The village of Ironcross smoldered. Charred timber ribs jutted from the earth like the bones of some great beast, and the air tasted of burnt wheat and iron. Kael stepped over a corpse—a farmer, his hands still clutching a rusted scythe—and gestured for Borin's crew to fan out. The Bloodsworn never left survivors, but scavengers often lingered to pick at the carcass of a town.
"Check the granary," he ordered. "If Torvain's gold was here, it'll be ashes now. Look for seals, ledgers, anything the zealots missed."
Borin spat. "You think scribbles on parchment matter to them? They burn books first."
"They're fanatics, not fools." Kael crouched, brushing soot from a shattered crate. The scorched wood bore the crest of House Kaelthar: a silver falcon clutching chains. "They'll leave trophies. Proof of their god's 'favor.'"
A scream pierced the haze.
Kael drew his dagger and sprinted toward the sound, boots crunching on blackened gravel. Behind the remnants of a tavern, a Bloodsworn zealot in a bloodstained tunic pinned a girl—no older than sixteen—to the ground. Her dress was torn, her face streaked with ash and defiance.
"Please," she begged, voice raw. "I've got no coin, no—"
The zealot raised a curved blade. "Your blood is coin enough for the Burner!"
Kael's dagger found the man's throat before the blade could fall. He yanked the body aside and offered the girl a hand. She stared at it, trembling.
"Name," he said.
"V-Vessa."
"You're from Ironcross?"
She nodded, eyes darting to the dead zealot. "They came at dawn. Cut down my brother. Said the Burner demanded… sacrifice."
Kael studied her. Too clean for a farmer's daughter. Calloused hands, yes, but her nails were trimmed, her wool dress dyed deep green—a shade too rich for a border village. Lying, he thought. But why?
"You're no peasant," he said flatly.
She stiffened. "My father was the tax collector. The Bloodsworn hanged him from the well."
Ah. That explained the dress. Tax collectors skimmed enough silver to dress their daughters in finery, even in backwaters like Ironcross. Kael sheathed his dagger. "Then you know where House Kaelthar's shipments were stored."
Vessa's gaze flickered. "Why would I tell you?"
"Because I didn't slit your throat." He leaned closer, voice softening. "And because I can make House Kaelthar pay for what happened here. But I need leverage."
She hesitated, then pointed to the ruins of the granary. "There's a cellar beneath. The Bloodsworn missed it. My father… he kept records there. Names. Payments."
Kael's lips curved. Ledgers. Ledgers meant blackmail, and blackmail meant power. "Show me."
As they picked through the rubble, Mira appeared, her smirk sharper than ever. "Rescuing maidens now, my lord? How noble."
"Jealousy doesn't suit you," Kael said, prying open a cellar hatch.
"Oh, I'm not jealous." She trailed a finger down his arm. "Just impressed. You work fast."
The cellar was a crypt of parchment and dust. Vessa lit a stub of candle, revealing shelves crammed with scrolls. Kael skimmed a ledger—Shipment 43: 200 bushels of wheat, diverted to Kaelthar outpost—tax waived per Lord Errick's orders. He tucked it into his coat.
"This is enough to hang House Kaelthar for treason," he said.
Vessa's voice hardened. "Hanging's too kind. They sold us to the Bloodsworn. Let them burn us to weaken your father's hold on the Pass."
Kael paused. "You know who I am."
"Everyone knows the Bastard of Varynth." Her glare held no fear. "They say you'd sell your own blood for a copper. Is it true?"
Before he could answer, shouts erupted above. Borin's voice boomed: "Sails on the horizon! Kaelthar colors!"
Kael climbed out of the cellar. To the east, three warships sliced through the Crimson Sea, their sails emblazoned with silver falcons. Too fast to outrun. He turned to Borin. "Take the crew. Hide in the cliffs. Wait for my signal."
"And you?"
Kael nodded to Vessa. "We'll greet them."
Mira stepped forward. "I'll stay. Two 'survivors' are more convincing than one."
He met her gaze. "No games."
"When do I ever play games?" She tore her sleeve, smeared ash across her face, and slumped against a broken wall—a perfect portrait of a traumatized refugee.
Kael hid the ledgers beneath a pile of rubble, then pressed Vessa's shoulder. "Cry. Scream. Make them believe."
House Kaelthar's men descended like vultures, their captain—a hulking brute with a scarred lip—striding toward Kael. "You're alive? How?"
Kael let his voice tremble. "The Burner… they spared no one. My sister and I hid in the cellar."
The captain sneered. "Lucky bastard." He turned to his men. "Search the ruins. Find the tax collector's records. Lord Errick wants proof the Bloodsworn—"
A horn blared.
From the cliffs, Borin's crew erupted, arrows whistling. Two Kaelthar soldiers fell, throats pierced. The captain roared, drawing his sword, but Kael was already moving. He drove his dagger into the man's side, twisted, and let him crumple.
"Signal the Whisper!" Kael barked, yanking Vessa toward the shore. "We'll take their ships!"
But as they ran, a figure materialized from the smoke—the hooded woman, her gray cloak untouched by ash. This time, her hood was lowered, revealing a face both severe and striking: sharp cheekbones, eyes like smoldering coals, and lips parted in a whisper only Kael could hear.
"The Burner sees you, Kael Varynth. He offers a crown… for a price."
