Kingdom of Embers and Ruin, page 1
Copyright © 2024 Nadya Valladares
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact author Nadya Valladares.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
ASIN: B0CWFSKTVR
ISBN: 9798320179865, 9798869134813, 9798869293855
Imprint: Independent
Book Cover by Nadya Valladares, Microsoft Copilot Designer, DALL-E 4 AI generated
Editing: Angela Lakis, Nadya Valladares
Map by Daniel Valladares
First edition 2024
For you, the reader,
who has made this lifelong dream into a reality.
Pronunciation Guide
Places
Logi – “low-ghee”
Veter – “Vet-err”
Ljosa – “You-sah”
Nida – “Knee-dah”
Gioll – “Ghee-ole”
People
Hakon – “Hay-kin”
Ulf – “Ooh-lf”
Njal – “Neal”
Gyda – “Ghee-dah”
Gunnar – “Goon-ar”
Iona – “E-oh-na”
Mikel – “Meek-el”
Aeric – “Ay-ric”
Other phrases
Galder – “Gall-dr”
Laevatein – “lay-vah-tain”
Dalkr Hela – “dahl-kr Hel-ah”
Vitki – “vit-key”
Bulle/bullar – “booh-lah”
Dottir – “Doht-tir”
Skol – Cheers
Elvindr – “storm wind”
Minn eldr – “my fire”
Contents
Prologue
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Chapter 25
26. Chapter 26
27. Chapter 27
28. Chapter 28
29. Chapter 29
30. Chapter 30
31. Chapter 31
32. Chapter 32
33. Chapter 33
34. Chapter 34
35. Chapter 35
36. Chapter 36
37. Chapter 37
38. Chapter 38
Acknowledgments
About the author
Prologue
On an island across the water from the mainland, the flash of an ancient silver knife signaled the beginning of the ritual. The Grand Soothsayer began chanting in a tongue no longer breathed on this continent as the life's blood of a sacrificial goat dripped into the wooden basin beneath the altar. The full moon blazed brightly above the small crowd gathered before her on the sandy white plains, illuminating every brutal action of the fate telling.
At the front of this group stood two cloaked figures clutching a sleeping infant, a small contingent of soldiers close behind them. The smoke from the fires surrounding the clearing, combined with the chanting of the Grand Soothsayer and her acolytes over the hanging body of the bleeding animal, set the soldier's teeth on edge, but they remained motionless.
“Bring the child forward,” the Grand Soothsayer whispered, so at odds with the continued chanting of the other soothsayers behind her. Her navy robes billowed around her in the breeze as she beckoned with one gnarled hand.
One of the figures holding the infant walked forward to the small circle of stark white stones on the sand and crouched, placing the sleeping infant in the center before quickly stepping back.
“In the name of Odin, in the name of Frigga, in the name of…” The Grand Soothsayer chanted while dipping her fingers into the sacrificial blood and allowing a few drops to roll off her fingers onto the infant’s forehead. “Allfather, hear us now. We ask you to show us this child’s fate so that we may understand your plan for them.”
Dropping to her knees next to a white cloth containing dark-colored wood chips carved with runes, the Grand Soothsayer swiped them up and placed them into the basin. She trailed her fingers through the blood-soaked runes, idly chanting until her fingers stilled and she quieted. Withdrawing her fingers from the mixture, she placed a single wood chip in the sand above the child’s head. The contrast between the white sand and crimson blood was striking.
The clearing became suddenly silent, the anticipation of the soft words from the Grand Soothsayer gripping the atmosphere as they strained to listen.
“Uruz. This one will be strong, powerful, a force of nature.”
The taller cloaked figure sucked in a breath and grinned. The soldiers behind them made sounds of approval before silencing again. The Grand Soothsayer dipped her hand into the bowl and slowly began circling again. When her fingers found the right wood chip, she withdrew again and placed a second chip next to the first.
“Hagalaz. This one will face challenges beyond the norm. They will be filled with wrath, and destruction shall follow in their footsteps.”
At this, the tall figure let out a startled sound and turned to their soldiers. With cheers and applause ringing out around them, they did not hear the third rune the Grand Soothsayer pulled from the blood. Only the smaller figure leaned in close to hear the words that changed this child’s entire fate.
“Gebo. A partnership is in this child’s destiny. A unity that will lead to sacrifice so great they will not bear it. Beware, for the Allfather has chosen a harsh fate for this child, and only they can prevail,” the Grand Soothsayer spoke softly into the ear of the smaller figure. The Soothsayer held their entire attention, so they took no notice when she pulled two more runes from the bowl and placed them behind her. “Your partner will not know of this final rune; they will not care for it. Protect this child; it is your fate. Now, go. I am to prepare the child’s fatemark.”
