Season of Embers Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Also by the Authors

  Connect with the Authors

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Season of Embers

  The Bonded: Book One

  Rachael Vaughn

  Wendi Williams

  Wendi: To E., G., and G. My everything, for always.

  * * *

  Rachael: To Trent and Seva.

  Chapter 1

  SOFI

  “Sofi, hold still.”

  Arina’s voice was shrill as she yanked my head into position. My eyes watered as she tied another ribbon into place around a lock of my pale blonde hair, careful not to displace the bright blue cornflowers that had been tucked through the plaited strands. My mother made a sound of dissatisfaction from behind Arina, and in the mirror, I could see her reach over my oldest sister’s shoulder to adjust a stray tendril of hair that had snaked free from one of my elaborate braids.

  My mother’s reflection disappeared as I caught a flash of flaxen hair out of the corner of my vision.

  “Marten, no!”

  A crash sounded from the kitchen, and my mother sprinted out of my bedroom after my two-year-old nephew. My middle sister, Hanna, was hot on her heels. The house was filled near to bursting, with my mother, grandmother, two aunts, three cousins, two sisters, and five children between them. It was bedlam.

  It was always like this on Spring Day, when all the men of the house disappeared and left the women to prepare for the Ceremony. I capitalized it in my mind, the importance of the event clear even though I knew barely anything about what the night held in store.

  A cry came from the kitchen, and my head turned at the sound, but Arina gave my hair a vicious tug and I quickly straightened, stifling a groan.

  “Don’t pull all my hair out.” My voice came out in a whine. My nerves were showing.

  I had endless childhood memories of Spring Day preparations—watching my sisters and cousins get ready for their Ceremonies. I’d peeked around doors, watching my mother braid their hair, watching them don their elegant dresses, their faces all calm and composed under flawless makeup. I’d wondered endlessly about the secret ceremony—what did they do? And then when they returned the following morning, they always seemed so grown up, so knowing. Each time, I’d dreamed about what it would be like on my day, when I was finally eighteen and getting ready for my own Ceremony.

  I’d never expected to be so nervous. My stomach was in knots, my mind spinning. Where would we be going? What was going to happen there? What if I made a fool of myself in front of the whole community? I clenched my hands into fists to keep them from trembling, hoping my sister wouldn’t notice. It was a miracle I’d been able to keep from throwing up.

  “There.” With a final eye-watering twist, Arina fastened the last ribbon into place and turned me to face my reflection in the mirror. “Look, I put great-grandma Lisandra’s clip here on the side.”

  I turned my head, admiring the sparkling blue clip, fashioned in the shape of a tiny cluster of flowers. I had to admit, my sister had done an amazing job. The front part of my hair was caught back in a series of elaborate braids, all twined with satiny white ribbons. The rest was left to fall free in soft white-blonde waves. Cascades of cornflowers, the very first of the season, were also woven through, held in place by tiny clips. Against the dark brown of my eyes and my pale skin, the effect made me feel pretty. I hardly recognized the face in the mirror.

  A second shrill cry echoed down the hallway, and Arina glanced up sharply at the sound of her own child, five-year-old Mia. She flashed a quick smile at me in the mirror. “You look beautiful. Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”

  Uh-oh, I must not have hidden my nerves that well after all. Bending forward, she gave me a quick hug from behind. “I wish I could be there with you,” she said. Her voice was wistful, but the look in her eyes was unreadable. Worried, maybe? The knot in my stomach twisted tighter, but before I could puzzle it out, she left the room to deal with the escalating cries coming down the hall from the kitchen. Since only women over eighteen were allowed to attend the Ceremony that night, Arina had volunteered to stay at home with the children. Looking at the stranger in the mirror, I half-wished I could take her place.

  I was never good at being the center of attention. But despite that, I had to admit I was curious. So much of the Ceremony was shrouded in secrecy, I had only been able to glean the basics over the years.

  Spring Day itself was a widely cherished event that our town had been celebrating ever since my great-grandfather and the small contingent of other immigrants had left our small, Eastern European homeland in the late 1800s, fleeing foreign occupation and establishing our little community of Vaikesti here in the midwestern U.S. Nearly everyone in town was descended from the immigrant population, and we kept to the old traditions, which included Spring Day. The bulk of the festivities would take place the following morning, on the first of May, including singing, dancing, and plenty of food. And while every child in town looked forward to the carnival-like atmosphere of Spring Day, it was the events of the night before that made my stomach twist with nerves.

  I knew the Ceremony took place at midnight. I knew only women were permitted to attend. I knew it would honor every girl who had turned eighteen since last Spring Day. And I knew I had to participate in a secret ritual. But that was all I knew. The women of the community were notoriously tight-lipped, and even my sisters had been unwilling to share more.

