The Book of Never: The Complete Series

by Ashley Capes

  “I am, but why would...” Never trailed off.

  “My village sheltered the dying line of two heritages – ancient Hanik and Amouni. As far as Snow could tell, the last bloodline aside from your own. A strain far, far weaker than yours of course, but traces remained within us.”

  Never leant forward. “How?”

  Cog spread his hands. “It is a long story. If you wish me to share it now...”

  “Summarise, please.”

  Cog nodded. “Of course. My people were among those few Hanik smiled upon by the Amouni, favoured servants in truth. In the dying days of their rule, we were allowed to intermarry as a desperate measure on behalf of the Amouni to save their bloodlines. Then we were sealed within the valley. It was meant to be a temporary measure, I suspect, long enough for the hatred to recede. But something went wrong and we were only uncovered when, many, many centuries later, King Noak, who loved Amouni lore, found us. He fell in love with a woman there, betraying Jenisan’s mother.”

  “And so the son’s hatred,” Never said.

  “Yes. His hunt was relentless; I am the last of my village.”

  Never sat back, no closer to deciding Cog’s fate. “This is an incredible story.”

  “But true,” Cog said. He drew a small belt knife and held it over his forearm. “You need but to read my blood to be certain –”

  “No, no, I mean incredible in terms of wonder, not credulity,” Never said.

  “Ah.” Cog waited.

  Never stood and began to pace. “Did Jenisan survive?”

  “No, davishca.”

  Never sighed, not that he’d truly miss the man but it would hurt Elina to have her fears confirmed. And it would create instability in a land probably on the brink of collapse after Snow’s meddling. “I do have a request for you, Cog.”

  “Yes, Master?”

  “Fine – I have two. The first is no more ‘master’ and no more ‘great one’ either.”

  He smiled. “And the second?”

  “I want you to accompany Elina and Tsolde to Hanik, I want you to help them both with whatever they need.”

  A nod. “You seem to be well-informed of their wishes – where will you be? I imagine Luis will be travelling with Tsolde, are you planning to go rampaging with the mercenary then?”

  Never chuckled. “I don’t think I will at that – and I may still travel with you all. At least at first. I still have questions without answers.” One of which was a pressing question about his father’s time in Kiymako, and the possibility that he might have a sister. Something he had forgotten in the chaos and rush of tasks that followed; something that offered a shred of hope. Perhaps he had not lost all of his family.

  “Ah.” Cog said. “Your true name.”

  “Yes,” Never said. “That is one of them.” Another was the glowing tattoo on his chest; its purpose eluded him still. Had Snow borne the same marking? And even the little man in the sphere – another Amouni artefact or something else?

  “I wish I could help.”

  “So do I,” Never said. He stood. “And so what do you say, Cog? You haven’t accepted my request.”

  “I will go to Hanik as you wish,” he said. “And I believe I will welcome it.”

  *

  Never met his friends beyond the city walls, in the very same grove they’d used to disguise themselves mere days before. It seemed many moons longer. He carried with him new knives to add to the Quisoan blade, the Amouni sword and scant supplies, mostly water and some travel bread. Not too much, for he hardly wanted to make flying any more difficult than it would already be, having the sword strapped to his back as it was.

  Hidden within his inner pockets was a map he’d copied from Snow’s collection, along with a bloody white feather and the golden seed. Whether he would need all or any of the items, he could not be sure. But he was certain the touch of hope from before was growing stronger, despite the doubt that nestled beside it. There was no guarantee his last search would bear any more fruit than the others.

  Yet he had to take it.

  And if nothing else, the sky was clear of rain, despite the chill to the air.

  “Are you sure you won’t stay?” Elina asked. Her own expression was far from cheerful since learning the fate of her King. “Word is that the Empress will arrive in two weeks, it’s not such a long delay.”

  He shook his head. “I unearthed some Marlosi nobles and a few Imperial officers, they’ll have to do.”

  “You might be back before then,” Luis offered.

