Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) by Intisar Khanani Read Free Book Online Page A

cupboard. With mages on the way, the books are probably safer there than within a warded trunk.
    I pocket a pair of glowstones and shoulder my pack. It’s heavier than I would have liked, but without a clear idea of where I’m going or how long it will take to get there, the extra provisions and medicines may prove lifesaving. The only sentimental item I’ve included is my wooden crow, and it’s too light to make a difference.
    Outside, I lock the cottage and trace the sigil on the door until it brightens. Stormwind has layered her enchantments here. This ward triggers three other protective spells. It’ll take a high mage to break open the house, and Stormwind will know the moment it happens. It’s the one way I have to alert her to what’s happening.
    I pause as I reach the edge of the forest, turning around to face my home. In the full-bright light of the moon it waits for me, safe and quiet and empty. With the friendly company of the trees at my back and the moonlight silvering the lake, I admit to myself that I don’t really know whether Stormwind is truly innocent or not. I do know that Blackflame intends to destroy her, and that’s all the motivation I need.
    I turn and start into the woods. Somewhere nearby , an owl hoots. I don’t want to go racing toward the High Council and Blackflame — not even if my mother’s there — but this isn’t about what I want.
    Stormwind took me in when I had nowhere to go. She trained me when any other mage would have turned me over to the High Council. She gave me — and Val — the benefit of the doubt. This last year, I have been her guest, sheltered by her walls and the spells that protected her valley. The least I can do is trust her and offer her what aid I can.
    This time, I’m not running away from my fears.
    I’m running straight toward them.

    The moon dips low in the sky, its edge skimming the peaks of the surrounding mountains. I’ve been walking for hours with a glowstone in hand. Even with the full moon, the path is too dark to travel without some light.
    Now the sky has begun to lighten, velvet darkness fading at the edges. With dawn hinting at the day to come, I decide to rest. I’ll travel faster with an hour or two of sleep to refresh me.
    Ahead of me, the forested slope gives way to a scree-strewn mountainside. Better to stop while I still have cover. I make my way carefully down through the trees until I lose sight of the path above me, then find a pine with low-hanging boughs beneath which I can shelter.
    I lie down with my pack for a pillow and wrap myself in my cloak against the autumn chill. I could use my wards to protect myself, but if mages truly are riding toward the valley, they’re more likely to take note of active spells than a sleeping traveler. I slip the wards into my pocket just in case.
    But I’m too wound up to fall asleep, my thoughts flitting from Stormwind to the mages in the mirror to all the things I don’t know. I try to slow my breath, still my thoughts. Stormwind taught me to meditate when I first came to stay with her. Under her guidance, I learned to examine the edges of each memory I hold, reaching for what it once connected to, sifting through the ashes in search of color or scent. As I have a hundred times before, I gather them to myself as a miser would his most precious jewels, counting them out one by one.
    Here— here is a moment of laughter with a young man whose black and brown hair and sharp teeth hint at his true shape: a tanuki, or raccoon dog. He leans against a carved door painted a vibrant turquoise, his arms folded and his head tilted to the side, brown eyes twinkling with mischief. Kenta . Of my few memories of him, this is my favorite, for there’s no darkness in it, no fear or desperation.
    Here’s another man, dark skinned and long fingered, whose face I only catch in fleeting glimpses. More than his visage, I remember his cloak, black as the night. What I recall of his name suggests how little