Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) by Intisar Khanani Page B

the scales. The surface is rough, gritty, the magic gone from it. I stagger to my feet. When I pull my hand away, bits of rock crumble to the floor, leaving the tentacle’s surface pitted and uneven. I’ve heard of magic that manipulated stone, but I’ve never imagined it on such a massive level.
    Stooping, I retrieve my glowstone, then resettle my pack on my shoulders, wincing at the new bruises I’ve accumulated. I need to leave before anything else that lives in this cursed place comes hunting me.
    Above me, the demolished stairwell brightens. My mage sight tells me it’s the friendly ball of magic I sensed earlier. A moment later, a flame curves around the monster’s stone tentacle rising high above the stairs and swoops down to the landing. I close my eyes against the onslaught of light.
    “Mageling,” a voice says, the light dimming.
    Through slitted eyes I see a bird standing on the landing. It’s at least as large as a peacock, and that’s where its likeness to a mere bird ends. Its body flickers with a flame that knows no heat, gold and ruby and sapphire. It’s warmth and comfort, beauty and radiance. For a heartbeat I simply stare in awe.
    “You did well,” the phoenix says. “From what you accomplished, I expected to find a master mage.”
    I shake my head. “Is he … is the mage dead?” I ask, my voice hoarse. Even as I form the words, I know the answer.
    “The beast caught him. There was no helping him.”
    I rub my arms. I’m glad the mage is dead, deeply grateful I no longer have to fear him, and yet it sickens me. As far as I can remember, in perhaps a year of living, I have caused the death of three people: the fang I left behind in Blackflame’s cages; the fang lord Kol upon whom I unleashed my sunbolt; and now this mage, who threw me to my death and so, no doubt, saved me.
    Three people. Not knowing the names of two of them makes it a hundred times worse. But I tried to help the mage — it was his choice to push me down the stairs, to race up to his destruction. It wasn’t my fault. Except that I snuck through the portal knowing he might follow. I led him here.
    “Come,” the phoenix says, voice soft. “There are other creatures that wander this place. You must leave now or risk facing them.”
    I nod jerkily. The phoenix flutters over the nearby tentacle to land beside me. The stairwell is too narrow for him to fly, so instead he descends the stairs on foot, head bobbing, wings extended slightly for balance.
    I follow him, grateful for his radiance. My head pounds with the force of the magic I’ve absorbed. I can feel it thrumming through my veins, buzzing beneath my skin. I keep a hand on the wall, try to focus on the strangeness of this moment, the things I need to understand. Why did the phoenix come to our aid? And why is he leading me out now himself?
    At the bottom of the stairs, the phoenix dims his fire and crosses to the now-empty doorway. “Quickly,” he says, darting outside. “There is a bridge across the canyon that borders the city. A globe of magefire burns above it.”
    I nod, stepping carefully over the newly fallen stones and bricks.
    “The Burnt Lands end there. You’ll be safe once you cross.”
    I didn’t know that for certain, but it was the one thing I was counting on.
    “The bridge is—” He turns to gesture with the tip of his wing.
    “Northwest,” I supply, my voice rough as sandpaper.
    The wingtip points down the avenue. “Yes. Keep straight to the plaza, then turn left. You’ll see the bridge from there. I’ll keep watch from above.” He folds his wing. “I am sorry I cannot allow you time to grieve your master. Once you’re safe there will be time.”
    “He wasn’t my master,” I say, dropping my chin so he doesn’t see the shame written on my face. I wasn’t grieving for the dead mage. I was mourning myself, what I have become.
    I force myself forward at a brisk walk, scanning the debris scattered across the road. Ahead of me, a