A realm of ash and shado.., p.1
A Realm of Ash and Shadow, page 1
A Realm of Ash and Shadow
Lara Buckheit
Sword and Silk Books
Copyright © 2024 by Lara Buckheit
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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First Edition: APR 2024
Contents
1. CHAPTER 1
2. CHAPTER 2
3. CHAPTER 3
4. CHAPTER 4
5. CHAPTER 5
6. CHAPTER 6
7. CHAPTER 7
8. CHAPTER 8
9. CHAPTER 9
10. CHAPTER 10
11. CHAPTER 11
12. CHAPTER 12
13. CHAPTER 13
14. CHAPTER 14
15. CHAPTER 15
16. CHAPTER 16
17. CHAPTER 17
18. CHAPTER 18
19. CHAPTER 19
20. CHAPTER 20
21. CHAPTER 21
22. CHAPTER 22
23. CHAPTER 23
24. CHAPTER 24
25. CHAPTER 25
26. CHAPTER 26
27. CHAPTER 27
28. CHAPTER 28
29. CHAPTER 29
30. CHAPTER 30
31. CHAPTER 31
32. CHAPTER 32
33. CHAPTER 33
34. CHAPTER 34
35. CHAPTER 35
36. CHAPTER 36
37. CHAPTER 37
38. CHAPTER 38
39. CHAPTER 39
40. CHAPTER 40
41. CHAPTER 41
42. CHAPTER 42
43. CHAPTER 43
one
Falling from Mason Kennedy’s trellis was not how I wanted to start my morning.
I hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud, a string of swears slipping through my kiss-bruised lips.
Mason’s head popped out of the window, dark hair ruffling in the breeze. He stared down at me with a grin splitting his boyish face in two and pointed to the splintered bits of wood that dusted the grass like freshly fallen snow. He laughed, breathy and quiet, before he whisper-shouted, “Val, you broke the trellis.”
“That’s what you’re concerned about?” I snapped, forgetting his mother was still asleep. I climbed to my feet, shifting to test my weight on each of my ankles. No injuries, save for my wounded ego. “I’m fine, by the way.”
“Good, so I’ll see you later for our run?”
A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and I turned my face toward the sky, searching for storm clouds. There weren’t any yet. But there was a shock of black soaring across the paling indigo curtain hanging above us like spilled ink.
A raven. Nosy little shit.
I glanced back at Mason and forced a smile. “Yep. I’ll meet you at seven.”
Before he could respond, I rushed home, continuously checking to see if the bird was following me. It wasn’t. Fifteen sweaty minutes passed, and I sprinted through the gate and into my front yard. I stopped to catch my breath only to find the raven perched on the steep, multi-faceted roof, watching me, waiting for me.
My steps crunched against the gravel as I stalked across the driveway. To my annoyance, the raven made a deep caw as I drew closer to the porch. I answered it with a flip of my middle finger. They cawed again as if saying, Real classy, Valeria.
Whatever.
Goosebumps pricked my skin as I climbed the steps of the old and creaky porch, knowing what I’d find waiting for me at the top. The swing off to the left swayed softly back and forth, the groaning a welcome distraction from the single, dreadful envelope fastened to the front door.
Nope. I wanted nothing to do with that.
I wrenched the door open quickly, like pulling off a band-aid, and made my way inside and upstairs to my bedroom. Rummaging through the piles of clothes, books, and shoes strewn across the worn wooden floor, I searched for a somewhat clean pair of shorts. I slipped them on, along with my worn gray running shoes. My hands worked deftly as I threw my knotty blonde hair up into a messy bun using one of the elastic hair ties I snatched from around the door handle.
Once downstairs, I yelled, “I’m going for a run with Mason!”
If my keeper, Mistress Marjorie, heard me, she didn’t reply.
Shutting the door behind me, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
The stupid envelope was no longer fastened to the door. Instead, the ridiculously oversized raven had torn it down and dropped it onto the porch, a few inches away from where their sharp talons clicked against the wood as if they were growing impatient with me.
My father’s Celestians—shape-shifting warriors bound to protect mortals from demons and gods alike—always became moody when I didn’t obey them straight away. I glared at the bird.
Often, I caught them flying around Oakwood, even though there hadn’t been any supernatural activity since Mistress Marjorie and I were exiled here nearly eighteen years ago. If there were demons lurking about, my keeper would’ve handled them quickly and quietly.
We didn’t need their help.
I waved my hands at the bird. “Shoo. Fly away. Be free.”
They tilted their head to the side. Missing feathers exposed several silver scars jutting across their neck and down their body.
“You poor thing.” I softened, taking a step closer to them. I petted their head once, twice. “What happened to you?”
They leaned into my touch for the briefest of moments before they pecked at the envelope.
“Seriously?” I dropped my hand back to my side. “I already know what it’s going to say: ‘Soon you will be where you were meant to be all along, my dearest Valeria.’”
The raven’s feathers rustled, impatient.
“Fine,” I muttered, snatching the letter up and tearing it open. “Oh, would you look at that?”
