Page 187 of Ashborne Phoenix

There was still a tiny corner of my heart that feared his shadows would return. But every day that they didn’t, that corner grew smaller and smaller. Now it was a bare flicker, just the first moments my eyes landed on him after a separation, even if only for an hour.

“You all come here often?” I asked, gesturing toward the firepit. “A Furyknight thing I had to wait for?”

He shook his head. “Normally we would have come here after you cleared the first trial, but with everything that’s been going on… well, we’re here now. Just rest and watch. Next time we do this, it will be your turn to be ordered around. The last brother—or sister—raised is lowest on the totem pole, and the brothers take advantage.” He grinned and nodded past me.

When I looked, Bren stood in front of Harle, her hands on her hips, while he folded his arms, looking defensive.

“It’s her turn, but she’s mated to the General. Harle wants to lord his power over her—he was last before her—but he’s afraid Donavyn will bust his ass,” Voski chuckled.

“Bren would never use him for that.”

“We know that. But Harle doesn’t. And it’s funny to make him think he could step over the line.”

I watched as Oros stood behind Bren, motioning to Harle. And Einar leaned into his ear as he strode past with gathered wood in his arms.

Harle’s shoulders were crawling toward his ears. “You have to do the spit. That’s the job of the last raised!”

“I will,” Bren said simply. “I’m just not sure why you think you have to tell me to?”

“Because… because…” he spluttered.

Gil stood at the lakeside, grinning. But when Harle turned, his expression dropped to somber warning.

“They’re so mean sometimes,” I said, shaking my head, but laughing as well.

“Just remember that when they make you the target. We all went through it.”

I nodded then turned back to him, my heart fluttering when his eyes heated. He raised a hand to stroke the line of my neck. I shivered, hoping he’d take my hair and pull me into a kiss. But instead he trailed his fingers down to my jacket, running his fingers under the lapel until he reached the pin, then stroked it with his thumb. His expression blanked.

I looked down quickly. “Is something wrong? Did they give me the wrong pin?” The sudden alarm made my voice shrill as I examined the pin I’d been so proud of, I’d had to fight the urge to thrust my breasts forward as I walked around so they’d all notice it.

Voski shook his head, but his eyes didn’t lift from the pin, and he continued to stroke it. I looked down. Every Furyknight wore a pin set in the same shape and setting—a stylized dragon’s head between a pair of high, arching wings, with flames rising between them—with different colors of enamel, depending on the Wing they were assigned to.

A Flyer’s bronze-set pin of a sleek dragon head with wings rising above, and flames between the wings, was all black enamel with only the wings in red. A Flame’s pin had the fire in red but the dragon all black. Whereas, my pin, which was for the Fang wing, was correct—I thought. The dragon’s head and nose in a glossy red, while the rest of it was black… unless I’d forgotten and mixed the wings up?

I looked up at Voski, who rolled his jaw. “There’s a flaw—the eyes should be enameled in black, not letting the bronze peek through like that,” he said in a strangely thoughtful tone. “But don’t worry. It changes nothing.”

I caught his eyes, measuring him. Through the bond I could feel something in him, like he brimmed with a happy secret.

I frowned. “What—”

“I’m just proud of you, Grace. So proud.” Then he did take my face in his hands and kiss me. I breathed in deeply, washed with a sweet certainty of his love and admiration. And I clung to his lapels, because I felt suddenly shaky.

When he drew back to meet my eyes his brow furrowed. ‘Are you carrying your throwing stars?’ he asked through the link, which meant it was conversation he wanted me to keep private.

‘Yes, but… you want to train now?’ As much as I adored the training he’d been giving me for weeks—I’d already graduated from throwing knives, to throwing wicked stars—the lead-up to the final trial had been brutal. I was looking forward to this evening. Not training. Enjoying the brothers and Bren. And then, hopefully, enjoying Voski.

He felt the thought flicker in my belly and his eyes flashed. He cleared his throat, and I felt the wash of promise from him, but his words were more serious.

‘No, not training. But perhaps something of a test.’

‘A test? I thought I’d already passed!’

To my confusion he smiled, then glanced aside, to where Gil and Jhoare stood at the lakeside, talking quietly and watching the dragons. ‘How many of them can you throw accurately without a pause now?’

I bit my lip. What was he up to? ‘Two definitely. Sometimes three.’

He nodded and looked down at my pin, stroking it again, but his lips curled up on the sides. ‘I’ll make certain you have an extra second or two.’