Born of Ashes

Jean-Pierre connected with her telepathically and told her the story from the moment he had left the practice room to find Fiona being abducted by a version of himself.

Endelle stared at Fiona and the bright golden glow of her aura. But what the fuck is she doing? I’m hearing names and events but what does this mean? I don’t understand. What the hell is she doing?

She is speaking his conscience for him, since he does not have one.

So, she’s reciting the names of the women who died.

All during her captivity, she cared for them. She was a mother to each of them. She loved them and tried to help them live. Now she carries them with her.

Jean-Pierre expected Endelle to roll her eyes and fold out of there, or worse start yelling at Fiona. Instead, in her truly unpredictable manner, she kicked off her stilettos and moved forward to sink to her knees beside Fiona. She put an arm around the younger woman and supported her. She even bowed her head as if in prayer.

Fiona didn’t waver. She merely continued speaking the names of the women, where they were from, and if they left children behind or if their babies died in utero after the first drain of dying blood.

He didn’t know exactly when his cheeks grew wet but so they did. And he didn’t weep just for those Fiona spoke of but for all who had died since he had served as a Warrior of the Blood.

The Militia Warriors, one by one, sank to their knees as well. But Jean-Pierre remained standing and folded his sword into his hand while the rest honored those who had died. If the enemy chose at this moment to attack, he would be ready, goddammit. He would be ready.

When his phone buzzed, Carla patched Thorne through and he gave him the details in a quiet voice. He told him of Marguerite’s role and of the cage and Casimir’s most suspicious gift.

Thorne said to call him when the impromptu ceremony ended. Fiona’s list was long, so he warned Thorne that it could be another hour, perhaps longer.

More and more Militia Warriors came to the landing area, to watch the golden hue of obsidian flame, to observe the incomprehensible act of the Ruler of Second Earth kneeling and supporting the woman. They knelt themselves as Jean-Pierre stood guard over them all. No place could have held a more sanctified air. In all the experiences of his mortal and ascended lives, no place ever had.

Pride swelled once more as he listened to the strong voice of his woman, as he marveled at what she had endured and survived, as he honored her care of all her fellow slaves. His heart began to expand, truly expand for the first time since his wife’s betrayal all those decades and centuries ago.

Could he love this woman, Fiona? Could he love her as he had once loved, with his heart wide open?

He was a man who knew what it was to give everything to a woman and as he watched Fiona, the light pouring from her body, and her voice calling out each name with great dignity, yes, he thought it possible.

If he held back, God help him, it was only because he lived in a world at war, so that even the thought of losing her tore his soul to shreds.

Find the deepest place, live there, then rise.

—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth

Chapter 15

When Fiona finished her litany, her voice almost hoarse from the effort, she rose slowly to her feet. Her knees ached from the hard cement, but she didn’t care. Rith had passed out. For a long time, from halfway through her recitation, he had taken to trembling and weeping and calling for his mother, and all she had done was place his sins before him. She’d made him look at the lives he had destroyed—not just the women who died, but all their families who would never know what happened to their wives and mothers, sisters and aunts, even grandmothers.

Yes, he had passed out, rolled his black eyes and disappeared into unconsciousness.

But she felt better than she had since the day she’d been taken from her hometown, from the life she had loved, from her children, her husband, her mother and father, sisters and brothers, her family, her friends, the world she and Terence had built together.

She knew that Casimir had sent Rith with no good intention. His was a devious soul. Some evil was sure to follow. But right now, she could feel grateful to him because this was good, confronting the man who had held her enslaved, and all the others, for so very long.

She blinked a couple of times and became aware that Her Supremeness now stood beside her and that she had been with her from shortly after the beginning. She turned to her. “Thank you.”

Endelle’s eyes had never looked more ancient or more lined. She nodded a few times, but she didn’t say anything.

The air seemed so quiet.

Fiona turned around and was shocked by how many Militia Warriors were now gathered in the large space, all on their knees, some faces wet, some eyes hollow, some chins set and determined, facing the future of war and more war.

She wanted to offer them something. She wanted to thank them for joining with her, because this was an enormous show of kindness and respect for the unseen and usually unacknowledged victims of the war.

She lifted both of her arms—and only then did she realize that she bore the golden glow of the power she carried as obsidian flame.

