by Ariana Nash
‘Lost & Found’
3.5 Silk & Steel
Ariana Nash
Dark Fantasy Author
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Copyright © December 2019 Ariana Nash
Ariana Nash is a pen name of international USATODAY bestselling fantasy & sci-fi author, Pippa DaCosta.
December 2019. US Edition. Edited is US English. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictions, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Version 1. 0
Contents
Foreword
1. Lost & Found, Silk & Steel, #3.5
Silk & Steel (excerpt)
Also by Ariana Nash
About the Author
Foreword
After wrapping up the Silk & Steel trilogy, I thought I was done with this world. But even as I typed The End after Blood & Ice, and Lysander and Eroan had gone off on some adventure, one little thing niggled the back of my mind: Trey.
From the short story prequel, Sealed with a Kiss, fans fell in love with the kind-hearted messenger. He then went on to feature in the main series, proving himself to be a truly good character and friend when needed the most. He stood by Eroan, even when he didn’t agree with some of his choices, and he fought for what’s right, like all good Assassins of the Order.
We don’t know exactly what happened between Trey and Nye, but we can guess. And after everyone else got their happy ending, Trey’s ending just didn’t sit right with me. He needed closure, and so did we.
That’s where Lost & Found comes in. Trey’s story. It takes place AFTER the trilogy and contains spoilers for the Silk & Steel series, so be sure to read the Silk & Steel trilogy first.
The Silk & Steel world has a special place in my heart. The characters touched me like none other in my entire writing career. I’m terribly sad to see it over, and yet thrilled that these books are in the hands of thousands of readers world-wide, who truly love these dragons and elves as much as I do.
Words are not enough, but they’ll have to do: Thank you for everything, Dear Reader.
Now, enjoy Trey’s story…
Lost & Found, Silk & Steel, #3.5
Trey had always been a wanderer. “Little Restless Feet,” his mother had called him as an elfling. She'd laugh, ruffle his hair, and tell him he’d wander right off the edge of Alumn’s world.
He’d wandered far one day, trying to find this elusive edge of the world, thinking he might find Alumn. He’d ask the goddess to keep his ma and pa safe from dragons. But he’d gotten lost, gotten turned around in the endless forest. The trees had grown bigger and tracks moved, or so it seemed. Then he’d spotted the village lantern’s glowing and stumbled home, not knowing a monster stalked him.
What happened after was the same story told up and down the land, and the reason why most elves were orphans.
Now, Trey didn’t get lost.
He wasn’t supposed to get lost. But the seasons had waxed and waned since he’d last trekked this way. Saplings had sprung up, old oaks cut down. He was sure this path led across the moor to the elven capital of Ashford, and yet… not. He checked the early evening skies, looking for the reassuring twinkle of the North Star but found only heavy cloud cover.
Cold air nipped at his face, night approaching. If he didn’t reach familiar ground soon, he’d have to make camp without shelter. He walked on, carving through low brush, following what could have been an old elf track or an animal track. If it were an elf track, the scrub had grown over, meaning it was little-used. Another sign he was on the wrong path.
He adjusted the blade on its belt hook and the backpack. The shortsword bumped reassuringly against his thigh. Smaller than most Order dragonblades, Eroan Ilanea had crafted it personally, knowing Trey would prefer the weapon be light and fast. Eroan had given him the sword as a parting gift, as though he’d known for weeks that Trey had been gathering the courage to ask to return to his messenger ways.
Technically, Trey was still an Assassin of the Order, even if the Order had mostly dissolved. With the dragons now tamed, the Order assassins had found themselves out of work. Some had fallen into new lives, pairing up, creating families, staking out claims and tending the land. Eroan had fallen into adventures in far off lands, accompanied by his dragon, Lysander. And Trey had fallen back into wandering. He’d seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime. The Order way hadn’t really been his way.
He huffed a sigh and stopped to eye his surroundings. Mounds of thistle and brambles knotted alongside the path, making camping impossible. The spindly trees were too small to support a hammock. His best bet was to hike higher onto the moor where the grass fell away, leaving rocky outcrops. He squinted at the exposed rocks. He could make a fire there, deterring hungry wolves. There were no dragons around to be lured by firelight, and even if there were, they shied away from elves.
He veered off the path and used his dragonblade to cut through the brush. Trekking higher until the brambles released him onto open moorland. Crickets chirped and a swift breeze hissed across the land. A familiar, contented smile lifted his lips. He’d forgotten how much he’d missed this. He enjoyed the company of others, but nothing settled the soul like miles and miles of unbroken landscape.
He dumped his bag beside a tumble of huge boulders, put there by ancient glaciers, and set to work making a fire. The flame from his flint and steel caught a bunch of kindling quickly and soon grew into leaping flames. He cleared a space, rolled out a bed mat, rummaged around in the back for the berries he’d found during the day, and settled in the shadow of the boulders for the night.
He’d made a life out of traveling from settlement to settlement, delivering messages and gifts from elf to elf. He knew the rise and fall of the land like the back of his hand, could trek for miles blindfolded. At least, he had been able to. Until the Order put a blade in his hand, telling him to fight dragons. He’d always been a lover, not a fighter. A messenger of words and gifts, not death. His backpack was laden with wax-sealed notes and little, wrapped gifts for loved ones in faraway lands.