Sure enough, that fifteen-word sentence stared back at me.
Cryptic and annoying.
“There,” I hissed, ripping the letter up and dropping the pieces into the empty planter hanging from the porch railing. “Go tell my father I read his letter, and I’m so eager to return home.”
As if they were satisfied, the raven cawed once and then soared toward the sky.
I clenched and unclenched my fists. I had spent my entire life hidden in the Realm of the Mortals, knowing I was different. Feeling different. The annual letters and ravens were a reminder I didn’t need for a handful of reasons. The first being that they were evidence my father didn’t want the hassle of protecting me in Empyrean, so he pawned me off on—
No, I wouldn’t let myself go there.
With a frustrated sigh, I bolted toward my normal running route, passing Mason along the way. He called after me, but I didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. My feet slammed against the pavement until the sidewalk gave way to dirt, and I followed those trails I knew by heart deep into the woodland.
Despite the sweat dripping down my forehead, I couldn’t help but take in the sunrise, knowing it was one of the last I’d ever see.
Here. One of the last sunrises I would ever see here.
My time left in the Realm of the Mortals was limited, but returning to my own realm, Empyrean, wasn’t actually a death sentence—even if I often treated it like one.
To be fair, I hadn’t become a bitter hot mess about returning to Empyrean until my father started treating me like I was nothing more than an inconvenience. Long letters filled with promises to visit me had turned into fifteen-word sentences written by another’s hand.
Mistress Marjorie told me that Daddy Dearest was too busy running Empyrean to write me himself. I always countered with something snide about how maybe he’d be too busy to remember to collect me, too. His diminishing amount of contact over the last few years suggested as much.
The soft golden hue of dawn crept through the blanket of lush green leaves that hung overhead, bathing the forest with muted streaks of marigold light. Tiny drops of dew kissed my ankles, and every soundless step brought me closer to a bliss that would obliterate my annoyance. Deeper and deeper, I ran into the thick glen of trees that surrounded the pleasant, insignificant town I’d call home for only six more days.
I collapsed to my knees, my legs trembling from the run. Tears pricked my eyes as the other reasons I hated those letters became a cyclone of torment in my mind. Reasons that sent me to this realm to begin with. Reasons that, no matter how deep I buried them, always clawed their way back to the surface.
Inhaling deeply for five counts and exhaling through my nose for seven, I tried to pull myself together before Mason caught up to me. Before he started asking questions I didn’t know how to answer.
But I was spiraling.
Tomorrow. I was supposed to be ripped from the Realm of the Mortals tomorrow, on my eighteenth birthday. But by some miracle, Mistress Marjorie was able to bargain for more time—six glorious days so I could attend graduation. Though I was thankful for the extension, those days wouldn’t be enough to quell the ache that the years I’d spent in this realm would become nothing but a distant memory.
At least I’d get a piece of paper that proved I completed some
thing, proved that for a brief stint in time, I was an Oakwood High School student, even if I was someone the teachers wouldn’t remember and the yearbooks had listed as Not Pictured.
I’d get to experience the rite of passage that the movies made seem so monumental. The promise that everything changed once you walk across that stage, that you become something more when you toss your cap into the air.
And for me, that would be true. I’d walk across the stage and right into a portal that led me to my too-perfect realm, to the throne, and to my father.
A searing pain pinched my sides. Breathe.
Despite training for most of my life, I’d pushed myself more and more these last couple of weeks. I was five when I learned how to throw a punch, seven when I first wielded a blade, and ten when I finally passed Mistress Marjorie’s proficiency exam. Now, I ran four miles in the mornings and spent most afternoons slaughtering training dummies with a variety of weapons. Anything to keep my mind quiet.
The crack of twigs snapping under the weight of encroaching footsteps roused me from my pity party as a familiar face barreled through the tree line and into the small clearing where I sat.
“Jesus, Val. I could barely keep up with you,” Mason gasped, his breathing haggard.
He dropped his running backpack onto the ground as he leaned over, hands finding his knees.
“You can never keep up with me,” I teased, hastily wiping a few rogue tears from my eyes. I grabbed the bottle of water from the side pocket of his bag and drank, swishing a mouthful around to rid myself of the sour taste of my past and future that lingered on my lips. “Drink.”
Mason didn’t catch the glass container I tossed in his direction, and it hit the ground with a thud; he was never one for anything even slightly coordinated. He brushed dirt from the lid before he downed what was left. Black hair slick with sweat, the lump in Mason’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. His bare chest heaved with every breath he tried to catch. I longed to run my hands through his silky hair, the way I did last night as he lay between my legs, our bodies entwined. Mason’s lips were the perfect distraction as his ink-stained hands wandered up and down my naked thighs, hungry—
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said, tugging me to my feet. His emerald eyes danced in the morning light with feverish excitement.
I wiped dirt from the thin fabric of my shorts. “Looking at you like what?”
“With your bedroom eyes, Val. You said last night was a one-time thing.”