  “True – my old village is not so distant. And I’m a lot faster than I used to be,” Never said with a grin.

  “We will wait for you anyway,” Tsolde said. “I don’t think my inn is going anywhere, though I don’t know who’s in charge.”

  “I may take longer,” he warned.

  She shrugged. “How much fun is crossing a mountain in winter anyway? Maybe we’ll just wait for spring.”

  Now he laughed. “Looks like I cannot avoid it. Very well, I will be back by spring. Or perhaps earlier, I cannot say.” He looked to Vantinio. “And where will the winds blow you?”

  The mercenary scratched at his unshaven cheek. “There’s plenty of work around, despite your efforts to single-handedly stop the war. Might find myself playing caravan guard for a while; they’ll be good imperial gold reopening trade lines.”

  “If the Vadiya didn’t spend it all,” Luis said with a grin.

  Never laughed and even Vantinio chuckled. Never looked to each of them. “Watch over each other until I’m back.”

  “We will,” Luis replied. He placed a hand on Never’s shoulder. “I hope you find it, Never.”

  Never gripped his friend’s hand with a nod and once Luis stepped back, he slipped between the trees and took a running leap, climbing with his wings until he found a rising wind to take him the rest of the way.

  *

  Never walked the dirt street, kicking at hunks of ash and charred wood.

  The village of Pirchys, his village, was gone.

  Had the people escaped in time? Whatever Vadiya raiding party had come in months past had spared no effort in razing the place. Not even the foundations of the buildings remained, just the clear spaces that would have been the dirt floors, now home to naught but passing insects.

  Despite the bleakness of the place, Never could find little to mourn of the people who’d died or fled. Pirchys housed few fond memories. Even the single bare stone that represented his own home was of little meaning.

  It was more the single gravestone beyond the village that gave him pause.

  Someone had kicked it free of the earth, doubtless when they took the time to burn the tree that once shaded Mother’s grave. It was hard, in that moment, not to be reminded of Snow’s scathing damnation of humanity.

  Never lifted the headstone back into place, the hard edges biting into his hands. Then he sat beside it, trying to recall, and then hold the image of her where she sat at the table, before his Father appeared. For just that moment, she’d been happy.

  And not once after, it seemed.

  Snow had not forgiven their father, and neither could Never – that was not something he ever questioned; it would not happen. But could he forgive Snow? Never found no simple answer there. Snow had stolen or ruined so many lives in his desperate search. But he seemed to truly care for Sacha. And he had saved Cog. And he had saved Never... or so Never wanted to believe.

  Yet Snow’s eyes lingered in his memory.

  The moment when Snow turned from the canopy, knowing he would not survive, and hurled Never to safety. There was a fierce desperation in his brother. Had Snow been trying to save the seeds Never held? Or save Never? The thought was impossible to banish, impossible to answer. And Never didn’t know if he could forgive Snow without an answer. “And maybe not even with an answer,” he murmured.

  Never lifted a vial from an inner pocket. Within, he carried the fruits of hasty research; he had replicated the concoction S
now had made, which would allow him to experience the memories stored within his mother’s bones; perhaps a chance to learn his true name.

  If he was willing to desecrate her grave.

  Never twisted the vial between forefinger and thumb, watching the silver liquid swirl.

  He was not willing.

  Had he ever meant to do so? Doubtful. Making the draught was no more than evidence of his confusion. He uncorked the vial, letting the contents slide free to soak into yellowed grass. He had a name: Never. It was the name he remembered, the name his friends knew him by, the name of the man that changed the world – though few would ever know what he did for them, which was just fine.

  No, ‘Never’ was good enough.

  Just as he’d given Snow a name, after his brother’s secret wish to one day see snow drifting across the slopes of Kiymako, so too had Snow’s choice for Never seemed fitting. “You always say ‘never’, did you know that?” Snow had asked that day. “Whenever I ask if you’ll stop searching. What if we can’t find the truth, will you give up?”

  And Never answered ‘Never’, just like he always did when Snow asked the question and Snow had shook his head, even as he smiled.