Belly full, body warm, he dozed, thinking of the smiles and joy his arrival in Ashford would spark.
An out of place noise wrenched his sleep-addled mind awake. The fire had burned down to glowing embers, barely bright enough to hold back the thick dark. Dreams woke him sometimes, bad ones, sharp and loud with screams and the smell of burning bodies. But he hadn’t been dreaming of the dark times. Something had woken him. Wolves?
He reached for his blade, propped against the rock beside him.
“Looking for this?”
The cool edge of a blade bit at his neck, freezing Trey still. A ragged-looking elf crouched in front of him. His patched leathers and knotted hair spoke of a life on the road. Tribal tattoos like Trey’s snaked up the left side of his face.
“Nice blade.” The male cocked his head. “You of the Order, eh?”
Trey swallowed.
Another figure moved in the dark into the warm campfire glow. Taller and slimmer than Ragged, with long golden hair. He upended Trey’s backpack and rained the contents across the ground. Gifts and letters, notes that families would have been waiting months for. Tokens of love and friendship. Tossed about as though worthless. Goldie crouched and rummaged through the little parcels. He snatc
hed up one, tore the wrapping off, frowned at the carving of a dragon, and tossed it into the dark.
Trey’s cheek twitched. “Keep your hands off those.”
Ragged’s wide grin was the brightest thing about him. The rest of his clothes, all shades of black, suggested he knew exactly how to blend into the darkness, and he’d done it before.
Bandits. Trey had heard rumor of bands of thieves operating near Ashford, but he’d dismissed it as gossip. No elf would attack another between settlements, that wasn’t their way. But clearly, dragons weren’t the only ones who had changed since the war.
“Just a bunch of trinkets,” Goldie said with a huff, still ripping open letters and parcels, looking for something of value. The letters were priceless, just not to these thieves.
“Keep searching. He’ll have something of value. They always do.”
Trey held Ragged’s glare. The male wasn’t afraid. Delight danced in his eyes and on his lips.
“Killed any dragons, eh, Order boy? This little blade hardly looks big enough.”
Trey’s mouth ticked. “It’s not about size—”
“Ha, think you’re clever, do you?” Ragged straightened and stepped back, sneering down at Trey. He raked his assessing glare from head to toe. “Did they kick you out the Order? Not good enough, eh?”
“Got something!” Goldie crowed. He turned a chunk of amethyst over in his hand and tossed it to Ragged.
Ragged reached up to catch the stone. Trey lunged, dropping his shoulder. He struck Ragged’s thighs, toppling him into the dirt. The sword skipped from Ragged’s hand. Goldie raced to grab it. Trey scrabbled for it too. Hands grabbed his ankle and yanked. He kicked out, striking hardness. Ragged grunted. The grip on Trey’s ankle loosened and Trey bolted.
Goldie snatched up the blade, inches from Trey’s fingers. He backed up and twirled the sword theatrically in his hand, grinning like a bastard.
Trey was on his feet now, Goldie in front of him and Ragged rubbing his jaw beyond. The remnants of the torn packages lay in the dirt all around. Never, in all his years, had Trey ever failed to make a delivery. These two assholes weren’t going to stop him from making this one either. He darted his gaze from front to behind, switching from Goldie to Ragged.
Trey had fought dragons. He’d fought in the Ashford battle when the air had been so thick with blood he’d felt as though he was drowning in it. These two fools were nothing.
Ragged lunged from behind. He flung his arms around Trey’s middle, clamping Trey in his embrace. Trey swung his head back, impacting hard with some part that cracked and buckled. Ragged swore. Trey doubled over, throwing his weight under him and Ragged forward, over his back, slamming the male into the dirt.
Goldie stabbed the sword forward, but his aim was loose and his balance all wrong. Trey dodged the attack, grabbed Goldie’s wrist and twisted, wrenching a high-pitched scream from the male. Goldie dropped to his knees. Trey leaned into the awkward angle, putting pressure on Goldie’s fragile wrist, pushing him down into the dirt. Maybe he’d break every bone in his wrist as punishment for ripping open those letters—
A punch landed low on Trey’s back, briefly stealing his air and blurring his vision. Ragged had recovered.
Goldie jabbed an elbow into the back of Trey’s knee, knocking him to the ground, and now they were both in the dirt, wrestling for the sword. Trey clawed and scrabbled for the blade in Goldie’s hand, but the bastard managed to hold it high and slammed his forehead into Trey’s.
“Get him!” Ragged screeched.
But then Ragged suddenly thumped to his knees, face frozen in shock. The huge arrow sticking from his chest likely had something to do with that.
Trey froze. Goldie saw his companion and screamed.
Ragged looked down at the arrow with its silver shaft and red fletchings, frowned, and toppled facedown in the dirt.
An Ashford sentinel emerged from the dark like Alumn had shaped flame into male form and set it free upon the land. He held a longbow aloft, arrow nocked and string pulled back. Red hair, done up in tight braids, turquoise eyes, and a killer’s snarl. Firelight danced over Ashford’s silver sigil of a tree stitched to his coat.