Then she was gone, vanishing like embers on the wind.
Vessa stared after her, pale. "The Ashbringer. The Bloodsworn's prophet. She's real."
Kael's scar burned, a searing line from collarbone to jaw. Real, he thought. And she knows my name.
The Night's Whisper's crew swarmed the lead Kaelthar warship like rats on a carcass. Borin's axe cleaved through the rigging, dropping sails to trap the remaining soldiers on deck. Kael dragged Vessa aboard, shoving her toward Mira. "Keep her alive. She's worth more than you."
Mira's smile was all teeth. "Careful, Bastard. I might start thinking you've got a heart."
The ship's hold reeked of salt and mildew, but Kael ignored it, barking orders. "Scuttle the other vessels. Leave one survivor to tell House Kaelthar their ships sank in a storm."
"Aye," Borin grunted, heaving a barrel of pitch onto the deck. "And the prisoners?"
Kael glanced at the Bloodsworn zealots chained below—captured during the ambush. Their eyes glowed with manic fervor, lips moving in silent prayers. "Throw them overboard. Let their Burner decide their fate."
"Wait." Vessa stepped forward, her voice steadier now. "They know things. Routes. Rituals. Use them."
Kael studied her. "You've got a spine for a taxman's daughter."
"I watched my father negotiate with monsters," she said coldly. "He taught me how to listen."
Mira laughed, sharp and mocking. "Oh, she's perfect for you, Kael. Another schemer in the making."
He ignored her, nodding to Borin. "Keep one alive. The rest go to the sea."
As the crew hurled zealots into the waves, Kael cornered the last prisoner—a gaunt man with a brand of flames across his forehead. "Who's funding the Bloodsworn? House Kaelthar? The Magnates?"
The man spat blood. "Gold is ash to the Burner. We serve the Ashbringer. She who walks through fire."
"Where is she?"
"Closer than you think." The zealot's cracked lips split into a grin. "She's been waiting for you, Bastard. Since the day your mother burned."
Kael froze. His mother. A nameless servant girl who'd died in a kitchen fire when he was six. A accident, Lord Cedran claimed. A lie, Kael always suspected.
He seized the man's throat. "What do you know of my mother?"
The zealot wheezed. "The Burner… demands sacrifice. A noble soul… for a noble flame. She was chosen. Your scar… it's his mark."
Kael's hand flew to the jagged line on his neck—a relic of the fire that killed her. It pulsed now, hot as a fresh brand.
Borin's voice cut through the tension. "We've got company."
On the horizon, a sleek black galley sliced through the waves, its sails marked with a red lotus. The Silent Dominion. Pirates, mercenaries, or worse. Kael cursed. "Ready the ballistae."
"No." Vessa gripped the rail, her green dress whipping in the wind. "They're not here for a fight. Look."
A single figure stood at the Dominion ship's prow—hooded, hands raised in a gesture of parley. The Ashbringer.
"She wants to talk," Mira said, suddenly at Kael's side. "Let's hear her sermon."
"Or put an arrow through her eye," Borin growled.
Kael's scar throbbed. "Lower the boats. I'll meet her."
.....
The Ashbringer's galley was a floating tomb. Incense coiled from iron braziers, and the deck was inlaid with mosaics of fire consuming crowned figures. She waited in the shadow of the mast, her dagger unsheathed, its blade etched with runes.
"You're bold, Bastard," she said, voice like smoke. "Or desperate."
Kael kept his hand on his dagger. "What do you want?"
"To offer what House Varynth never did." She stepped into the light. Up close, she was older than he'd thought—mid-forties, perhaps, with streaks of gray in her dark braids. "Legitimacy. Power. A throne."
He laughed. "And the price?"
"The Burner requires a king's soul." She traced the runes on her blade. "Your father's."
Kael stilled. Cedran Varynth, hollowed by grief and wine, was a walking corpse. But to kill him outright… "Why me?"
"Your blood is tainted, but your will is pure." Her gaze dropped to his scar. "The fire marked you. It knows your hunger."
A shout echoed from the Night's Whisper. Kael turned to see Mira hauling Vessa toward the edge of the ship, a knife at her throat.
"Mira?" Kael snarled.
"Sorry, love." Mira's voice carried across the water. "House Kaelthar pays better."
Vessa struggled. "She's lying! She works for the Duskwardens—!"
Mira silenced her with a fist to the jaw and shoved her overboard.
Kael lunged for the Ashbringer, but she sidestepped, her blade grazing his arm. "Choose, Bastard. Chase the girl or claim your crown."
He dove into the sea.
.....
The water was ice and chaos. Kael surfaced, scanning the waves. Vessa's head bobbed in the distance, her arms flailing. He swam, muscles burning, until he caught her wrist.
"Don't… let them… win," she gasped.
"Save your breath," he snapped, dragging her toward the Dominion ship.
The Ashbringer watched as he hauled Vessa aboard. "Sentiment is a weakness, Kael Varynth."
"So is monologuing," he said, driving his dagger into her thigh.
She collapsed, her blood sizzling where it hit the deck. "The Burner's flame… will cleanse you. Willing… or not."
Kael pressed the blade to her throat. "Where is Mira?"
But the Ashbringer only smiled. "Follow the smoke, Bastard. It always leads home."
Behind them, the Night's Whisper erupted in flames.