  Never stood.

  His doubt had worn away; worthy tasks lay before him yet. Luis and Tsolde, Elina. All needed to be seen safely to Hanik. Even Cog.

  And then his sister.

  He did not know how old she was, had no clues to her appearance and little to go on when he started searching but he knew, as he knew his own past, that her cursed heritage would have been responsible for many trials. She would have experienced crushing doubt, bitter loneliness and self-loathing. Was she outcast? Scorned and hated?

  He would find her. For there was no doubt that she existed; why else would Father have returned to the Kiymako temple and painted a rune of protection upon its door.

  A Note from Ashley

  Hello! Hope you enjoyed The Book of Never: The Complete Series and thanks for reading.

  I’d like to ask if you could help me out by leaving an honest review of the story at your place of purchase? Long or short, bad or good, it all helps!

  And if you’d like to sign up to my newsletter you’ll be able to stay up to date on the possibility of future Never adventures and you’ll also be automatically added into the draw for my other print and ebook giveaways.

  Ashley

  City of Masks (Bone Mask Trilogy #1) - Sample

  Chapter 1

  The chill of prison bars against his temple did little to ease Notch’s headache. Decades of dank didn’t help either, nor snoring from another cell, where someone was impersonating a bear. Or dying. In the poor light it was hard to tell.

  Notch squinted. Noon sun barely crept through the small, grated windows on his side of the building. Even cells across the way were shadowed. Sunlight, in addition to a piece of bread and some water, were high points, while the straw ‘bed’ and stale body odour of criminals were typically unpleasant. Worse places than Anaskar City prison existed. At least he hadn’t been beaten yet – a twinge in his shoulder reminded him how much some guards enjoyed their work.

  His cellmate raised his voice and Notch turned. The man had probably been speaking for some time; his drawn face was expectant. Years of imprisonment had washed out his Anaskari tan.

  Notch leaned against the bars. “What is it, Bren?”

  “Did you kill her, truly?”

  “No.”

  Bren nodded. “Innocent then.” He knelt in the corner, his fine coat of blue long since gone to grime, his face pressed against the stone wall. “Listen to this one.” He scratched at an armpit with some vigour. “It’s hard to see but I think it says ‘death to the Shields of Anaskar’ and it’s got a signature, but I can’t make it out.”

  Notch grunted. Nothing special for a convicted man to write; since waking on a pile of old blankets that morning and meeting his cellmate, he’d heard a dozen similar sentiments. Through Bren’s meandering introduction, Notch had winced, probing his body. Both arms and chest were heavily bruised and his head so fragile he wouldn’t be surprised to learn a wagon rolled over it last night. Possibly twice. He wasn’t drunk, though the smell of ale was on his breath. One damn drink, that was all.

  And there was blood.

  His leathers and tunic were splattered a dark red. Not his own blood, the City Vigil told him as much when they hauled him off the street, as if he couldn’t figure that much out. But whose? His own memory was unreliable, which made no sense. He hadn’t been drunk, truly drunk, since right after the war. When he bore another name. A name he left on some tavern floor, after making a convincing go of drinking the memories away. A good bath did for the sand on his body, but the blood-soaked sand in his mind? No amount of ale had washed that away.

  And now the Vigil were telling him he’d been so intoxicated he had to be dragged to the prison?

  Unlikely.

  “The Shields probably caught him doing something bad, that’s why he wrote this,” Bren continued, tapping on the wall. His too-bright eyes looked up at Notch.

  “I’d say so.”

  “Like us, Notch. We’ve done bad things, we have.”

  “So you keep saying.”

  Bren laughed, its shrillness cutting through Notch’s skull. If it hadn’t been unsettling, Notch would have thumped him, but there was something wrong with Bren. Any fool could see that.

  “The guards say you’ve got a few days. That they can’t hang you sooner, because there’s too many in the queue. Waiting to hang.”

  “Thanks, Bren.”

