Happy Saturday, lovely readers! Today I am excited to share with you the first look at Ash’s POV, featured for the first time in the upcoming Assassin’s Journey. Please note this is from a ROUGH draft, so it may look a little different in the final book. Enjoy this sneak peek into Ash’s mind!

– – – – –

I wake first and watch Runa’s sleeping form. Even in the darkness of the closed-up tent, her pale face is easy to make out in contrast. I know from previous nights’ experience that even if I could see her in the light, there wouldn’t be a drop of color in those delicate cheeks. My eyes train on her torso to watch the slight rise and fall of her breathing. It has become a habit, checking in while she sleeps. She looks so much like death walking. Sometimes my mind needs the visual reassurance that she still breathes.

I think she’d find that image fitting for herself—’death walking.’ I disagree. I know only a fraction of the things she’s done, but I’ve felt her magic. There’s goodness there, light and hope. I think she’s afraid to let herself feel it.

So many questions wait unanswered in my mind. Where did she come from? When did this become her role, her life? How did someone so compassionate and feeling become Lady Moirai?

Right now, I’d settle for the smallest of answers. What town did she grow up in—or what country, at least? Did she have any siblings? What were her parents like?

But those questions lead back to the thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid. The fate of my sister sits in my gut as the most pressing, urgent unanswered question. Carwen is too young to be out alone in the world. I don’t have even a hint of what might have happened. Did she run away? Is she hurt? Did someone take her? I wouldn’t put it past some of my father’s shadiest acquaintances to use a child as a business bargaining chip. But if that were so, wouldn’t they have reached out? If someone had made demands, Father would know where Carwen is. He wouldn’t have sent messengers out to fetch her from me.

No, as far as we know, Father is just as in the dark as we are. He’s not going to be any help when we arrive in Swyndale. I’m rather hoping he’s not there at all.

The servants, on the other hand. They notice things. They talk. They’ll talk to me. The servants have always adored Carwen, and they certainly haven’t been blind to the matters of our family. Given the choice, I think many of them would have preferred to go with Mother when she left than remain with the Ephraxa estate. Unlike Carwen, however, they—and I—were not offered the choice.

Runa begins to stir. I wait for her to wake up more fully before speaking. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” she says with a yawn.

“Ready to press forward?” I try not to sound too eager, but I’m beyond ready to reach the city and find answers.

She nods and stands, stretching her arms up above her head.

I change the bandages on her hands. The wounds are healing nicely, though I can tell it’s much slower than Runa would like. We eat a breakfast of hard biscuits saved from the inn and berries Runa points out to me in a nearby bush. I untie the horses; Runa leads us to a brook for them to drink. Riding into the city would be conspicuous, so I secure them again in an area with plenty of grass for grazing. With Runa directing me, I pack her leather bag with supplies, a set of clothes, and money before stowing the rest of our things in the shelter.

Before doing anything else, we have to disguise ourselves. I clasp my hands along Runa’s forearms, as we’ve gotten used to doing, and close my eyes, breathing slowly. Our energy mingles between us, glowing strong and warm. When I open my eyes, an unfamiliar face looks back. This is a new look, to me anyway. Runa seems to tailor her disguises to every location. I wonder how she ever remembers all the details. I never noticed anything amiss with her appearance when I knew her as Isabel, and I saw her multiple days then. She repeated that disguise perfectly.

Today her look is less striking, but still pretty. She doesn’t notice me studying her as her long, now-brown hair falls into a practical braid. Her skin is smooth and freckled, the appearance combining pale genetics with a life outdoors. Her nose is smaller, flipping up at the end. When she glances at me, her hair complete, her eyes are brown with hazel flecks in them. She looks away quickly. She’s told me how reality and the disguise she spins conflict when she sees them herself; she can only look for brief moments without threatening her hold on the spell.

“What do I look like?” I ask.

She continues to look away while describing the appearance she created in her mind. “Not too different from your usual coloring. It’s easier to modify individual features than create an entirely new face. My magic is stretched between the two of us and, well…” She holds up her bandaged hands. “But your nose is thinner. Eyebrows softer. Your eyes are lighter, and your hair is cropped short. Also, your skin is a bit lighter.”

Without thinking about it, I look down at my hands. They remind me of my father’s — too veiny and pale to be my own. The sight is so strange. 

“What are you doing?” Runa asks, an edge of irritation in her voice. 

I look back up at her. She’s looking directly at me, but looks away quickly and presses the back of one arm to her forehead. 

“What?” I ask. “Are you okay?

“I told you not to… wait, don’t you feel it?”

Several days ago, when she explained how her disguise magic works, Runa said when the time came to hide me, I should not look at myself or her, out of concern for the reaction she usually experiences. I’d completely forgotten.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Are you okay?”

She ignores my question. “You’re not dizzy? Nauseated?”

I shake my head. “No. I feel fine.”

“Hmm.” She studies the ground for a moment. “Your energy contributed to the spell, but technically I am the one who cast it. Maybe it tricks your mind like it does anyone else’s. That should make today easier than I anticipated. Though I still need to be wary not to look at you.”

“What a challenge,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

She shakes her head, but I see the smile she’s trying to bite back. “Focus. The day’s not getting younger.”

The two of us walk back to the main road that leads into Swyndale. We pass through the town of Stonehaven, made up of a few rows of small, gray stone houses. Most of the inhabitants here work in Swyndale. Runa’s face shifts as we walk, her teeth tugging on her lower lip. She can’t cross her arms with her bandaged hands, but she wraps her arms around herself.

I lean toward her to whisper, “Is something wrong?”

She shakes her head and rolls her shoulders back, dropping her arms. “It’s just been a while since I’ve been here.”

She’s not telling the whole story, but she rarely does. As usual, I try not to let it bother me. As always, it still stings.

We pass through the city gates without trouble. Runa pays the travelers’ entry fee for each of us. I follow her as she winds through the streets, leading me toward the less savory side of Swyndale. Huddled bodies line the alleys here, some of them trembling. I’m aware of the effects of certain substances on the body, but it’s always unsettling to see the reality up close. I’ve always avoided this part of town — not just because it was drilled into me by Father, but also because it makes my skin crawl.

Runa weaves through the city like a needle through fine linen, never hesitating. I struggle to keep up. How often does her work bring her to a place like this? On some level I knew the Lady Moirai was a figure in the shadows, but thinking of Runa just breathing in the smoke on these streets makes me want to scoop her up and whisk her back to my estate on the clean side of town.