Page 1 of A Broken Ember

Prologue: Claeg

Five sun turns ago

I startled with a gasp, nearly dropping my sword as a relentless pull in my gut forced me from my engagement with Sivert.

Weakness, the Ruptor purred. A thrill shot down my spine, and a sensation like being pulled forward by my intestines nagged me. My body buzzed with the need to hunt for weakness—to protect the strength of the clan.

I blinked rapidly, orienting myself, but it was too late: my lapse in attention had cost me. Sivert gained the upper hand, driving me on the defensive. He hadn’t noticed the weakness calling out. Only I, the Ruptor, could sense it, being the only one granted the gift for detecting faults in others—whether that was illness or injury.

Sivert advanced, drawing his blade against mine with a screech of metal against metal. My lungs tugged at the air, desperate for its relief to fill my insides. Sweat unrelated to my workout poured from my brow like the waves crashing against the shore below us. We had been in the throes of battle for half the day now, but it was time to end the friendly cross of blades. I heaved against Sivert, forcing him to stumble upon the rock beneath our dancing feet. He grunted, gaining his footing in an instant, preparing to launch another attack, but I was already sheathing my blade.

My second registered the change, perhaps seeing the way my body nearly vibrated with the intense need to hunt. Or perhaps he saw my blown pupils, wide with hunger. There was weakness among us. Vulnerability. Like any skilled warrior, I would patch it up before it could be exploited. To ignore the opening would be to allow the weak to lay their burden upon the clan. Every moment an ill or wounded draconis drew breath was another chance the enemy could take us down. The weakness had to be Pruned.

“Is a Circle closing, Claeg?” a fledgling asked, her voice unwavering as she approached me with a flask of water. My throat was parched, but the discomfort could wait to be sated. I barely regarded the young woman as I pushed past, following my instincts toward the weakness calling to the Ruptor.

The Circulus castle wasn’t made for comfort or beauty, but efficiency. Everything was perfect, from its defensible position upon an unforgiving cliff towering above the raging sea, to its smooth rock floor which was painstakingly maintained everyday.The cliff jutted out from shore, a narrow land bridge creating a path from the mainland to the castle. The position gave us the vantage point to see in every direction and provided only one path for a land attack, one which was treacherous and those unfamiliar with traversing the path risked falling prey to the rocks below. The Circulus young learned to walk the path the minute they could stand. Many children died upon the weaponized rocks. Before the Ruptor had emerged, the walkway had been a way of expunging the weak within my clan. Now, it was regarded as a rite of passage, an honor to demonstrate such strength to overcome its challenges.

I sprinted over the deadly path with perfect ease, my feet intimate with its grooves and imperfections. The walk through the castle blurred by, the Ruptor guiding my steps. I was a dog following a scent that promised a juicy reward. I didn’t even register where I was until a voice jerked me out of my trance.

“Please, Claeg,” the familiar voice begged—Father, the man whom I regarded as a god. I blinked. That wasn’t right, but as my eyes took in my surroundings, I saw that the Ruptor hadn’t led me astray. The victim I found shattered my heart. My once strong mother was pale, her veins streaked with black, the color striking against the pale, sweat-soaked sheets. Her breath smelled of death and her eyes were heavily lined with dark circles. The sounds coming from her were tragic and horrifyingly weak—terrible, rattling gasps. Father trembled where he hovered above her sickbed, asking us the impossible. Doom lingered heavily in the air.

At some point, Clotho appeared beside me, and I quickly sent her to get our grandmother—the leader of the Circulus. Her narrow shoulders tensed and jaw pulsed. Her palpable anger matched the intensity of the Ruptor. Their betrayal cut deeply for both of us. My sister dutifully obeyed. Her long white hair, which was neatly braided down her back, flew behind her in her haste to fetch our grandmother. I turned back to Ercan, the man who’d sired us.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Why would you do this?” I asked my father, unable to hold back my growl. Ercan had a kind heart, but I didn’t think he would do something as treacherous as this. He clearly knew his mate had been sick but hadn’t informed Thana or me. All day, he had stayed in this room with Tamela, claiming they were attempting to “regenerate life.” The truth couldn’t be more obvious now: he had been hiding her illness, hoping nobody would notice the heir to the Circulus clan’s weakness. It was a shameful and pointless endeavor. The Ruptor always knew: it called to me when Circles were to be completed.

