The crown of Ash and thorns : BOOK ONE TRILOGY

~MARA~

"Keep your eyes down, Mara."

"I know, Mama."

"No. You don't."

Her fingers tightened around my wrist, hard enough to leave a bruise.

"One mistake is all it takes."

Mama didn't wait for my reply. She released my wrist and turned back to the workbench, her hands moved quickly and skillfully over piles of dried lavender and yarrow.

I fixed the dark linen scarf tied around my head, pulling the frayed edge down lower over my forehead. The fabric created a deep shadow over my face hiding the strange silver of my eyes.

At twenty-one, I was old enough to understand that Mama wasn't simply being careful. But understanding didn't make the hidden life any easier.

Outside our shop window, early morning light bathed the cobblestones of Bellmere. Children were chasing a dog near the well, their laughter ringing through the cool air.

One of the boys spotted me through the glass and waved.

I started to smile. I leaned my head up just an inch to wave back.

"Eyes down," Mama snapped without looking up from her mortar and pestle.

I suppressed a sigh and dropped my gaze to the wooden counter.

We lived in a quiet corner of a quiet village. Nobody cared about us. Nobody looked twice at a healer's daughter sorting dried roots.

Outside, the town square was waking up. Wooden cart wheels creaked against stone. Chickens squawked from a passing wagon. Vendors shouted prices for fresh bread and salted fish.

And beneath the morning chatter, the quiet rumors spread.

"...more soldiers passed through the north road last night," an old woman's voice drifted through our open window.

"Looking for who?" a man asked.

"Same as always. They say someone saw one in the next valley over."

I reached for a bundle of dried feverfew. On the wooden post right outside our door, a parchment notice moved gently in the wind.

The black ink was fresh.

It was a sketch of a woman's face. Her features were blank, but her pupils were encircled by bright, unnatural light.

Above the portrait, bold block letters read: ‘ASHBORN.…REPORT IMMEDIATELY. REWARD FOR PROOF OF DEATH.’

My chest tightened. I looked away immediately, focusing on my hands.

Ashborn meant death. Fire. Blood. Monsters who destroyed the ancient world. At least, that was what everyone in Bellmere believed.

"Mama?" I kept my voice low as I stripped leaves into a glass jar. "Why does the Crown still hunt them?"

Mama's hands froze over the pestle. The grinding sound stopped completely.

"Because they are dangerous," she said, her voice flat and final.

"How do you know?" I pushed, keeping my head bowed. "You've never even met one."

Mama placed the heavy stone tool on the wooden table, making a soft thud sound.

"You don't know that.”

The words stayed in the air, strong and clear.

I lifted my gaze just enough to catch her profile. I expected anger. I expected the strict lecture she always gave me when I asked too many questions.

Instead, I saw fear.

Her pale face was stiff. Her jaw was clenched so hard a muscle twitched near her ear.

"Focus on the feverfew, Mara." Her voice had gone tight. "We have work to do."

I bit the inside of my cheek and obeyed.

---

The bell above the shop door chimed violently.

A man stumbled over the threshold, hitting his shoulder into the doorframe before collapsing against the nearest counter.

"Help..." he gasped, squeezing his torso. "Please..."

Blood soaked through his thin wool shirt, staining his fingers dark red. Mama was around the counter in an instant. I dropped my bundle of herbs and rushed to her side.

"Hold his shoulder," Mama ordered, pulling a pair of shears from her apron to slice through his bloody shirt. "Keep him upright."

I grabbed the man's far arm, bracing my boots against the floorboards. Up close, the smell of blood and rot hit my nose.

"Where were you hurt?" I asked, keeping my voice calm and steady.

"The... the eastern woods," he choked out, sweat dripping from his chin. "Something... came out of the treeline."

As Mama peeled back the blood-soaked fabric, I gasped.

The skin around the tear was black and shriveled, like it had been burned from the inside. The edges were bleeding fluid.

Mama's hands trembled for a bit of a second before she tied a clean cloth over the wound.

"Where did you say this happened?" she asked softly.

"The eastern road," the man groaned, his head rolling back against my arm. "Just past the old bridge."

Mama went completely still.

"Hold him tight," Mama commanded, reaching for a bottle of stinging alcohol. "This will burn."

The man thrashing in pain made it impossible to keep a firm grip. I leaned lower, trying to pin his shoulder with my body weight.

As I shifted, the edge of my dark headscarf caught on his torn collar.

The fabric slid back.

The morning light hit my face directly.

The traveler groaned, turning his head toward me. His eyes opened.

Then froze.

He was staring directly into my face….at the strange silver that marked my blood.

His face drained of whatever color was left. His bloody hand shot up, grabbing my wrist with wild, terrifying strength.

"You're…." he gasped, his teeth chattering. "You're one of….."

Mama stepped directly between us, shoving his hand off my wrist and blocking his view.

