed his eyes and Dunstan put a hand on over Frayne’s resting on his knee.
“As I appreciate your return to me.”
“It is in the chest,” Frayne said, turning a smile towards Dunstan. Pulling his hand from beneath Dunstan’s, he tapped the wood between them.
“So, we have to stand.”
“Only if you want to get it back.”
Dunstan wanted to stay there for as long as he could, shoulder to shoulder with his son, but he pushed to his feet. He held out a hand to Frayne, who took it although he did not need it to stand. They both looked over the chest and then lifted the lid.
All it contained was the sword and a deep-blue shawl. Dunstan lifted the sword and felt a surge of relief to hold it in his hands again. He wondered at what point he had locked it away and forgotten it. He looked it over and pulled it slowly from the sheath. It was not damaged but could do with a good clean. He had thought it large as a young man, but it was not nearly as broad as Frayne’s sword, although it shared the length.
Frayne reached into the chest and pulled out the shawl. It was a finely woven wool, and there was no pattern or adornment other than the pretty colour.
“This is different,” Frayne muttered, looking at Dunstan with raised eyebrows.
“It was your mother’s,” he said, remembering her sitting naked on his bed, wrapped in nothing but the shawl. It had been made for her, but she wouldn’t take it from the room. “Nelda,” he said when Frayne did not reply. Despite all the years of hate, he had never forgotten her. Now he wanted to keep her close.
“What do you want from her?” Frayne asked.