“Please, I can’t live without her.” Tears welled in his eyes. I snorted. He would put his own selfish desires over the clan?! I knew he loved his mate, but what he dared ask of us went against everything the Circulus stood for. I looked at my mother. She gave Ercan’s hand a little squeeze.

“It’s okay, my love. My Circle is coming to an end.” She gave him a strained smile. Obviously, she had made her peace with her weakness. Good. One must always put the Circulus' strength above their own desires.

“No, it’s not. They don’t see that you are still strong. This isn’t your end unless they make it so. It’s not fair.” He shook his head fiercely. She leaned forward and wiped a tear from his eye.

“They aren’t ready,” she murmured, rubbing small circles into the back of his hand. He fell to his knees and brought her fingers to his lips. Before I could ask what she meant, the door swung open. Father stiffened. “Mother,” Tamela rasped. “It’s my Circle . . . it’s ending.”

Grandmother hummed but didn’t comment, instead letting Clotho take the lead.

“Out, Ruptor,” Clotho snapped at me. I bristled but dipped my head, leaving the room only to linger outside the door. As a future Janardan, Clotho would have to witness this, whereas I was nothing but an executioner. They were the judges; I was their tool.

“Prepare yourself, daughter, for the completion of your Circle.” Thana spoke with a hint of tenderness for her daughter. Mother had always impressed upon me the importance of Circulus’ strength. My thoughts circled around my father’s treasonous words. As the clan’s Ruptor, it was my privilege to complete Circles, yet he asked me for mercy. I shuddered. That wasn’t my purpose. I kept the clan strong. That was my mercy.

“C-clotho . . . my child, please,” Ercan stuttered, his voice breaking. Pathetic. I shook my head and walked away, unwilling to listen to his pleas anymore.

I groaned, flipping over in bed and placing my pillow over my head to try to drown out the flood of confusing emotions pressing upon me. Hurt. Fear. Anger. And the worst of them all . . . a profound pain. “By the gods.” Pruning had never hurt before. It always led to new growth. There was no reason to avoid it. But Pruning my mother . . . it made my insides feel like the scum that clung to the surface of the swamps deep in the southern portion of the Circulus territory. I couldn’t show that, though. I was a warrior—-more than that, I was a Ruptor. A pillar of strength. There could be no visible cracks, so I pushed myself up and prepared myself a bath with an orange blossom. The water was warm and inviting, calming me. I lay there, relishing the citrusy scent as it enveloped me.

A soft knock made me groan.

It was time.

“Come in.”

Sivert strode in, only briefly glancing at my naked body before dismissing me. As my second, he had seen all of me. He carried supplies to prepare me for my duty today. Inks for coloring my skin, the dyes would be painted on me in the traditional chains. Sivert marched over to the curtains and pulled them wide, allowing the light to stream in. I squinted against the light, taking a deep breath and exhaling all the unwanted feelings clinging to me.

“Thana expects you in the forest when the sun is at its highest. We have until then to prepare you for the completion of Tamela’s Circle.” Sivert’s tone was purely business. I grunted. He offered me a towel as I stepped out of the bath, silky water dripping to the ground. I used it to wrap my pale hair. His deft hands went to work drying me. His touch stirred the Ruptor’s need to assert dominance, preferably between silky sheets, but I ignored the sensation.

I hummed as he finished drying my body and guided me to the chair. He wasted no time, immediately grabbing his brushes and beginning the arduous task of decorating my body. The horse hair tickled against my skin as he wove intricate chains around my chest, legs, back, and arms. When he was done, black stains marred my nearly translucent skin. Dark loops covered every muscle.

Sivert stood back and admired his work. “I’ll see you in the forest, Ruptor.” He bowed, and I nodded, dismissing him.

Once the door clicked shut behind him, I sauntered over to my closet. My eyes fell past my typical outfit of leather armor to the traditional dress for the ceremony. It was a loose-fitting, sheer, white robe that brought attention to the Circles decorating my skin. Metal cuffs clinked together around my wrists. To complete my outfit, I sheathed my preferred blade between my shoulders and a second one at my hip. A smart warrior never went anywhere without their weapons. While I could slay an opponent with the help of a sword, my hands were just as lethal. My father had taught me that a wise warrior forged their body into a weapon itself so that they were never defenseless. Still, I liked the weight of the blade.