Prologue

ASH

The teardrop stone, no larger than a grape, glistened with shades of silver. Crafted five centuries ago by master spell weavers long lost to history, the Sahar Stone was reputed to gift its wielder with unlimited power.

Ash studied the shiny jewel on his palm. It was light—too light—with the feel of glass. His skin tingled faintly where it touched the smooth surface, the result of someone’s attempt to make the artifact seem enchanted, but it was a laughable imitation of the Sahar’s alleged power.

His lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent snarl. A fake . This pathetic counterfeit was worthless.

He dropped it back into the steel box, bolted to the concrete shelf molded from the wall of the tiny room. The walls of the underground vault pressed in from all sides. The stale, damp air was thick with mold, and the weight of the earth above dragged at his senses.

If the Sahar Stone wasn’t here, where the hell was it?

He slammed the metal box shut. A thief would have no reason to leave a counterfeit artifact behind, which meant this was a decoy. The real artifact couldn’t be far. The exchange was too close for it to be stored anywhere else.

Ash stepped back from the shelf. Humans tended to overestimate the reliability of magic, but perhaps the Sahar’s keeper knew better than to trust a handful of wards to protect a legendary treasure. Magic was only as good as its weaver, and there was almost always a better weaver.

Sharp steel, on the other hand, had yet to fail him.

He inhaled, his senses stretching out. The cramped space around him, the larger section of the vault behind him, the unyielding earth overhead. His breath slid between his parted lips, his eyes half closed.

To his left.

He pivoted. From the shadows in the corner of the small room, darkness surged upward, taking the form of a man. A blade flashed.

Ash caught his attacker’s wrist, halting the dagger with its point an inch from his throat.

His assailant twisted his mouth with disdain, but fear tinged his scent.

“Looks like I’m just in time,” the jinn hissed. “Thanks for breaking all the wards for me.”

Ash didn’t bother to reply. Power sizzled in the air as he tightened his fingers around the jinn’s wrist until bones ground together.

Fear turned to realization, and the jinn’s irises flashed from brown to black. Shadows writhed across him as his body morphed back into darkness—but not fast enough.

Ash’s free hand plunged into the softening shape of the jinn’s body, and ebony flames exploded from his fingers. The fire ripped through the jinn, and his body resolidified in a splatter of blood and blackened flesh.

Face contorted in a mask of horror, the jinn staggered sideways, fell against the concrete shelf, and slid down to the floor. He went still, leaning against the wall, his dropped dagger inches from his limp hand and a smoking crater in his chest.

Ash studied the corpse, then stepped closer, opened the metal box, and plucked out the fake stone. With a final glance at the counterfeit, he dropped it on the jinn. It glinted prettily against his charred flesh.

Turning, Ash walked out. He passed through the main vault, the walls lined with shelves bearing dozens of carefully labeled crates and containers. His gaze didn’t drift from the exit. He had no interest in artifacts, treasures, or relics of bygone eras.

Except one.

Ascending the stairs, he came out in the toolshed that hid the vault’s entrance. A cool breeze whisked away the stench of burnt skin, and Ash rolled his shoulders, wishing for the dry wind of barren mountain peaks instead of the flat, chemical-tainted air of this realm.

As he strode away from the shed, a quick twist of his power concealed his body in a shadowy cloaking spell. Unnoticeable to anyone who might be looking, he studied the brick manor that sprawled across the property, its dozens of windows lit with yellow electric lights in the fading evening light. Tall peaked roofs, wooden shutters, manicured lawns. The building’s grand facade, so different from the dark, dangerous city it bordered, fortified its veneer of power and authority.

The Brinford Consulate, home to the Head Consul who oversaw all Consulates across the continent. Once the Head Consul discovered that his decoy stone had been disturbed and the unexplained corpse abandoned in his vault, what would he do?

Ash scanned the windows one by one.

The Head Consul would panic. He would rush to check that the real Sahar Stone was still safe, unwittingly showing Ash where it was hidden.

All Ash had to do was wait.