Kelly Gay - The Hour of Dust and Ashes

“You forget,” Rex spoke up. “He made enemies while he was alive. He killed hundreds of jinn, slaughtered those he thought might rebel agains him. Without trial, without evidence …”

Matsul went to reply, but Carreg stopped him. “Perhaps there is merit in what they say. Come with me.”

Matsul gasped. “This is an Abaddon matter, not dependent on Astarot commands.”

A silky chuckle breezed through Carreg’s lips. “I believe the Father’s life is at risk. Houses do not matter in this. Now, you may accompany us, or you may stay here gaping.”

Red filtered through Matsul’s skin as Carreg strode away. But the noble followed us across the plaza and toward the black marble temple in the distance.

Thank God we were finally moving.

Carreg led us up the wide ramp to the temple. The black marble pylons loomed above us, the marble so smooth and polished, it looked like glass. The rectangular opening that led inside, however, was flat and dark and intimidating as hell. Statues of winged creatures similar to griffins lined the ramp on each side and were carved from gray stone with flecks that reflected the violet glow in the high cavern ceiling above. I craned my neck up to see more soaring columns and balconies with sheer curtains waving gently.

The walls of the temple were so thick that we walked for several steps in total blackness before the space opened up into a large chamber lit with strange bluish fires in wall sconces. The floor was also made of black marble, flawless and polished to a mirror shine. The columns inside were painted in bold colors, scenes of battles, heroes, and animal-headed, winged gods.

Matsul caught up with Carreg as we slowed, and together they led us down a long corridor. It was a maze, the temple leading into courtyards and other buildings, down long, echoing halls, through chambers, past the curious stares of nobles and the stoic faces of guards.

It all passed by in a blur. Until finally we stopped in front of a wide door with two guards—nobles; not the typical jinn bodyguards—on either side. Gone were the robes, and in their place was thin armor plating in polished black, swords at their belts, helmets, and a spear in one hand. I’d never seen nobles in war regalia before and the effect was nothing short of menacing, especially against a backdrop of black marble.

Apparently, the Abaddon Father was far too important for the usual form of protection. Though, after Matsul’s comments, I was pretty sure the guards were more for pomp and circumstance, and honoring the Father rather than actual protection.

We beat Bryn. All we had to do was get inside, protect the Father, and then apprehend my sister.

Carreg pushed the doors open. I hurried inside, scanning the main chamber quickly, eyes going over the wall reliefs of battles and warriors. Round columns rose up from the floor, making a gallery of stylized carved symbols, writing, and sculptures. There was furniture and lush fabrics in bold colors, weapons on display, a fountain. And … no Abaddon Father.

“Where?” I asked. “Where is he?”

Carreg led us through the main chamber and into a smaller one, though it was still large in comparison to anything I was used to. My eyes went immediately to the far wall, or the absence thereof. Not good. White, linen-like curtains moved in a gentle breeze around the umns that supported the roof and led the eye out onto a wide balcony. Lights twinkled in the distance beyond, coming from other balconies, gardens, and palaces.

Dread gripped me tightly. I couldn’t breathe as I turned my head to look at the rest of the room.

To my left. The bed on a raised platform.

My heart dropped to my feet. Matsul gasped in horror. And Rex said simply, “Oh. Shit.”

On the bed, straddled over the resting form of the Abaddon Father, was my sister. Blood splayed across her white shirt, neck, and one side of her face. She sat up and turned her head in our direction. “The death of Malek Murr, my father, has been avenged. I am no longer for this world!”

She raised her bloody dagger. Christ. She was going to stab herself.

“NO!” Horror struck me with the speed of a locomotive.

I’d never make it to her before the dagger pierced her stomach, but I took off anyway. Have to try. Have to stop—

I gasped as I was jerked back by the collar, held still by a vise-like hand that wrapped tightly around the back of my neck. As I whipped my gaze around, I saw Hank yank off his voice-mod with his free hand.

A short but undeniable command burst from Hank’s lips, laced with power and energy that made the hairs on my arms rise. It halted Bryn’s hand, the dagger tip only a hairsbreadth from her belly.

Her eyes went wide and unfocused. Her hand shook. She blinked. Fat tears slipped down her cheeks.

Oh God. She was in there. Aware. And she was fighting.

I ran to the bed, grabbed the dagger from her hand, and flung it across the room. “Bryn!” I went to pull her to me, to hug her, just going on instinct, but she leapt off the bed, tackling me to the marble floor, her bloody hands sliding around my neck and squeezing.

The shock of being attacked by my sister wore off real fast. It wasn’t difficult to break her hold, twist, and then flip on top of her back, pinning her facedown on the floor. I reached for the cold cell cuffs on my belt and slapped them onto her wrists. They worked great on most Charbydons, the cold subduing their power, but Solomon was only half jinn and a spirit at that. Probably wouldn’t restrain his power at all. But at least they’d keep her from any more suicide or murder attempts.

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, one side of her mouth squished against the floor. “It’s over. Whether I go now or later. They will kill this body for what it has done and either way I am free. I have won.” She drew in a deep breath to scream, but I slapped my hand over her mouth. The last thing we needed was for the guards to appear.

“You know, Solomon, you’re really starting to piss me off. Rex, give me something to gag her with.”

Matsul inched closer to the Father as Carreg walked calmly over to the wall, bent down, picked up the bloody dagger, examined it, and then whispere. It disappeared.

A low keening began in Matsul’s throat and built in volume. Rex leapt over us, grabbed the official from behind, and covered his mouth to cut off the wail.

Matsul could’ve fought, could’ve easily overpowered Rex. He was a noble, the strongest of the Char-bydon off-worlders, but he was in shock. His eyes grew wider and wider.

Rex whipped his gaze to mine, his hand still firmly over Matsul’s mouth. “What the hell do we do now?”

“Is the Father really dead?” I asked, still on the ground with Bryn and unable to see for myself if Solomon had been successful.

Hank tore the thin curtain and handed me a strip. I gagged my sister as Carreg strode to the bed and gazed down at the Father’s frail body without a flicker of emotion on his dark face. “Quite dead,” he answered evenly.

I hauled Bryn to her feet and handed her over to Hank, then faced Matsul, heart pounding, adrenaline making my entire body shaky and numb. “You heard what she said. The thing inside of her … it’s not her. His father was Malek Murr. You do know who that was, right?”

Matsul nodded in acknowledgement.

“He was avenging his father’s death. He is Solomon. The son of Malek Murr. You understand? He’s taken over my sister.”

He nodded again, eyes still bugging out.

“This wasn’t her fault.” My throat thickened, making it hard to talk. “She wasn’t in control. That’s what you’re going to tell them.”

Rex slowly removed his hand. Matsul had gone a very odd shade of white. He glanced to Bryn and back to me. “She killed him, I saw her … The Father is dead …”