  A moment of quiet fell between them. Distant voices drifted from beyond the prison walls. Notch clenched his jaw. He should have been out there. On his way to another job. The Blue Lady, a fat merchant ship, would have sailed with most of his possessions on board.

  His father’s sword.

  No chance of seeing it again. He wrapped his hands around cold bars and squeezed.

  “The guards say it too, the guards say you killed her,” Bren said, unperturbed.

  “I know.”

  He crept forward. “So?”

  “So I don’t remember.” He frowned. “But I wouldn’t harm a child.”

  Bren grinned, as if he thought it all a joke, and went back to the wall. A scraping sound followed. “This one says ‘down with the Shields’ and has no name. I wonder how many people have been here before us, eh Notch?”

  “Maybe just you, Bren,” he muttered, rubbing at his temples.

  Bren prattled on. “I could deal with the Mascare too, you know. They aren’t so powerful. It’s just their precious bone masks. And their robes. All that crimson. They scare people, the faces. And the eyes too. Did you ever meet any, Notch, before you murdered that girl?”

  He ignored the last bit. “I’ve seen the Mascare plenty of times.”

  “And were they protecting ‘the city, the people and its history’ as they love to claim?”

  “Each time?”

  Bren laughed. “Ever ask them why they won’t show their faces?”

  “They aren’t very talkative, Bren.”

  Bren stopped scratching and moved to a spot beneath the window, running a set of cracked fingernails over the stone. “This is my favourite. I think it’s the oldest one.”

  The clank of a key in a lock did not deter Bren from his examination, but Notch took hold of the bars again, letting the man’s voice recede into the background. At the far end of their row, the guard, a scruffy man who’d made some effort to straighten his blue and silver uniform, led three figures toward the cell.

  “Quiet now, Bren,” he said as the group approached, their footfalls echoing. A slender woman – a Lady no doubt – stopped before Notch’s cell. She was accompanied by a girl and a stony-faced man with broad shoulders, the orange tunic and gleaming breastplate of a Palace Shield in stark contrast with the prison keeper’s appearance. The woman’s hair was pulled back from her face, fanning down around her shoulders and covering
the collar of an impeccably clean white dress. Bone earrings swung when she turned her head. A sneer that must have been permanent marred her otherwise smooth face.

  Notch adjusted his grip on the bars. To come to Anaskar Prison in such clothing – she was either mighty vain or mighty important. Most likely both. Which meant trouble.

  The girl stood in similar attire and shared the sneer but had trouble meeting his gaze.

  “Here’s the mercenary, my lady.” The prison guard pointed with his key, making a low bow before scurrying off.

  The woman took a single step forward, glaring at him. Her footfall clapped. “Your name?”

  He blinked. Her distaste was like a battering ram. “Notch.”

  The palace guard bristled and she waved a clean hand at him. “Bring the torch, Holindo.”

  “Yes, my lady.” His voice was a rasp.

  Behind him, Bren shrunk back into the corner. He did not resume his scraping.

  The woman levelled a finger at Notch. “You will address me as ‘Lady Cera,’ or not at all. Now, do not move.”

  “Can I ask why, Lady Cera?”

  “Because if you do not I will have the Captain here gut you.”

  Notch did as he was told. The impulse to wipe her face clean of its expression was strong enough that he had to school his features. Palace folk. Even before he’d taken to the life of a hired sword, they’d looked down their noses at him. ‘Mountain Family’, they’d say to each other and snigger.

  When Captain Holindo returned, the soldier thrust the torch forward, catching Notch’s shoulder with his free hand. He narrowed his eyes but said nothing, only adding a crease to his brow. Did Holindo recognise him? Notch couldn’t place the man.

  “Be still now,” the solider said.

  The flames singed a little of Notch’s hair and he started to sweat. No-one moved or spoke, though the girl he took for Lady Cera’s daughter stared wide-eyed at the blood on his clothing.

  “Well?” The Lady snapped. “Look. Is it him? Is that the man?”

  “I… I think so, mother,” said the girl.