  My thoughts were interrupted as my mother reentered the room.

  Her dark eyes, normally tired, were sparkling in her lined face, and she held in her arms a beautiful white dress I’d never seen before.

  “Are you ready?” She laid the dress out on the foot of my bed. I raised an eyebrow as I took in the yards of white fabric woven through with white ribbons and seed pearls, lace netting around the hem and scooped neck. I didn’t remember either of my sisters’ dresses being this fancy.

  “Is it Spring Day or am I getting married?” I asked, half-joking, but my mother didn’t smile.

  “This is the dress I wore on my Spring Day,” she answered, her expression wistful. “It should be just your size. Besides, it’s tradition.”

  I knew better than to argue with that. ‘It’s tradition,’ was the answer to pretty much any question I‘d asked since I was old enough to ask questions. Besides, the dress was beautiful. Shrugging, I got to my feet and pulled off my t-shirt, then wrig
gled out of my jeans. My mother helped me step into the dress and maneuver it into place, doing up the hidden zipper in the back. She fluffed my hair out around my shoulders and turned me to face the mirror.

  I really did look like I was going to a wedding. My own. I sucked in a breath. My mother was getting teary-eyed behind me. My discomfort grew. What exactly was going to happen at the Ceremony?

  Hanna stuck her head around the door frame. She gave me an approving smile before addressing my mother. “Arina’s getting the kids ready for bed. Then it should be about time to go. Are you two ready?”

  I had no idea if I was ready, so I didn’t answer, but my mother gave a nod and crossed the room to speak with my sister. I looked toward the mirror again, meeting my own wide-eyed gaze. A lock of hair had come loose near the crown of my head, and I reached up to fasten it down. A stab of pain made me stifle a gasp as my finger caught on my great-grandmother’s clip, the edge of the metal digging in deep. I jerked my hand back and stuck the finger in my mouth, but not before a bright drop of blood landed on the shoulder of my dress. The red was vivid against the pristine white fabric, and my stomach sank. Surely that wasn’t a good omen.

  My mother turned from the doorway, and I quickly pulled some of my hair over my shoulder to hide the spot and pasted on a smile as she joined me by the mirror.

  “Make sure your Vanaemake is awake and ready,” she told my sister. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

  Hanna nodded and left to find my grandmother. My mother turned me to face her.

  “Do you remember all your words?”

  “I think so,” I said nervously. Each of the girls participating in the Ceremony had a series of lines to recite as part of the ritual. I’d been practicing my phrases, and while every kid raised in Vaikesti had more than a passing familiarity with the traditional language of our ancestors, the phrases were meant to be sung, and I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t afraid I’d mess up and make a fool of myself in front of my friends and family.

  My mother sat on the edge of my bed and patted the quilt next to her. I joined her, perching awkwardly in my dress. Her face was serious as she looked me over, and my heart sped up. Was I finally going to find out what the night had in store for me?

  “Sofi,” she began. “Tonight is a very special night, you know that.”

  I didn’t know anything, so I kept still and didn’t interrupt.

  “I don’t know what your sisters may have told you, but I don’t want you to worry.”

  What was that supposed to mean? They hadn’t told me anything. Naturally, I immediately began to worry.

  “The rituals are old,” she went on, “but the binding is symbolic. Maybe a long time ago the magic really worked, I don’t know, but—”

  Hanna poked her head around the door again, cutting off my mother’s words. I could have strangled my sister. Binding? Magic?

  “We’re ready when you are,” my sister announced.

  My mother made no effort to finish what she’d been saying; she just leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, kallike,” she whispered, then rose and left the room. I didn’t miss the meaningful glance she shared with my sister on her way out.

  Hanna must have seen the panicked expression on my face, because she gave me an understanding smile. “Don’t worry,” she said quietly as she ushered me out of the room, fussing over the trailing ribbons on my dress. Her lips were close to my ear. “The binding isn’t real. I think they always hope it will be, but the words never work.”

  Before I had a chance to react, my aunts and older cousins joined the procession, my grandmother bringing up the rear, and I was herded out the door and into the cool night air. Whatever questions I might have had, it was too late. The Spring Day Ceremony was here.

  Chapter 2

  DARJA

  I was floating. Weightless and untethered, blood thrummed in my fingertips and buzzed beneath my lips. My eyes were open, but everything around me was pleasantly out-of-focus. Velvet darkness hovered at the edges of my vision. I blinked, then blinked again, lingering in the darkness, gently coaxed by the siren song of unconsciousness.