The small figure released a strained breath but returned to her previous position. Picking up the child, the Grand Soothsayer stood and turned towards the altar. Her back still to the celebrating audience, she placed the child on the bloody surface. The other seers began chanting once again while the Grand Soothsayer traced her fingers across the child’s chest in repetitive circles, right over the child’s heart. The five runes pulled during the fate reading glowed bright white and appeared where her fingers trailed.
With the final words of the chant, the runes flared and then sunk into the infant’s skin, disappearing. In its place, as the Grand Soothsayer expected, shone a tattoo of the Tree of Life, Yggdrasil. Its branches curled downward to merge with the roots to form a perfect circle. However, Valkyrie wings were flanked on either side of the sacred ash tree. The Grand Soothsayer started at the sight but quickly wrapped the infant up at the sound of footsteps, covering the unorthodox mark.
“Is it done, then?” the tall figure bluntly asked, walking up to the Grand Soothsayer as she turned.
“It is done. May the Allfather guide your return home.”
The figure made a rough sound that almost sounded like a smothered snort and turned away, leading the party back to their ship. The smaller figure lingered a moment, looking to the Grand Soothsayer as they were handed the infant back. They opened their mouth as if to ask a question but decided against it. Bowing their head, they turned to catch up to the departing visitors and left the seers in silence.
Alone in the clearing later that night, the Grand Soothsayer withdrew the two bloody wood chips from her robes and ran a thumb along the top of the runes. Letting her hood down, she tilted her face up at the stars and contemplated the great and terrible things this child would face. Another reading from many moons ago scratched at the back of the Grand Soothsayer’s mind; so similar was this child’s fate to that of another. Her stitched eyes let no light into her eternal darkness, but she saw this infant’s future play out before her. And she prayed.
1
The cheers surrounding the dark and dirty fighting pit were deafening to Maude as she tried to catch her breath after a particularly nasty kick to her ribs. She checked to see if the hood wrapped around her shirt was still up and concealing most of her features before choking down a groan as she rose from where she had hit the ground. She was underground at The Broken Bones Pub, standing seven feet below the riotous crowd of gamblers in the illegal fighting pits of Logi, and she was ready to end this fight. She pressed a hand to her ribs and turned to face her opponent, an unwashed brute of a man, who was leering at her torn shirt where the dark band of fabric she wrapped around her chest was showing.
Okay, enough.
Maude used the moment of distraction to feint to her left, leading him to crouc
Most onlookers cheered at her victory, but some grumbled about lost money simply because they hadn’t expected a woman of Maude’s build to win a brawl. Standing just under six feet tall, Maude’s broad shoulders, curvy figure, and thighs packed with muscle usually gave strangers the idea that she would be slow and substantial. She couldn’t blame them, she guessed.
Contrary to what the masses believed they saw, Maude was quick to strike and harder to land a hit on than most women with her training were. She never felt the need to explain or defend herself to people who bet against her because of how she looked— it was their loss. Maude was confident in how she moved in her skin, and these fights only further proved that.
She turned toward the pit runner, who held out a hand for her to help her out of the hole in the ground. Maude eyed the distance from the ground to the lip of the pit. With a running jump, her hands grasped the edge, and she hauled herself up, ignoring the outstretched hand.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to accept help now and then,” the pit runner, Sigurd, sighed.
“Yes, it would,” Maude flatly replied, holding a handout for her earnings.
Sigurd, the only person she knew by name in this godsforsaken hole in this city, stood at the same height as Maude and seemed about ten years older than her. His coloring was uniform: silver blonde beard, thick silver hair hung to his back, and bright blue eyes so clear they could’ve been ice. Maude thought it was unnerving to look at him sometimes.
He dropped the coin bag into her hand, giving her an exasperated look. She turned away from him without another word and made her way to the bar, where she set a single coin down on its sticky surface, sliding it toward the barkeep. King Helvig stared back at her, his cruel face twisted in a false beneficial smile.
The barkeep quickly took the coin, thank the gods, and placed a horn tankard filled to the brim with ale in front of her, which she gladly accepted, gulping down half of it into her empty stomach. She was working her way towards burnout, but the ale helped her feel stronger; it kindled her ever-present fury, as alcohol did for most people. Maude wiped her mouth and put her back to the bar counter to watch the next fight.
To her right, a lanky man had fallen asleep with his tankard in hand and cheek on the bar in front of his half-eaten plate. Maude spied the hired guards for The Broken Bones Pub, making their way over to the man a second before they swiped him from his stool. She ignored the struggle that sparked next to her and fixed her gaze on the three fighting pits, all currently occupied by men and women battling out some insult or debt. No one noticed her slender fingers slipping into the struggling man’s pocket, and no one noticed when those fingers withdrew his heavy coin purse.
