Page 197 of Kingdom of Ash

Lost in her bloodlust, the Yellowlegs Matron’s horrible face lit with triumph as she went for the easy killing blow that would rip out Manon’s heart.

The Blackbeak Matron barked in warning, but Manon was already moving.

Just as those curved claws tore through leather and skin, Manon twisted to the side and brought down Wind-Cleaver upon the Yellowlegs Matron’s outstretched neck.

Blue blood sprayed upon the snow.

Dorian did not look away this time at the head that tumbled to the ground. At the brown-robed body that fell with it.

The two remaining Matrons halted. None of the Crochans behind Dorian so much as spoke as Manon stared down pitilessly at the bleeding torso of the Yellowlegs Matron.

No one seemed to breathe at all as Manon plunged Bronwen’s sword into the icy earth beneath and bent to take the crown of stars from the Yellowlegs witch’s fallen head.

He had never seen a crown like it.

A living, glowing thing that glittered in her hand. As if nine starshad been plucked from the heavens and set to shine along the simple silver band.

The crown’s light danced over Manon’s face as she lifted it above her head and set it upon her unbound white hair.

Even the mountain wind stopped.

Yet a phantom breeze shifted the strands of Manon’s hair as the crown glowed bright, the white stars shining with cores of cobalt and ruby and amethyst.

As if it had been asleep for a long, long time. And now awoke.

That phantom wind pulled Manon’s hair to the side, silver strands brushing across her face.

And beside him, around him, the Thirteen touched two fingers to their brow in deference.

In allegiance to the queen who stared down the two remaining High Witches.

The Crochan Queen, crowned anew.

The sacred fire leaped and danced, as if in joyous welcome.

Manon scooped up Bronwen’s sword, lifting it and Wind-Cleaver, and said to the Blueblood Matron, the witch appearing barely a few years older than Manon herself, “Go.”

The Blueblood witch blinked, eyes wide with what could only be fear and dread.

Manon jerked her chin toward the wyvern waiting behind the witch. “Tell your daughter all debts between us are paid. And she may decide what to do with you. Take that other wyvern out of here.”

Manon’s grandmother bristled, iron teeth flashing as if she’d bark a counter-command to the Blueblood Matron, but the witch was already running for her wyvern.

Spared by the Crochan Queen on behalf of the daughter who had given Manon the gift of speaking to the Ironteeth.

Within seconds, the Blueblood Matron was in the skies, the Yellowlegs witch’s wyvern soaring beside her.

Leaving Manon’s grandmother alone. Leaving Manon with swords raised and a crown of stars glowing upon her brow.

Manonwas glowing, as if the stars atop her head pulsed through her body. A wondrous and mighty beauty, like no other in the world. Like no one had ever been, or would be again.

And slowly, as if savoring each step, Manon stalked toward her grandmother.

Manon’s lips curved into a small smile while she advanced on her grandmother.

Warm, dancing light flowed through her, as unfaltering as what had poured into her heart these past few bloody minutes.

She did not balk. Did not fear.

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