Page 65 of A Thousand Burning Ravens

The class as a whole seems to look at their arms in a panic, wondering why their gauntlets are not appearing. Holding small arms in the air as though summoning the Gods, one fledgling curses the limbs to fall off and be eaten by wolves rather than continuing to betray him, and Myla smirks slightly as the child relies on humor to cope with his discomfort. Her attention is quickly drawn back to Bryar.

Come on, Myla urges, watching as Bryar crouches to brace himself. A dragon spirals his way at a terrifying speed. The nose of the great beast flares opens with a shuddering inhale before exhaling scorching blue flames. Myla thanks the Gods he is the very embodiment of fire, mostly unfazed by the melting heat.

He is not, however, unfazed by the razor-sharp teeth of the dragon as it snaps at him. A streak of red grazes across his forearm, chased off barely by the ripple of waves, intercepting the dragon’s teeth with a chilling screech.

As though his victory is momentum to the others, two fledglings shriek victoriously as their forearms also blaze with gauntlets of flame.

Elara applauds, tilting her head slightly to avoid the swooping wings of a dragon as it descends upon a hunkering fledgling. Myla finds the nonchalance comical, watching as the instructor passes calmly through the fiery mayhem with little care. Her long hair, held back by a leather circlet, billows violently with every gust of flame and her freckled skin reddens, yet she appears as though she is walking through a market, deciding what she wants for dinner.

The lesson passes slowly with beasts of different shapes, sizes, and attack methods crawling, clamoring, and flying out of the rune portals at different intervals, sometimes many at a time. Each student is breathless and dazed by the time Elara seals the runes shut and sends them all away with instructions to return tomorrow.

Myla meets Bryar at the exit of the arena, taking stock of his battle wounds with a slight smile. “I did not see that coming,” she says, greeting him as he falls in stride with her.

“The dragons?”

“No,” she laughs. “The fledglings.”

Bryar grins and drops his head in a humored shake, then presses his hands to his hips with an irked sigh. “That was unexpected.”

“I was surprised you did not turn around and walk away.”

His brow furrows, and he shoots her a knowing look. “No, you were not.”

“No, I was not. You are right. But I almost got up and left when they started laughing,” she teases.

“I see how it is.” Bryar nudges her side, a cocky smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Abandon me in my time of need.”

“Never!” Myla gasps, at once regretting the coy exchange as a silence claims the space between them. Abandon him? No. Walk a path that follows his? Also, no.

I am a queen of crossroads, it would seem.

“Well,” Bryar breaks the silence, his voice gruff with uncertainty. “Thanks for being here today. It means a lot. I think I will come alone tomorrow though.”

Understanding, though the proverbial dagger in her chest stings, Myla nods. The walk back to her room is slow, weighted with an all-too familiar ache brought back from its grave. Behind her, Bryar resumes his role as her bodyguard, wordlessly trailing her until she closes him out to stand guard beside her door. Her heart betrayed her before, when she and Bryar fell for the first time; that can be dismissed as adolescent bliss. This last time, Myla holds herself accountable for the weightlessness she allowed herself to find sanctuary in. It was a distraction, and it brought her back to a weakness she can never live in if she is to rule well.

I should never have reopened that door. She chastises herself, glaring at the hollow eyes staring back at her in the mirror. With a frustrated scowl, Myla turns away, determined to make something of her time in this place.

MYLA PASSES THE days into weeks, scouring the Ashborn library. For the first several days, she finds nothing worthwhile, tales of their history and a few notes on the peaceable preferences of the Ashborn. Her goal has been to keep her whereabouts as simple as possible to avoid unnecessarily interacting with Bryar. It has become near impossible to pass through the dining hall without discussions of him babbling between young Ashborn women, let alone surviving dinner itself. His reputation as a valiant warrior grows, as does the enamor revolving around him. A strange, handsome man, now one of their own.

Myla thinks they need to spend more time in the library to occupy their minds with something else.

In the mornings, Myla leaves the palace hours before Bryar does, accompanied instead by a few Ashborn guards appointed to her by Ivan, and does not return until well after his lessons. Her schedule has proved successful as it has been four days since she came face-to-face with him beyond his trailing her to and from her room in the evenings to stand at his post while she sleeps.

Ultimately, she aims to make their severing as painless as possible. She has convinced herself her presence is a distraction to him and his new path; in reality she knows it is a matter of willpower. Should she speak to him again, she knows she would cave. She would chase every irrational need to be with him, abandoning her throne and responsibilities.

No. Studying and looking for any tools that may aid in defeating the Blood Stealer is the safest way to pass time.

About a month into her excavation of the library, Myla finds a thick text bound in pale leather, with fine lines burned in a breathtaking depiction of two phoenixes entangled. Something suggestive about the illustration causes Myla to swallow hard, her breathing growing heavy. “Well,” she mutters flatly. “A phoenix sex book—fascinating.”

With a thud, she flips it open.

The first page draws her in and for the next twelve hours, she stays curled in a pile of cushions, the pages lit by lantern light. The book speaks on the sacred unity of an Ashborn marriage, the burning of two souls into the Gods’ Book of Sacred Warriors, resulting in the infinite draw of energy from one to the other. It is a union only documented between Ashborns.

Myla finds herself scouring the book, along with dozens of others, looking for some mention of an Ashborn and human match, as though finding that answer might justify her and Bryar’s union.

After eight weeks of spending nearly every day in the library, avoiding Bryar as much as possible, and watching her belly expand, a young Ashborn woman enters, absently scanning the books. Myla watches her from her cocoon of cushions, packed heavily to support her aching back today.

The woman wears a purple silk dress, her belly also bulging with pregnancy, presumably more advanced than Myla. As she waddles, she leans backwards to offset the weight at her front. When she sees Myla slumped into her pile of soft pillows, she giggles.