Daughter of Ashes: Rise of Aiqasal, #1

By Moira Katson

From the author of Light & Shadow and Saira & the Dragon's Egg comes an epic tale of vengeance, desire, and deadly intrigue ... 

Emperor Darion II is seeking a common-born bride, and Alleyne would give anything for the chance to entice him, win even a moment alone with him …

… and kill him.

Years ago it was Darion who had her mother and father executed, and since that day, Alleyne has plotted vengeance on the man who took her family from her.

Now she has her chance.

But there's a lot Alleyne hasn't counted on. The court abounds with secrets and plots. Dark magic swirls, and soon she discovers that Darion's death would touch off a devastating war.

And when Alleyne comes face to face with the emperor at last, she begins to question the desire for revenge that has become the very core of her being.

** Perfect for fans of Throne of Glass and Courtlight **

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moira Katson
• Release date: Feb 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393235538

Moira Katson

Moira Katson is an indie author living in the oft-frigid wastes of the American midwest. As a transplant, she is learning to love hot dish, fried food on a stick, ice fishing, and the hilarious faces her friends make when she posts about winter temperatures. Her less geeky interests include running, STRONG coffee, and cooking; her more geeky interests include gaming, voracious reading, and, of course, writing science fiction and fantasy novels!You can find Moira’s work online through Barnes & Noble, Amazon, and all Smashwords affliates. Moira is also on Facebook, and can be found on twitter as @moirakatson.Questions? Feel free to contact Moira at [e-mail]!

Book preview

Chapter One

Her brother’s sword came down on hers with a clang and Alleyne gave an agonized cry. She struggled to keep her hold. Her muscles were screaming and Almeric’s sword was inching down slowly, closer and closer to her. His eyes were locked on hers, black as jet and just as uncaring.

Behind him, the door seemed impossibly distant. If she could only make it to the door, everything she had wanted for thirteen years would be hers. She could not reclaim what had been lost, but she could get her revenge: she could sink her dagger into her target’s chest and let him know—if only for a moment—what it felt like to run, scared, knowing there was a knife in the darkness.

She just had to get to the door first, and that meant getting past Almeric.

Down, the sword crept. Down. The hallway was closing around her, claustrophobic; the need for freedom was growing nearly as strong as her desire for revenge. She knew she should not let panic overtake her, but she was losing the will to fight it. She braced her feet. Her arms were shuddering. She was so tired, every part of her wanted to release her hold, let his sword sweep down and …. Pain? There would be pain, yes, but she didn’t care, anymore.

Almost.

The moment an opponent drew blood, Alleyne knew, it could all be over. Strength could ebb and momentum could shift in a single moment; of two battered and exhausted combatants, the one who had drawn blood could taste victory, and the other could not.

Almeric… Her voice broke on the word. She hadn’t considered the plea before it came out.

Her brother said nothing. He was breathing hard now, she’d forced him into retreat more than once. But it wasn’t enough. He was taller, stronger. His sword was heavier than hers, and he was slowly bringing his weight to bear on her. Her sword wavered, and gave a downward jerk, and Alleyne bit her lip to keep back another cry. She could see death in those eyes.

She wavered—and at last summoned all of her fading strength. Power burst out of her, the strength in her shaking legs, in her hips, in her back, all driving up and into the sword with a despairing yell. Her foot swept up, planted on Almeric’s chest, and slammed out; he went staggering back with a grunt of pain.

The tip of her sword dipped down, almost brushing the ground as she swept it back up and over her head. She was on the advance now, and he was scrambling to regain his advantage as she circled out, trying to drive him toward a corner. She had to turn him about before he realized what was happening. In a fight, sweat dripping down and an opponent’s sword slashing, it was possible for even the best swordsman to be led.

But Almeric had always been better than she was. Four years with the best teachers money could buy, all of their father’s height, and a cool, calculating mind. His head came up as he parried her blows, and she saw the smile in his eyes.

There was one way into this, and that was to fight harder, faster. She only had to make it to the door. She could feel the latch on her palm, but the thought of pulling it open was too much.

