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Ashes of Gold

J. Elle
Chapters (49)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. CHAPTER ONE
  6. CHAPTER TWO
  7. CHAPTER THREE
  8. CHAPTER FOUR
  9. CHAPTER FIVE
  10. CHAPTER SIX
  11. CHAPTER SEVEN
  12. CHAPTER EIGHT
  13. CHAPTER NINE
  14. CHAPTER TEN
  15. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  16. CHAPTER TWELVE
  17. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  18. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  19. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  20. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  21. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  22. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  23. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  24. CHAPTER TWENTY
  25. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  26. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  27. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  28. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  29. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  30. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  34. CHAPTER THIRTY
  35. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  36. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  37. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  38. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  39. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  40. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  44. CHAPTER FORTY
  45. EPILOGUE
  46. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  47. More from this Series
  48. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  49. Also by J. Elle

Cover

Cover: Ashes of Gold, by J. Elle

Sequel to the New York Times bestselling Wings of Ebony

Ashes of Gold

J. Elle

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Title Page

Ashes of Gold, by J. Elle, S&S Books for Young Readers

Dedication

To Mommy,

for making me believe

I could do anything,

and,

to Emily,

who held me up

every step of the way.

PROLOGUE

KAELI BERRIES DOT THE morning leaves like dew; usually they sparkle in the sun’s rays, winking at me over the edge of the mountain peak.

But this morning there is no sun. No glittering water at the edge of the shore. This morning fog hugs the island like a scarf tied too tight. I squint through the hanging gray clouds, and a chill of air sweeps up my arm every few minutes. I tighten my sleeves around myself and clench my skirt tighter in my fist. The sooner we finish, the sooner we can get out of here.

Mornings like this, when the world is just waking up and the blood bugs are still asleep, Memi and I do our walks to gather. It is much cooler, so we do not return home as itchy. I work a few berries from branches where the leaves have fallen, and salty mountain air gusts my tightly coiled hair, the gold twine wrapped around it coming undone. The berries hide beneath the blooms of the shiske flower, a thick red plant with toxic leaves. In their center is a tiny red berry, hiding like a pearl in an oyster.

I dig my fingers around a stubborn one determined to stay attached to its flower. The riper berries are softer, but too ripe and their sticky sweetness sours on the tongue. The blooms that are just opening are the perfect ones. Still hard on the outside, but when pestled are smooth, creamy, and sweet. The foliage on the island is thick with them, a tapestry of bendy black-bark trees dotted with red.

Jpango leaves curl and twist over one another, fighting for sunlight. I pull my shift up around my knees and pluck more red dots, dropping them in the belly of my skirt. I glance over my shoulder at Memi. Sweat drips from the edges of her head wrap. Tufts of salt-and-pepper hair coil up on top of her head like a crown. Her fingers work around the berries, and with one snatch of her wrist, she grabs a fistful to drop in her makeshift bucket. Her eyes flick to mine and her eyebrows jump.