Novels by Adaeze Eze

I could tell Fenric was slipping away from me long before I saw the look in his eyes. It began as silent thin cracks in the usual chatter that filled the space between us during our endless treks through the tunnels. Then came the hesitation in his responses, the way he avoided my gaze when we made camp, and the nervous tapping of his fingers against the hilt of his dagger when I spoke of Ithros.Something inside me told me I was losing him. But I couldn’t afford to believe it. After all, he had been the only one by my side since Corin left. I can’t afford to lose him as well, not yet.We had escaped the Ash guild only days before, slipping through the smoke-choked caverns that twisted beneath Drakemire like veins of shadow. My body was still weak, racked by hunger, exhaustion, and something far darker. The shard sickness. Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel it like a storm brewing behind my ribs. The power that wasn’t mine whispered through my veins, begging to be used, promisi

We left the Ash Guild’s tunnels long before dawn. The air outside was cold and dry, brushing against my skin like the breath of a ghost. Every step I took away from the guild felt like walking on borrowed time I had stolen from a fate that refused to let me go.Fenric walked ahead, his torchlight bobbing weakly in the wind. The tunnels spat us out onto the edge of the ravine that cut through the heart of Drakemire. The stars were fading, thin streaks of light fighting to stay alive before the sun rose. I could smell the iron of my own blood under my tongue, though I hadn’t been wounded.We didn’t speak for a long time. Silence was safer. Words felt heavy, like stones that could draw the wrong ears.It wasn’t until the jagged outline of the old ridge came into view that Fenric turned to me.“Malrik,” he said quietly. “You know what Ithros is offering isn’t just a throne. It’s peace. Power. The end of this run.”I tightened the cloak around me. “Peace bought from Ithros is not peace but

The air in the tunnels was damp, metallic, and old. Every breath tasted of rust and ash.My boots sank into fine dust as I moved, lantern light bouncing across jagged rock. Fenric followed close behind, carrying a pack that jingled faintly with vials and tools.We’d been walking for hours, chasing whispers through the underbelly of Drakemire.Somewhere in these twisting veins of stone, the Ash Guild waited.“You sure this is smart?” Fenric muttered. “They’re assassins, not diplomats.”I didn’t look back. “We don’t have the luxury of choosing friends. Only options.”“Options that stab people for a living.”“Then we’ll talk fast.”The tunnel opened abruptly into a cavern. A pool of red water shimmered in the middle, glowing faintly from the ember veins that ran beneath it. Stalactites hung low from the ceiling, dripping molten condensation that hissed when it hit the stone. The sound echoed like the ticking of a clock.I halted. “This is it.”Fenric lowered his pack, scanning the shadow

The tunnels still smelled like smoke.It clung to everything, the stones, the water, my skin. When I breathed, it tasted like iron and memory.Fennric had found us a corner beneath what used to be the glass market, a hollow of fallen masonry and tangled pipes. The walls sweated with condensation, black with soot. The only light came from the faint ember-glow in my hands, which I kept low and covered. Even that small warmth made him flinch sometimes.We hadn’t spoken in hours.Above us, the city moaned, wood creaking, distant bells tolling for the dead. Somewhere, a voice shouted a prayer. Others answered it. I caught fragments through the cracks in the stone.“Saint of Ash, take our fear.”“Saint of Ash, burn our enemies.”The first time I heard it, I thought I was imagining things.The second time, Fennric smiled.“Listen to them,” he murmured. “They’ve already begun.”“Begun what?” I asked.He leaned forward, his thin face lit from below. “To believe.”I stared at him. “They’re terr

The blade whispered from its sheath, shards of broken light dripping off its edge. Veynar didn’t posture, he didn’t threaten. He simply stepped forward and swung.I barely saw it. A streak of glasslight cutting through the smoke faster than I thought.The shard screamed inside me, my arm snapping up of its own accord. Crimson fire flared across my palm. Steel met flame. The impact rattled every bone in my body, sparks cascading down the stones.I staggered back, breath ripped from my lungs. He hadn’t even put his weight into it.Veynar advanced, calm as a man walking through a garden. Another strike came, precise, elegant, a butcher slicing meat. My feet moved before I could think, the shard jerking me sideways. The blade carved through the air where my neck had been, slicing a hanging sign in two. The wood hissed, its cut edge glowing faintly as if burned.“Good,” Veynar said evenly. “You are fast. But not fast enough.”His third strike was a blur. My body screamed. I threw fire to m

This The stink of ash clung to my skin. No matter how many alleys I ducked into, no matter how many buckets of gutter-water I splashed across my hands, I could still feel the heat of that soldier’s scream echoing in my palm.Drakemire was not silent.Voices followed me in the dark, carried on the rising smoke.“They say he burned a man to dust.”“His hand glowed like molten iron.”“The rat-king of the alleys has a devil’s brand.”Every whisper was a knife turned my way. People shut doors as I passed. A drunk stumbled into the street and, seeing my face, shrieked as though I carried plague. He ran, tripping, leaving me staring at my reflection in a black puddle, veins faintly red, eyes rimmed with fire.The shard pulsed inside me, a heartbeat too strong for my chest. They fear you because you are more. They are meat, you are flame. Burn them. Claim them.I pressed my hand hard against the wall, forcing a ragged breath. The stone hissed under my touch, a scorch mark spreading in the sha