No. She would face that when she got to it. For now she just had to—

She almost missed the opening, she was so preoccupied. Cursing herself, hoping she wasn’t too late, Alleyne slid her sword into the gap in Almeric’s guard and jerked her arms sideways. His sword tumbled out of his hands to clatter away on the floor and she spun. Her heel caught him on the temple and he went down in a sprawl.

She didn’t wait for him to get up. If she did, she was dead. She pushed off with all her strength and threw her own sword away from her. Two steps to the door and she was wrenching it open.

Get to the door, kill the target, and then she would be safe. Safe to run, jump into the edge of the broad river and lose herself in the current. The river was crowded with boats, but Alleyne could outswim anything and anyone, and it was three stories down. Few people could make that jump, and Almeric was not one of them.

A hand closed around her shoulder. Almeric dragged her back, spun her, and his gloved hand came down across her face. He threw her at the door and the back of her head hit the wood with a crack that sent stars bursting through her vision.

When her gaze cleared, she was on the floor. It was only instinct that kept her moving, but her arms weren’t strong enough to push herself up. In dazed horror, she watched her brother stroll to pick up the sword. The world was spinning and she closed her eyes against tears as he came to crouch next to her, sword held easily.

Do you know where you went wrong? His voice was soft.

Despite her best efforts, the tears were leaking out. She knew where she’d gone wrong, and she didn’t want to hear it. Don’t.

You should have killed me when you had the chance, he warned. I was down. If you’d ended it there ….

He let the words hang.

Alleyne said nothing. The air was dragging into her raw throat. Breathing hurt, but her body seemed determined to do it.

He wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the sword. Up. Again.

Her eyes opened at last and she stared up at him. Fantasy was fading away, until all that was left was the length of their tiny set of rooms and the heavy wooden door at the end. No marble hallways, no incense heavy in the air. Only the endless, endless game of Get to the Door.

Not again. Not tonight.

Yes. He stood and went to retrieve his sword. And this time, no weakness. If you can’t even beat me…how are you possibly going to get past the Imperial Guard? Revenge is worth nothing if you’re dead.

Chapter Two

Alleyne forced herself to sit upright as she wrapped a tiny portion of spiced chickpeas in flat bread and ate it in one careful bite. Her arms were shaking. She wanted nothing more than to scoop the chickpeas into her mouth as fast as she could with her bare fingers, but Almeric would give her a lecture if she did that. Restraint was of the utmost importance—he reminded her of that at every opportunity. Those who were well born did not eat their food as if they were starving.

She had once pointed out that most well-born people weren’t starving and they were, but his face had gotten so sad that she never said that again. It couldn’t have been too long after they’d come out past the third wall, and they only had rice and chickpeas, ever, and never enough of either. She hadn’t understood the hunger; she could remember pressing her hand over her stomach and wishing desperately for it to stop hurting.

She also remembered that later that night, Almeric left her alone on the roof of the building—the only place they’d found to hide—and came back a very long time later, blood running from a cut above his eye, bruised all over, but with two slices of pigeon pie. He told her he’d already had some, and he let her eat both slices.

She only realized later that he’d been lying.

The memory made her swallow hard. She looked down at the plate, at the spiced chickpeas and the flatbread still warm from the pan, at the potato dumplings and artichokes she’d been able to buy them from the cart near the building. They’d found a semblance of stability in the years since that night, the occasional glimpse of a good life, but it wasn’t enough.

Nothing would be enough until the Emperor was dead.

She looked up to see Almeric watching her. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight; they still ate on the rooftop when they could, out under the stars and the moons.

She looked at his beloved face and bit her lip. Sometimes, when he looked at her like this, she could almost remember their mother bending down to wipe the tears from her face and murmur soothing words. (What had Alleyne had to cry about while their mother was still alive? She couldn’t begin to imagine the answer to that question.) She almost remembered and then the vision was gone, and every year the memory seemed to grow a little fainter. She could hardly remember their father at all, except that he’d been tall, like Almeric, and—she was fairly sure she remembered this—he used to pick her up and swing her in circles above his head. She remembered green grass, and hedges to hide behind, and the sound of fountains. It was all in fragments like that, little sounds and smells, nothing whole.