"She's nobody," Mama said, her voice dropping into a cold, dangerous tone I had never heard before.

"Those eyes..." the man whispered, shrinking back against the wall. "Goddess above... those eyes..."

"You need rest," Mama snapped, pressing a wet cloth laced with sleeping draught against his mouth. "Drink this."

The man struggled for a second before his eyelids grew heavy. Within moments, his breathing slowed, and his head slumped forward.

My heart beat against my chest.

Until now, silver eyes were just an annoyance. A secret Mama forced me to keep. A reason to wear uncomfortable scarves.

Now, I saw the terror in a stranger's face.

Mama pulled the cloth away from the sleeping man and turned on me.

Her face was white with anger.

"You let him see," she hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the back room behind the curtain.

"It was an accident!" I pulled back, my skin hot with shame and fear. "The cloth slipped while I was trying to hold him!"

"Accidents get people killed!"

"He was bleeding to death, Mama!" I snapped back, my own temper flaring. "What happens if someone sees? Why is everyone so afraid?"

Mama closed her eyes, breathing heavily through her nose.

"What happens?" I pushed, taking a step closer. "Tell me!"

Mama opened her eyes. The anger was gone, replaced by a raw, hollow panic that made my blood run cold.

"They'll take you," she whispered.

I went completely still. "Who?"

Outside, two riders passed the window, black cloaks snapping behind them. Mama's eyes flicked to the glass, watching them disappear down the road.

"The Crown," she whispered. "And they will not let you leave alive."

---

By late afternoon, the shop was closed, and Mama had sent me into the village square to trade for fresh bread.

I kept my head tilted down, my scarf pulled so low it nearly covered my eyebrows.

Every corner held a new shadow.

"They found three bodies near the river," a butcher was telling a customer. "Not a drop of blood left in them."

"The soldiers are setting up a blockade on the south road," another voice murmured. "Searching every wagon."

"Good," a woman replied, hugging her child close. "If there's an Ashborn in these woods, I want the Crown to burn them out."

My fingers trembled as I squeezed the loaf of bread against my chest. I passed the wanted poster again on my way home.

I stopped, staring at the drawn face of the silver-eyed woman.

I reached up, touching the rough linen covering my forehead.

‘What if they find me?’

---

By dusk, the anxiety was suffocating.

I left the cottage quietly while Mama was inside cooking dinner, walking out to the edge of the woods behind our garden to gather fresh moss for salves.

The forest was quiet. The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and deep gray.

Thump.

A small sound made me freeze.

A few feet away, a small brown sparrow lay on the forest floor. Its wings were awkwardly twisted. Its tiny eyes were dark and lifeless.

I dropped my basket and knelt beside it.

I didn't mean to do anything. I only wanted to brush the dirt from its feathers.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

The second my skin touched the bird's chest, a strange feeling rushed through my arm.

It wasn't warmth. It felt like cold water rushing straight from my heart, pouring down my fingers and into the dead bird.

---

One claw curled.

I stopped breathing.

Then the other moved.

Its chest rose. Once. Twice.

‘It's alive.’ A sudden, desperate wave of relief washed over me.

The hope lasted less than a heartbeat.

Slowly, unnaturally, the sparrow's head snapped toward me. Its black, glassy eyes stared directly into mine.

I scrambled backward on my hands and knees.

The bird didn't fly. It stood up on stiff, clumsy legs, taking a jerky step toward me like a puppet dragged by invisible strings.

"No," I choked out, pressing my back against the rough bark of an oak tree. "No, no, no..."

It took another step.

Then, as suddenly as it had moved, the force snapped.

The sparrow collapsed sideways into the dirt. Its legs went limp. Its eyes went dull.

Dead. Completely, undeniably dead.

I stared at my shaking hands.

‘Ashborn. The bloodline of death.’

‘They control the dead.’

A cold wave of horror washed over me.

---

Footsteps crunched on the dry leaves behind me.

I turned around.

Mama stood at the edge of the treeline, holding a wooden lantern.

She had seen it all.

Mama walked toward me slowly and knelt beside the dead sparrow. She reached out and touched its feathers.

Nothing happened.

Her face was paler than I had ever seen it.

She reached out and grabbed my shoulders. Her grip was tight, desperate, shaking.

"Listen to me, Mara," she said, her voice a rough whisper.

I nodded, tears slipping down my cheeks.

"You must never do that again," she said, staring directly into my eyes.

"I didn't mean to!" I sobbed. "I don't know what happened!"

"I don't care!" Mama tightened her grip, pulling me closer until our foreheads almost touched. "You cannot touch anything dead. You cannot let your eyes show. Do you understand me?"

She looked over her shoulder toward the dark woods, then back toward the lights of the village.

"If anyone sees you..." She stopped, her throat working as she swallowed hard.

"Who will come?" I whispered. "The Crown?"

Mama looked down at the dead bird in the dirt, then raised her terrified gaze back to mine.

"Everyone."