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

I knew him: Ghost .
    Then there’s a scattering of other people like a handful of seeds tossed to the ground for the birds to peck up: women with whom I may have shared an apartment, others whom I must have once called friends. Shop owners and street children, the people who filled my days. And from the last of those days, the Degaths.
    I remember my last day in Karolene, the chain of events that led up to my sunbolt. These are the memories I do not want, the sorrow and fear and dark choices I made, the deaths I witnessed and allowed. The way I gathered sunlight to myself until it roared within me, a fury of flames that I unleashed upon the fang lord Kol, teaching myself in that moment to take the essence of what surrounds me and kill with it.
    These recollections leave a bitter taste at the back of my mouth, and I turn my thoughts away from them. Instead, I draw up the memory of my mother as I saw her in Blackflame’s gardens, solitary and peaceful, unaware of my presence. The sight of her had nearly broken me with grief, as had the knowledge that she had abandoned me, chosen Blackflame over me. It was only afterward, in the quiet winter months spent in Stormwind’s cottage, that I began to wonder if there was more to her story. She is too great a mage to be held for so long against her will. But has she joined Blackflame to support him—or to undermine him? Nothing I have learned has brought me any closer to understanding her. Still, I hope. I cannot bear not to.
    There are a few last memories, moments that I can no longer place in time: wandering a lush, flowered garden with my father tall and gentle beside me. Kneeling before my mother to recite a lesson I no longer recall. Drinking spiced coffee from a blue-rimmed cup in a busy marketplace. Bits and pieces, shards of the whole.
    Through Stormwind’s tutelage I’ve recovered this much, and only this much. Most of my memories may never return. There will always be gaps in my knowledge of the past, gaps in who I am. This is the price of my bolt of sunlight, its single flash of irrevocable destruction. As I lie wrapped in my memories, I know that I’ve gathered as much as I can from the ashes.
    Now I must remake myself, drawing upon the lessons my body retains: the clever fingers of a thief, the quick instincts of a girl growing up on the streets of a strange city. I cannot ever truly know who I was. It’s time to discover who I may yet be.

    Hoofbeats echo across the mountainside, urgent staccato drumbeats.
    I crouch beneath the low-growing boughs of my tree and peer through the needles. The sun has risen high enough to cast its light upon the forested slope, shining bright upon the rocky mountainside further on. The riders high above me slow their horses as they enter the trees, the path more pock-holed and dangerous than the scree-covered trail they just traversed. Foolish of them to have pushed their horses even there. They’re in a hurry, and no one hurries down these paths.
    I wait, breathing slowly, and catch a glimpse of cloth flapping. Robes? I can’t be sure, but I don’t need to be. I already know. A handful of locals live on the mountainsides before Stormwind’s home, and almost none beyond. These riders want to get to her valley very, very badly. Blackflame must have sent them as soon as he learned where she lived, perhaps urged them on when the mages failed to locate the mirror. I clench my jaw, anger sparking within me. How dare he?
    The riders continue on, the sound of their passage overloud in the sudden absence of birdsong. I hold my breath, wound tight with fury. The Council is worth nothing if they allow this—and they do, for how else would Blackflame have discovered Stormwind’s home?
    I wait until the thud of hooves fades to stillness and the birds begin to speak again, then push myself to my feet. I don’t have time for anger right now. I can’t afford to be anywhere nearby once they realize I’ve already left.
    Sonapur is the only