Nothing to tell her who she might be now.

He came to sit beside her and she rested her head on his shoulder gratefully, leaning into his solid, comforting warmth. She let her eyes drift closed, and for a moment all of it seemed to disappear: the ache in her muscles and the sharper pain of bruises over her ribs, the blue-and-white cloth they spread over the ground under the clay dishes; the city spreading out below them like a carpet of jewels, lantern light and fires twinkling under the stars. From up here, they could see past the third wall, into the well-ordered market its denizens insisted was the heart of the city—not the riff-raff outside the wall, and not the high and mighty guildsmen inside the second wall.

Do you think they’d be proud of us? She didn’t dare look up. A tear had come from somewhere to trace its way down her cheek.

She felt the surprise, the sudden alertness in her brother; they rarely spoke when the days were done. They spent their evenings in companionable, exhausted silence. Sometimes they pored over a stolen book, sometimes they sat on the roof and watched the city, or the way the enclave beyond the wall gave way to trees and brush, and from there to the imperial highway, winding alone through endless waves of grass. There was nothing to speak of. There was nothing interesting about the odd jobs they found loading and unloading cargo, and only rarely anything new to consider in regards to their plan—and if there was, Almeric made sure to incorporate it in their practice. Usually, Alleyne savored this relative pocket of silence after the clamor and crush of their days at the docks.

But this question had been building for weeks.

Of course, Almeric said. His voice was uncertain. It was Alleyne who made the plan, who reminded him that nothing was more important than their revenge, and Almeric who found the means to bring those dreams to fruition. Neither of them had ever questioned the plan itself, and to have Alleyne say such a thing …. At length, however, Almeric seemed to decide that reassurance was within his purview. His voice strengthened: Of course they would be proud.

Alleyne turned her face on his shoulder, hoping to hide the tears, and winced in pain. The bruise from this fight would, gods willing, fade quickly. Really?

He felt the wince. He tipped her face up with his fingers, turned it to examine the bruise. How’s your jaw?

It’s fine. She found a weary grin from somewhere and tapped lightly at where blood was still drying on his temple. Better than your head.

He gave a disgruntled harrumph, but his fingers were still gentle on her face. Emilius gave me something for bruises. It should help with this.

She nodded quietly, looking away. She wanted to forget the question. Shame beat deep inside her chest.

Almeric had not forgotten. Of course he had not, he never forgot anything. "They would be proud, he assured her. I know they would. Papa used to say, ‘there’s no shame in surviving.’"

Alleyne rested her chin in her hands. Their family knew survival better than most; according to Almeric, ten years old when they had to flee and with the benefit of more schooling under his belt, their family’s estates were in the Golhar Desert, far to the south. The Nahida became a sluggish trickle by then, and oases were few and far between; the main estate’s water was drawn up by a cunning set of contraptions that burrowed far, far into the earth. It was a difficult place to live, and those who existed there followed water from oasis to oasis and season to season. Sometimes she had visions of clay-tile floors and fine linen curtains blowing in a hot breeze, and she wondered if it was a memory or a figment of her imagination. She had been born there, but how could she possibly remember that far back? She could hardly remember the palace anymore.

She turned her thoughts resolutely away from that, and looked back to her plate. If she lifted her head, she would be able to see the palace from here. It was like a beacon at night. The bulk of it, she knew, was hidden by the three walls, but they could still see the domes and towers, both adorned with elaborate chains of lanterns. The white stone caught the moonlight, the watchtowers on the first wall silhouetted against the gleam of it.

Her brother returned to his seat and dipped his fingers in a small bowl of water to clean them. It was another of the mannerisms he insisted upon. They were in a part of the city where no one had a hope of remaining as clean as the nobles on the palace grounds; probably, Alleyne thought, none of them had ever been that clean to start with. Almeric insisted on it anyway. No matter how far they fell, he insisted, they had to remember where they’d come from.