  But, no. It was important that I stay awake. I couldn’t think why, but I knew it mattered. I sucked in a deep breath and felt my lungs fill with cool, antiseptic-scented air. Another breath. This one I held until I saw spots dance in front of my vision.

  I turned my attention to my surroundings, curious about what was causing this delicious lightness, like my whole body had been inflated with helium. I looked down my arm and saw something resembling a plastic butterfly perched on the back of my hand, and I smiled, delighted. It occurred to me only in a fleeting moment of clarity that ‘delighted’ was not a word I would have used to describe my life before this place—this feeling—but I shook it off.

  From the butterfly, a plastic tube snaked its way up a crisp white sheet, looped over a bed rail, and then twined around a metal pole before disappearing into a plump bag filled with clear liquid. This, I was mostly sure, was the source of my current state of zen.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled incoherently in the general direction of the bag. My voice sounded thick and far away, not-quite-connected to the rest of me. The rest of me, meanwhile, pulsed with a thrilling numbness, like a foot fallen asleep, warm and heavy.

  “What was that?”

  The voice sounded as equally as distant as my own, and for a moment, I thought it must have been me. But then a presence materialized at my side, a slim figure in a red polo and khaki pants. Ms. Kross. I tried to smirk, but couldn’t get my face to cooperate. I had gotten in trouble for telling her all the tajas looked like they ran cash registers at Target. It felt like ages ago, but couldn’t have been more than a few weeks.

  It had been a sound beating, but nothing less than I’d deserved, as Mama Taja had reminded me throughout. I’d laughed at her afterward, was struck again, then sent to Ms. Kross, who’d been stone silent as she’d bandaged my backside. Had I blushed? I couldn’t remember at this point, but I didn’t think so.

  I looked at Ms. Kross, her heart-shaped face stern. She’d told me once that looking mean made her seem older, and that made the girls respect her. I hadn’t told her that at night, in our rooms, we frowned as hard as we could, seeing who could come closest to looking like ‘Kross the Boss.’

  I snorted at the thought, louder than I’d expected in the quiet room, nearly frightening myself out of my still-tingling skin.

  “Is something funny?” she said, moving closer to check the tubing attached to my happy little butterfly. “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes,” I said, answering the first question. Then, to the second, “And, no. Nothing hurts. Everything feels wonderful.”

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, well. That’s the medication doing its job. It should last until…” She cleared her throat again, then busied herself clicking a small dial near the bag that hung above me.

  “Until…?”

  “The Ceremony. You remember, of course?”

  I did. No amount of happy juice could cloud those memories. Naturally, I’d never attended one, but it was seemingly all we learned about, all we talked about, and sometimes, all we dreamed about. The Ceremony was our reason for existing, or so we were told. We wouldn’t all be Chosen, but we were meant to act like we were. Because eventually, when we turned eighteen, one of us would be selected for the honor of representing the koolis at the Ceremony. It was a hard path, Mama Taja seemed to enjoy telling us, but whoever was Chosen would be rewarded beyond her wildest imaginings.

  Was this my wildest imagining? The buzz was great, sure, but the rest of it? I wasn’t sure I’d been dreaming of celebrating my eighteenth birthday shivering naked under a sheet in a hospital bed, too stoned to move.

  “What’s going to happen?” I asked, feeling suddenly breathless. I looked at the plastic butterfly on my hand, and wondered if there were other butterflies inside me, beating their wings and sending my heart pounding int
o my throat.

  “All shall be revealed,” Ms. Kross said softly, the tired words sounding even more exhausted than usual.

  “And the spirit shall be fulfilled,” I responded, as I had done every morning in eksam. I used to think if I just moved my lips without vocalizing the words, it wouldn’t count. I didn’t know why it had even bothered me, but it had, so I’d continued my silent protest until Helena Tamm went to Mama Taja and told her I refused to receive the spirit. I couldn’t sit for a week.

  “Good girl,” Ms. Kross said, patting my arm. “Are you able to move?” she asked, crossing to a wardrobe in the corner and opening its doors to peer inside.

  I tried to lift my arm, but only managed a couple of fingers. “Not really,” I said, attempting a shrug.

  Ms. Kross sighed. “I’ll need to find someone to help dress you.” She turned away from the wardrobe, holding a long white dress over her arm, lace spilling nearly to the ground in a frothy cascade.

  I swallowed, hard, feeling some kind of emotion at seeing the dress, but not understanding what any of it meant. It was gorgeous, that much was obvious. The kind of dress I would have said I hated, but would have secretly wanted to crawl into, feeling the soft, handmade lace shift and slide against my skin.