Humans believed in avenging angels. Terrifying figures of power and righteous judgment. Trey did not, until now.
Goldie scrabbled to his feet, holding Trey’s sword out like a talisman against evil spirits.
“Drop the blade,” the Ashford sentinel ordered, voice hard but empty.
Goldie flung the blade down and lifted both hands. “Shit—”
The sentinel’s arrow flew, punched Goldie in the chest and flung him backward off his feet. He sprawled in the dirt and lay gasping, until falling still.
The bandit had surrendered, tossed down his weapon, and the sentinel had killed him anyway.
The quiet was back. Trey swallowed. He was still on his knees, only now he was flanked by two dead bodies and a sentinel. He looked up, recognition punching home. The pinned and restrained red hair, the harsh cheekbones and thin lips. Trey knew him. Anyone who had fought for Ashford knew Sentinel Venali. Word was he’d single-handedly killed fifty dragons with his red-feathered arrows. Some of those rumors put the number closer to a hundred. The number climbed with every village Trey visited. Outside of Eroan, Venali had the next most bloodthirsty reputation.
“You didn’t have to kill them,” Trey heard himself say.
Venali narrowed his eyes. “They would have killed you.”
“You don’t know that—”
“I do. Actually.” He slung the bow over his shoulder and approached Ragged’s cooling body. Using his boot, he rolled the bandit onto his back, grasped the arrow, and yanked it free with as much thought as pulling a knife through a piece of meat.
Trey climbed to his feet as Venali retrieved his second arrow from Goldie, only this time, he needed to put some weight behind the tug. He planted a boot on Goldie’s chest and heaved. Now that he had his arrows back, a tiny hint of a smile lifted the corners of his lips. He plucked a cloth from his frock coat pocket and wiped the arrows clean before sliding them back into the quiver on his back. Then he turned and headed back into the dark.
“Wait.”
Venali turned, eyebrow raised.
“You can’t just leave them here like this…?”
Contempt further narrowed Venali’s eyes. Maybe he was used to others quaking before him, but Trey had fought in the same battle, had seen the same horrors, and he knew damn well Venali had the same nightmares. Witnessing monstrous things didn’t have to turn people into monsters too.
“It’s all they deserve,” Venali rumbled.
Was he really this callous? “They need to be buried and guided to Alumn’s garden.”
Venali started forward, coming straight for Trey as though he’d found his new prey and would stalk it to its death. He stopped inches from Trey, brilliant turquoise eyes searching Trey’s.
Trey had been wrong, Alumn hadn’t crafted him from fire, she’d chipped him out of pure, hard ice. His eyes weren’t warm but cold and shallow. Maybe he had killed a hundred dragons. He certainly looked like he could.
As he looked through Trey, he must have found something, because his glare softened by the smallest margin. It was still full of ice, but some of it had melted. “I’ve been tracking those two for weeks. Before you, they’d killed five. A young couple for their fine clothes and a pride of three for no other reason than because they could. They left their victims’ bodies to rot on the roads into Ashford. If you want to bury them, go ahead. I’m not wasting another second of my life on creatures like them.”
He turned in a swirl of red coat and was gone in a few strides, leaving Trey staring into the dark.
Ashford gleamed in the sunlight. In the past, the largest elven settlement had been buried beneath a thousand years of rubble, like most old human settlements, but the Ashford council had kept it buried and secret for safety. Excavations to clear the enormous site had begun shortly after
the end of the war. Now, with the earth moved aside, the buildings appeared to be sprouting out of the ground and toward the light. Vast gardens had sprung up on the approach. Elves from all over the land sauntered through rose-walks and meandered through the lawns. The contrast with how Trey had last seen the place, surrounded by pyres and choked by smoke, gave him pause. The war and its deaths hadn’t been for nothing. The world really was changing.
He drifted down the main concourse and headed inside by way of a gloriously chiseled stone archway. Ashford’s interior shone, too, all patched up, rebuilt, and freshly painted. The huge, ancient tree continued to stand proud in the central atrium. Half its branches were missing from where a dragon had fallen through the glass ceiling and stripped it bare, but the rest was in full summer leaf. It made a fitting monument for an elven society rising out of the ashes.
Trey made his presence known at the arrivals area and handed over the backpack at a very official-looking desk carved from oak. After burying the two bandits, he’d salvaged every single message, gift, and note and carefully rewrapped them. Everyone would get their messages, and in a few days, he’d set off again with a new batch of deliveries.
“Welcome, messenger!” The young male at the desk beamed. “My name is Conor, and I’m delighted to act as your assistant during your stay. If you have any questions or concerns, come straight to me.” He wore his hair short, as seemed to be the fashion of late. The wavy chestnut locks licked at his cheeks and jaw, emphasizing a warm face. One made for smiling.
“Thank you, and call me Trey, please.” Trey handed over his bag, wincing a little at its filthy, frayed edges. “I had some issues.”
Conor took the bag and checked over the contents, then regarded Trey’s equally disheveled clothes. His gaze lingered longer than was necessary. “Issues huh?” he asked with a smile.