She wrapped her arms around her knees and watched him.

You’ve been quiet lately, he observed.

Chin on her knees, she considered the food on her plate, but her eyes were distant. Her answer seemed foolish. It always seemed very far away, she said finally. Like a thing we’d do when we were grown up.

We are grown up, Almeric pointed out, amused. If we were at court, we’d both be married by now.

She refused to think about that. Twenty was far too young to be married, wasn’t it? She still felt like a child, in any case, desperately unsure of herself.

Perhaps if they still had their parents …

She cleared her throat. It just seems so close now.

Almeric waited silently. His head was tilted to the side slightly.

It’s been so long, Alleyne said helplessly. Every day I wake up and I want to finish it, and it’s not time yet. Except it’s coming on so fast, too, it’s only a few weeks away, and how can it seem too close and so far away at the same time? She lowered her voice for the last few words: And what do we do after?

What d’you mean? Almeric was frowning.

We’ve wanted him dead all these years, we said it was for Aiqasal, but when he’s dead, what do we do? We can’t stay, can we? But I want to stay. She met his eyes for a moment, and saw only incomprehension there. Almeric, I want … She swallowed. If we were still at the palace, we’d be being trained to run our estates, make Aiqasal better and more prosperous, and I want to do that—

Focus first on the plan. His voice was unusually adamant. And focus on the rest later. It’s what you always tell me, Alleyne. Nothing is more important than the plan.

I don’t know if it will even work in the first place, she whispered.

It will, Almeric said at once.

You saw me fight today. You said—

I lied. He raised a shoulder. We’re better than the Imperial Guard now.

You think that? She gave a laugh. "We only have each other, they’ll have the best tacticians in the empire—and they have numbers. Not to mention, they know the palace."

They’ll underestimate you. He took a bite of artichoke and chewed neatly. They’ll underestimate both of us, but mostly you. I don’t need to hold them for very long for you to get to him. Then we jump— he gestured with two fingers, as if running and leaping —into the river and away.

And then? she challenged him. She did not speak to him of her sudden sadness over the past few weeks. If they escaped, they would surely never be able to settle in the city again, and what good could they do for Aiqasal if they spent the rest of their lives running?

Do you doubt? His eyes were dark, and his brow furrowed. You were the one who told me we couldn’t leave. I would have run away from the whole city. You were the one who said—

That he’d stolen our honor and our family and we could get one back, at least, Alleyne finished. I remember.

You were seven. The corner of his mouth lifted, but the smile disappeared quickly. You were still wearing that green dress, but you’d lost your shoes. Your hair was all a mess. I wanted to barter your belt for a trip out of the city and you said no. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

"I was seven, Alleyne agreed, prickly. Why on earth did you listen?"

Because I was only ten? he suggested. He leaned forward to put his hand over hers. You were right. That’s why we stayed. He took everything from us. Everything. Don’t let doubt stop you now.

Alleyne looked away. Her stomach was growling, every muscle ached, and in that moment she could see no way forward at all.

I’ve doubted every day for years, Almeric said finally.

What? She looked back sharply. He was all blurred, and she dashed the back of her hand across her cheeks to wipe the tears away. You have?

Every day, he repeated. But I looked at you, and I remembered why we’re doing this. You’ve never let anything stop you, not ever. We should have died that night. I didn’t know what to do, and you grabbed my hand and just started running. I told you that you were crazy to want to stay, I wanted to run away and let him keep ruling, keep executing nobles for nothing. I—

You were ten, Alleyne interrupted. Her heart ached at the shame in his voice. This was her big brother, the boy who’d taught her to make fishing nets to sell so they could buy food to eat, who’d stolen for her, fought for her, taught her to use her fists. Somewhere along the way, while she hadn’t been looking, he’d turned into a man—but even when he’d been a boy, he’d been her protector. You kept us safe. There’s no shame in being scared.

You weren’t scared, he insisted.

"I was seven."