“A one-time thing that’s happened.” I tapped my chin. “Oh, I don’t know…a hundred or so times over the last two years.”
Mason tucked the water bottle back into his bag. “Then maybe you should stop saying it every time you come sneaking in through my bedroom window.”
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Mason and I fooled around. A lot. Rumors spread like wildfire through a high school like ours. No one believed we were just friends, but we were.
Friends who often shared a bed.
“Well, since I broke your trellis, that won’t happen nearly as often,” I said, clearing my throat and pushing away memories of late nights tangled in his plaid sheets. “Have you decided who you’re going to prom with?”
Mason had no shortage of offers, all of which he politely declined. Whereas I had zero people ask me to be their date. Present company included.
I didn’t need someone to go to the dance with, but like graduation, I wanted my night to be as cliché as it could get with the fancy gown, the corsage, a date, and a limo. I wanted spiked fruit punch and the warmth of Mason’s body against mine as we swayed in time to the music in the middle of a sea of people. For me, prom was another mundane high school milestone that proved I did something with my time here other than read smutty paperbacks and binge-watch trash TV—that I had something of a life outside of Mistress Marjorie’s wards, lessons, and the safety of our hidden home.
“Mmm.” Mason rubbed his lips together. “Are you asking me?”
I shook my head. “Are you going to ask me?”
Mason drew closer and tilted my chin upward so I looked at him. Gods, he was adorable. The scent of body spray with a tinge of sweat filled the almost non-existent gap between us. Purple shadows pooled beneath his delicate eyes, courtesy of our sleepless night.
“Valeria,” he said, bringing his mouth a breath away from mine. If he kissed me right now, I’d pull him to the ground and feel the weight of his body on mine until we were late for school. My cheeks warmed at the thought. “Will you do me the honor of being my date for prom?”
I bristled and bit back the urge to correct him that this wouldn’t be a date. It couldn’t be a date. Dates made things serious. Serious meant feelings. Feelings meant he had the power to hurt me, or worse, be taken from me.
I clamped down on that train of thought, letting Mason’s words swirl around me like a brief gust of wind through an open window. “I would love nothing more.”
Mason pulled away, pursing his lips.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“Aren’t you going to snap at me about no boyfriend-y things?”
“Not this time.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’m wearing down your resolve.” Mason laughed, and I wished I could bottle the sound and take it back with me to Empyrean to open whenever I missed him. Which, I imagined, would be all the time.
He was the only friend I’d ever known.
My throat constricted. Everything was going to change in less than a week, and Mason had no idea. No idea that I wasn’t really going to be taking a fucking trip abroad, but that I’d be leaving him. For good. Leaving him for so much more, yet somehow, so much less.
It wasn’t fair that I’d have to say goodbye to tacos at two a.m. and energy drinks that Mistress Marjorie swore would rot my teeth. There would be no more midnight texts back and forth with Mason when neither of us could sleep. On Friday nights, I wouldn’t be able to shove my face full of popcorn in the passenger seat of Mason’s beat-up car at the drive-in theater or make out with him under the bleachers at an Oakwood Thorns football game.
No, I’d have to give it all up. Give him up. If someone, anyone, had asked me, I would have told them I wanted to stay here, in this bubble, and pretend that I belonged.
Mostly.
Despite everything I loved here, there was something deep down in the pit of my stomach that called to me, beckoning me to Empyrean.
Probably my unresolved daddy issues. Ugh.
“Val, you’re spacing out again.” Mason snapped his fingers in front of my face to draw my attention back to our conversation. “Are you still upset about your birthday falling on prom?” Right. I had totally forgotten about that. He added, “It’s not going to be as bad as you think it is, babe.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t push it, Kennedy.”
Mason bumped his shoulder into mine. “That’s my girl.”
“Whatever. Let’s walk back. I don’t want to run any more today.”
Threading a hand through his hair, he said, “I think that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
The birds chirped a mournful melody as if they were bidding us farewell from their forest. Soon, the expanse of trees looming over us dwindled, and the sun barely peeked out from behind a handful of fat storm clouds, warming the air with the promise of summer rain.
I’d miss this about Mason, too. His comfortable silence, not needing to fill the void with—
“So, do you have a dress?” Mason glanced at me from the corner of his eye.
“A dress?”
“For prom? It’s tomorrow. What were you going to show up in? Your leather ensemble?”
Kicking a loose stone on the road, I groaned. Mason caught me in my leather ensemble one time a few years ago, following an afternoon spent sparring with Mistress Marjorie in the attic, and I never heard the end of it.
Did Mistress Marjorie get me a dress? She knew how badly I wanted to go…
Mason ground to a halt. “If you’re worried about money, we can go to the mall and put a dress on my mom’s credit card.” He tucked a wisp of hair behind my ear. See. Boyfriend-y things I tried to avoid. “You can consider it a birthday present,” he added softly.
“That won’t be necessary.” My keeper’s voice cut through the air, and Mason jumped away from me, his hand falling limply to his side. “I’ve already purchased Valeria a dress for prom.”