Focusing on the group of people limbering up beside the pits, Maude sized up each opponent as if she were going to be fighting them. Sigurd typically matched her up with whoever was just looking for a fight that night—she never had any personal quarrels with the patrons in this pub. In the limited but warm torchlight of the underground fighting pits, the crowds of men and women drinking, placing bets, and generally debauching themselves felt more like home to Maude than any other place. The thought of calling The Broken Bones Pub her home caused her to shudder with disgust.
“That’s just depressing,” Maude muttered, taking another drink of her ale and swiping the bread off her recently vacated neighbor’s plate, digging in. Already, she could feel the food and drink working to refuel her reserves.
“What’s depressing? The current fight happening or the general atmosphere?” A bright voice sounded from down the bar. A shot of light in her darkness. “Because if it’s the former, they are flopping around the pit like fish out of water. But if it’s the latter, I would have to disagree. This underground Hel-hole gives off a certain kind of gritty but otherwise charming feel, don’t you think?”
Maude turned to the stranger and wasn’t sure if she should stare or make a snarky comment. She evidently opted to stare because no words came to mind. With their hood pulled forward and hunched over the bar counter, she couldn’t make out much about them except their irritatingly lighthearted attitude. She chose not to respond and returned her attention to the fight.
“Well, in any case, I am looking forward to a much more entertaining match coming up,” the gratingly happy voice continued.
Again, Maude said nothing and sipped from her tankard. The annoying chatterer stood and took up the spot to her right that was recently vacated by the man who had been dragged out.
“Would you like another ale with your…ale? It’s my treat.”
Maude almost snorted. She hadn’t laughed in years, and this stranger almost drew out the foreign act from her.
He ordered two more ales and offered one to her. But still, she said nothing and only looked straight ahead. The stranger pulled the second tankard back and chuckled.
“As stimulating as this has been, others are waiting on me. May Tyr favor your future battles.” He turned to leave but stopped before going further, saying over his shoulder, “I look forward to seeing what the Allfather has planned for you.”
Maude only inclined her head to the ominous parting words as the stranger walked away. She sighed, thankful the interaction was over, and turned to face the bar with her finished drink. She needed to close her eyes and focus on centering herself again—her next round in the pit was coming up, and she always needed a moment to attempt to reign in her ever-present rising anger at her situation. Control was everything, Maude reminded herself.
Something she would never breathe out loud is that she didn’t enjoy fighting like this. It made her sick that she had to brawl like this and show the worst parts of herself to the people of Logi. It made her just like him. Her anger heightened; she could feel the heat starting to radiate off her skin as her thoughts continued to spiral out of control.
Worthless, weak, absentminded fool.
Words from her past threatened to choke her as the loud atmosphere of the fighting pits dulled to a faint buzzing in her ears. At the touch of a hand on her lower back, her breath was stolen from her lungs as she withdrew a hidden dagger from her thigh, twisting around and holding it to a man's throat.
“Maude! It’s me!” Hands held up to show he was unarmed was Sigurd. Sweat trickled down his face from his proximity to her radiating skin. “Gods, you fire wielders are all such hot heads.”
Sigurd only knew her affinity for fire because of previous incidents in the fighting pits when her temper got away from her. She shrugged off the thought and tried not to recall her immense mistake that night, the secret she had almost exposed.
“Don’t touch me,” Maude snapped, lowering her dagger and sheathing it back at her thigh.” Is my next round up?”
“Yes, check your weapons and drop into the pit.” Sigurd shook his head as he walked away, blonde locks glowing in the low light.
Maude rolled her eyes; she never checked her weapons. Not when any asshole could steal them from the low security crate at the entrance of the pit. Instead, she stashed them in the darkest corner of the bar behind a broken panel in the wall.
Maude’s hand went to her thigh, fingers entwining in the faded red strip of fabric she had tied around the handle of her dagger. This dagger… she kept this on her always.
Rolling her neck and stretching her arms behind her back, Maude made her way to the pit. Separating the fighting pits from the bar with an invisible line and shining in bright red letters, the wooden sign hanging from the ceiling read:
NO GALDER USE BEYOND THESE WARDS, VIOLATORS WILL BE GUTTED.
Subtle.
Magical wards surrounded the fighting pit, disallowing galder use by its onlookers and keeping whatever galder slips between powerful fighters within its wards. While the threat was clear enough, wielding magic in the Kingdom of Flame if one was not a noble or royal was illegal since the Elemental Wars. Strictly speaking, the common folk were not supposed to have galder at all. Of course, with infidelities, sex work, and most of the despicable nobles looking to sheath their sword in whoever walked by first, the magical gifts of fire and air spread discreetly through the capital city of Logi quickly. The repercussion of these actions was the creation of what nobles referred to as the vitki, lowborn galder users who “stole” the ability to manipulate the elements. The cost of discovery for the vitki was death, so naturally, these discoveries were kept quiet.