He talked over her. I was never the brave one. I doubt all the time, Alleyne, every day. We still haven’t found a way into the palace. We still don’t know how many guards he has, or if there’ll be a feast that night. But we’ll find our way through that just like we found a way through everything else.

I’m terrified. No, she couldn’t say that. She bit back the words. What if we aren’t ready?

It’s going to be over soon. You were right, it’ll be chaos in the palace for the ambassador’s visit. His voice steadied her. Now, eat. You need to eat, and rest. We have to keep training tomorrow. He smiled at her, and said the words he said every night: Tomorrow, you’ll definitely get through the door.

Chapter Three

The river was her favorite place in the city, and it was best in the evenings. Alleyne reveled in the crush of people moving this way and that, haggling over fish hauled fresh from the river, gulping down hot bowls of soup or sipping mint tea in the cafes that perched precariously out over the river on stilted platforms. The smell of the evening’s bread wafted from every house, and children ran underfoot to greet their parents, back from a day’s labor at the quarries or the smithies or the docks. Beyond it all, the river shone with a million points of light from the setting sun, and the heavy bells tolled twilight, the fleeting few hours that belonged to Lycoris, when anything might happen.

Almeric hated it. He walked through the crowds with his shoulders hunched and his hand clutched around the neck of his purse.

They can just slit the bottom open, you know. Alleyne grinned up at him.

I do know, he said, prickly. "And you shouldn’t."

Protecting my purse is a perfectly useful skill.

That’s not how you know it. He glared down at her. It wasn’t just his height that drew people’s gazes when he walked past: with thick brows and a wide jaw, the same bow-shaped mouth as Alleyne, and skin of a deep umber, Almeric was an arresting figure. But it always those eyes that stood out, watchful. Those eyes could go through you like a spear.

Alleyne was used to it. She gave him the same look right back, and ruined it with a grin over her shoulder as she pushed her way ahead.

I’m serious. He hurried after her. Where are you going?

Every night you ask me where I’m going, and every night, I’m going to the overlook. The spar of rock, somehow never mined away, stood as one of the only true landmarks in the ever-shifting world beyond the third wall. Clay-brick buildings might weather to dust or collapse after the rainy season, different neighborhoods rose and fell, but the overlook remained.

Alleyne scrambled up it every night to stare down at the broad avenue of the Imperial Way, a river of its own sort but filled with the carriages and carts of merchants: pretty vegetables piled neatly, bolts of cloth, the gold-painted palanquins of the richest merchants and the more austere conveyances of the nobility, who shunned such obvious displays of wealth

It reminded her what the Aiqasal Empire had once been, and what it could be when the emperor was dead—for while she might hate him, Alleyne loved the people of this city fiercely. She loved the gulls on the water and the cries of the street vendors, the black-robed priests of Lycoris and the white-robed Elians, the twittering birds and the jumbled houses. Sometimes she even thought she loved the city she lived in now more than the palace she’d grown up in.

She never, never told Almeric that.

In her hurry to reach the overlook before evening fell, her eye almost passed over the two nobles. They slunk quietly through the streets with their expensive hoods drawn up, as if that would help them; the fabric of their cloaks was richer than anything Alleyne had seen in years. She was close, about to duck down an alleyway when Almeric dragged her back.

Where are you going?

After them. She jerked her head, keeping her voice to a hiss. Come on.

No. His voice was like stone. "You may have learned to slit purses—against every objection of mine, I might add—but you will not do so while I have a say in it."

I’m not going to take their coin! Alleyne pried his fingers loose from her arm. "Think for a moment: they’re high up, yes? They don’t want to be seen, yes?"

Yes, he said cautiously.

So they’re speaking secrets, or likely to. Secrets about the palace, secrets that might help us get in. She paused, watching his eyes for the spark of understanding. Secrets that might induce them to overlook one or two people coming into the palace, or give us a place in their retinues.

You think… He broke off and hurried after her. He kept his voice low. You think so?

"Why else would they come here? This is where nobles come when there’s something they don’t want known."

If I know nobles, it’s always the same kind of secret.

Alleyne hid a grin and said nothing. She cherished the moments when Almeric