She prayed to the Creator for the words to say, then began, “Most beloved warriors, who fight against those who have used these our fallen women, may you be strengthened and blessed by this observance today. I wish you Godspeed as you continue to fight and to train and to grow in your own power.” As she spoke this last word, she moved through the men to stand in front of Jean-Pierre. He folded his sword away and opened his arms to her.

She walked into them and he held her fast. “Je t’aime, Fiona. Je t’aime.”

Her tears came and she couldn’t stop them. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that the Militia Warriors had begun to rise and to head back into the main part of the building, but her weeping continued.

In the end, she stood with Jean-Pierre, held in his arms, weeping until she could weep no more.

Even Rith was gone, taken by Endelle to be delivered to COPASS in Prague where he would stand trial for his war crimes.

She had no doubt that trouble loomed, because Casimir had made himself fully known to everyone.

But for this moment, as the tears finally subsided, she rejoiced that her enemy was at long last brought to earth and imprisoned and that she was still alive. That part of her life was finally over and it seemed well and fitting to her that she should be standing here, with her breh’s arms around her, holding her tight.

* * *

Thorne stood on the opposite side of the crate from Endelle. Despite the fact that Rith had remained unconscious, apparently from the time Fiona had recited his crimes to him, Endelle had placed a tight preternatural shield around the cage, one more layer that would prevent Rith from folding away.

They were in Prague half a world away, at the landing entrance to the COPASS Eurasian division awaiting clearance, which seemed to Thorne one of the biggest farces in the world. As though the present security, standing guard at the landing platform, didn’t recognize who they were.

To the landing security’s credit, they were deeply apologetic and avoided meeting Endelle’s gaze. Smart warriors.

Endelle, however, was in a strange indefinable mood, maybe because she’d knelt with Fiona for an impromptu soul-bending ceremony, not exactly Endelle’s cup of tea.

Thorne wanted to be more sympathetic. He really did. But he hadn’t had a drink since his woman got transferred to the Superstition Mountain Seers Fortress, and as far as he knew Endelle hadn’t made much of an effort to get her ass over there and make Stannett keep his end of the bargain. Endelle was supposed to have access. So why hadn’t she made face-to-face contact with Marguerite yet?

His gaze swept the length of the black-and-white tile floor, thinking that the landing area of this building could have housed a small jet. Finally, he turned to Endelle, because he had to know. “So, what the fuck’s going on over at the Fortress?” Surely she knew something by now.

“Stannett’s up to his old tricks.”

He tried to meet her gaze but she wouldn’t turn her head. She stared straight in front of her. Her jaw worked. He was about to yell at her, to tell her she was being played, but there was something odd about that jaw and the way it shifted from side to side, like she was rolling pea gravel around in her mouth. A muscle close to her ear twitched.

“So we’re not talking about this?” he asked.

“No. We’re not.” Her voice. With resonance.

The words punched his ears good and hard. He tried to read her but empathy was at the bottom of his skill set. Still, of all the ascenders now living on Second Earth, he knew this woman best—and something had happened. Something had changed.

His mind skated to the Superstitions. He’d flown out to the Fortress an hour ago, just doing a flyby. He’d forgotten how locked down it was. The cells housing a hundred Seers were around the perimeter, but the windows were maybe four inches tall, by three feet wide. A cat would have had trouble escaping.

One section on the northeast side was cloaked in mist, no doubt Stannett’s creation. Whatever else he might be, he was one powerful sonofabitch.

He’d come away from the recon mission with lead sinking his gut. He’d need dynamite to break in and even if he did, COPASS would have the right to prosecute him—and who knows how that would end up. At the very least, he’d spend some time in prison. At the most, he could be executed for breaching the sanctity of an institution heavily regulated by COPASS law.

And now Endelle was in a state he couldn’t read and his woman was incarcerated by a sociopath.

Perfect.

He knew one thing for sure. He wouldn’t sit much longer with his thumb up his ass. If Endelle didn’t act, didn’t get this travesty figured out, he would blow a hole in the Fortress and get Marguerite the hell out of there.

“You’re in a weird fucking mood,” Endelle said.

“Right back atcha.”

Then Darian Greaves and an entourage of twenty of his uniformed Militia Warriors marched through the door.

Thorne crouched, threw his left arm in front of Endelle, and folded his sword into his right hand.