Bloodsworn (Ashlords #2) - Scott Reintgen Page 0,3

the fallen Dividian.

“If you’re done hiding,” he says, “we can finish securing the castle, dearies.”

It doesn’t take long to reach a surrender. Locklin is known for hosting very few troops. The Ashlords have held this castle for nearly two centuries, against any number of attacks. Always they have boasted that the elevated fort could be held with just ten good soldiers.

I guess they should have hired twenty.

One Ashlord soldier makes his final stand in the kitchens until a Dividian cook knocks him out with a skillet. Bastian claps the man on the shoulder as we tie the soldier’s wrists. When it’s all over, our crew rallies back to the courtyard.

Devlin oversees the proceedings, handing out blasphemous blessings in his robes. Layne is picking the pockets of the dead and taking meticulous notes of our earnings. I see that one is a priest to the gods. He’s facedown, but I spy silver mechanics grafted into the back of his neck. One of the Striving’s creatures.

Eight Ashlord soldiers are bound in one corner. Dividian servants wait opposite them. Some of us watch the proceedings with drowning eyes. We’ve freed them, but I know by now it doesn’t always feel that way at first. We’ve upturned their quiet lives here.

Bastian looks ready for his usual speech when Cora crows her way out of the basement living quarters. She’s marching men at gunpoint: three startled Ashlords. Two are shirtless.

“Gods below,” Bastian whispers.

It takes a second to recognize them. These are not everyday soldiers, nor everyday citizens. Their mouths are shaped perfectly to beckon servants with. Even now—marching as prisoners—they look as if they’re on the verge of waving a hand to dismiss the lot of us.

All three are kin. Their father has marked them with a sharp chin and narrow lips. Their mothers, however, have left each of them with eyes of different colors, singular shapes.

Cora offers a mocking bow.

“Might I present the sons of the Brightness…some of the lesser ones, anyway.”

It’s impossible to recall their names, but I’ve known their faces all my life. Always wearing their regalia on the Empire-wide broadcasts. I can tell Cora is right, too. These are three of the younger children. Not directly in line for the throne, but still, princes all the same.

My eyes find Bastian. I can see the gears turning. He cannot believe our good fortune. Our plan for the war has been simple. We fight for bargaining chips. Sometimes that means stealing Ashlord supply carriages. Other times it’s sacking a strategic castle. Everything we win gets sold off to the Longhands. We use everything to increase our resources and free Dividian prisoners.

We came here thinking that Locklin would fetch us a pretty penny, but we never thought we’d stumble on royalty. Bastian’s eyes shine like a pair of gold coins. The entire crew are exchanging looks now. He smiles like a man who knows his way around a scandal.

“I’ve forgotten, Cora. What’s the going rate for princes these days?”

You watch as the men begin to burn.

It is not the first time you’ve witnessed the process. Sometimes the gods will draw too much power from one source. It happens rarely, but every now and again, an Ashlord collapses in the streets of Furia. You’ve watched as their skin takes on a shine. Almost as if they’ve swallowed the sun. Their eyes brighten like flames. They scream smoke. All that witnesses can do is watch from a careful distance as they begin to burn.

You were taught as a little girl not to touch the ashes. Everyone always told you such people were cursed. The Longhands coined the term burners. In their minds, such deaths were signs of tainted deity. Gods who demanded too much of their charges—or worse, gods capable of making mistakes.

But the men standing in your command tent are not accidents. They are volunteers. You watch quietly as the first grunts of real pain begin. Red flames dance in their irises. One of the men slaps a hand to his chest as the fire inside begins to grow.

“Get them mounted,” you order. “Soldiers. Our gods will remember your service today. This final act of courage will echo to their world. Such sacrifices can redeem a lifetime of mistakes.”

You’re not sure if those words are true, but the troops take comfort from them. Even your hardened guards approach the burners cautiously. Likely they’ve heard one too many myths. You can see it in the way their hands avoid direct contact with their