Chapter 1 — The Ashwright's Son

"I want to see the cracked Throne. I want to see the archive. I want to know what actually happened, not the version that filtered through three villages to reach us and lost half its information on the way." She picked up the document again. "And I want you to come with me, because you're the only person in this village who doesn't bore me and also because—"She stopped."Because what?" he said.She looked at the document. "Because I think someone is going to come looking for you eventually, and I'd rather you be somewhere interesting when they do."He felt something shift in the room, the way the air changed before rain."What makes you think someone's looking for me?"She reached into the document pile and produced a page — older than the others, handled carefully. She turned it so he could read it.It was a copy of a copy of something, the handwriting blurred with reproduction, but legible: the text of a prophecy, dated six years ago, mentioning ash and fire and a child of neither blood nor title.He read it. He read it again."Where did you get this?""My father's archive. It came through with a trade caravan two years ago. I've been sitting on it." She paused. "I wasn't sure how to bring it up."Kael looked at the words. Born from the burning. The ash will know him.He thought about the fire that swirled toward him. The warm stone from the Greyveil. The torches that lit when he passed them in the dark.He put the paper down on the pile."I'm not a king," he said."I know," Maren said. "You're fifteen and you've never been outside the eastern reaches. But you might become one, whether you want to or not. And I'd rather watch you become something interesting than stay in Cinder's Edge and keep records of wheat yields forever."He looked at her."I want to choose my own life," he said."Then choose," she said. "But do it somewhere with better options."He looked at the paper one more time. He pushed it back into the pile.He said: "We leave Thursday."