Ashborn Chapter 1

A young woman faces public judgment in a ceremonial arena where failure means disgrace—and dragons are already on the move.

“Well, if it isn’t Witchwake herself.” Jessa Varnell’s voice cut like a knife.

I kept my eyes on the Soldiers surrounding the arena as we marched into the ceremony. Their ceremonial armor, replicas of uniforms worn centuries ago, gleamed dully in the waning light of the evening. The weapons they wielded, with the embedded relics and runes: the swords, lances, maces, and projectile-launching contraptions, resembled the ancient weapons rumored to be capable of killing dragons, should that prove necessary.

We all knew the real weapons were out of sight of the ceremony, which had been performed every decade, unchanged for thousands of years, down to what everyone wore.

I shuddered at the thought of what might happen if the real weapons were deployed.

Twelve runes were deeply etched into the worn, blackened stone floor of the arena. Precisely cut gems were embedded in each rune, surrounding the center of the arena. A sphere made of a dull, dark metal levitated in the center of that circle of runes, rotating over a polished marble column which served as the base. Rows of stones encircled the sides of the column under the sphere.

In turn, each Aspira would touch the sphere. If the sphere finds that she is worthy, it will light up and release a stone. We have been told that it is not uncommon for a good number of Aspiras to make it through the Crucible and still not receive a stone.

Please let me be found worthy. I thought. The embarrassment of failing this last test and being ushered from the arena before the dragons arrive for the bonding ceremony would forever brand me as unworthy in Varnell’s eyes.

Tremors under my boots from what must have been the movement of the dragons being released from containment nearly knocked me off balance.

This is it. I kept my eyes forward, steadying my breath as I felt the tremors pulsing through the stone. Varnell’s voice lingered in my ears.

Focus, I told myself. You can’t afford to lose now.

The Wardens came forward to stand in front of us Aspiras. Their worn leather armor, heavy with relics and sigils, belied thousands of battles stretching back millennia. Their sharp, unreadable eyes sized us up like prey. One Warden, an elder with silver hair, stepped to a round, flat stone just by the sphere. A second Warden, younger, took her place beside the first, carrying a crystal bowl filled with twenty small stones, each emblazoned with the name of an Aspira.

“You will be called one by one.” The younger of the Wardens stirred the stones in the bowl. “You will either touch the sphere and accept the fate, whether it accepts you or declares you unworthy, or you may decline to touch the sphere. If you are found not worthy or decide to decline this final test, you will be immediately removed from the arena.”

“Aspira Miraen Walzt,” The elder Warden read the name from the first stone pulled.

Walzt stepped out of the formation and to the stone. She rendered a smart salute to the Warden before hesitantly reaching her fingers to the sphere. After an interminable time, her fingertip made contact with the sphere. The sphere remained dark for a long moment. Just as she had given up, a stone began to glow. She ran her fingers over the stone, and it fell out of the column, into her hand.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding as she stepped behind the formation, smiling, as she shifted from attention to parade rest.

“Aspira Claudet Felint,” The voice rang out over the arena.

Felint confidently broke ranks and marched to the Warden, saluting her. She had been near the top of the rankings for all the training sessions of the Crucible over the last two months. Felint didn’t hesitate, placing her hand fully on the orb.

Nothing.

The sphere didn’t flicker. Didn’t glow.

“Come on.” A gritted whisper.

In the formation, fingers crossed and echoes of Felint’s “Come on” pulsed through the nineteen women.

Still nothing.

A Warden stepped forward and pulled Felint from the orb. Two Soldiers flanked her and swiftly escorted her from the arena.

The Warden’s face held a flicker of shock as she pulled the next stone, handing it to the elder. “Aspira Talen Malak”

Malak’s face blanched. Felint had been one of the best, with some of the highest scores. Well, Felint and Varnell had been neck and neck.

Malak ranked near the bottom of the group. If Felint had been rejected, Malak knew she had no hope.

Dragging her boots on the stone, she moved as someone going to her execution. Trembling, she saluted the elder Warden and reached her hand to the sphere.

“Go on, touch the Sphere.”

“I…I can’t” Tears welled up in Malak’s eyes as her voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

“You refuse?” The statement from the Warden was gentle, softly encouraging.

“I…I just can’t” She dropped her hand, stepping back. “I don’t...don’t feel like I’d be worthy.” Her voice cracked.

“Understood.” The Wardens’ faces were soft.

Two Soldiers flanked her protectively as they escorted her through the gates leading out of the arena.

One by one, each Aspira stepped to the Sphere as the Warden called her name. Some stepped forward with trembling hands and were granted a stone. Most Aspiras hesitated, slowly reaching to the Sphere, though a few showed no such doubt. Several had touched the stone only to be met with silence, escorted away between silent Soldiers. A handful never touched it at all, their fear outweighing their hope. For those who never touched it, their burden would linger, always wondering if they would have been found worthy had their fear and doubts at that moment not stayed their hand.

Two name stones remained in the bowl. The five Aspiras who had claimed their stones from the Sphere stood behind the last two candidates: Jessa Varnell and Dareya Calderin.

“Give up, already, Calderin.” Varnell’s voice beside me was soft, barely above a whisper, but it dripped with poison. “You don’t belong. Your presence is embarrassing both to yourself and to the Order.”

“When a dragon chooses, it won’t care your pedigree.” My voice was low, but steady.

Varnell laughed, cold and sharp. “Oh, but dragons do sense weakness. And desperation.” She raised her voice slightly, pitching it to the highborn audience behind them. “Watch closely. Our little frontier girl is about to learn the hard way.”

Titters rippled through the five women holding stones.

“Jessa Varnell.” The Warden glared in Varnell’s direction. Varnell looked to the Warden, her eyes flaring with false innocence, her smirk never faltering.

“Aspira Jessa Varnell.” The Warden’s voice rang out again, sharp and clear across the arena, her eyes locking on Varnell, her stare daring her to try something clever.

Varnell stepped forward, all grace and arrogance. Her movements were those of a woman certain of her fate. She gave the Warden a clipped salute and, without hesitation, placed her hand on the Sphere, practically slapping it down.

Nothing.

Seconds passed.

Then a hesitant flicker from below a finger as an amber glow spidered across the Sphere.

A stone glowed a brilliant blue as it dropped into Varnell’s waiting hand. She triumphantly held up her stone, basking in the approval of the waiting crowd.

“Try not to cry when it stays dark.” She murmured, shoulder checking me, her smile a knife.

But heat coiled behind my ribs. I didn’t dare flinch, although each breath felt shallow, unsatisfying.

Now only one name stone remained.

The tremor beneath my boots grew stronger. The dragons were fast approaching the arena.

And the Wardens had not yet called my name.

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Read Ashborn, the foundational volume of The Shadow Lineage:

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