The Ones We Burn
Chapters (93)
- Cover
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Part One: Skra: Sixty Days Remain
- PART ONE SKRA SIXTY DAYS REMAIN
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4 Two weeks later
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- Part Two: Monster: Twenty-Five Days Remain
- PART TWO MONSTER TWENTY-FIVE DAYS REMAIN
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- Part Three: Butcher: Six Days Remain
- PART THREE BUTCHER SIX DAYS REMAIN
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- 53
- Part Four: Bloodwinn: Coup Successful
- PART FOUR BLOODWINN COUP SUCCESSFUL
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80 EPILOGUE Three months later
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Cover
The Ones We Burn
“Feral and Tender at Once.”
—Chloe Gong,
New York Times Bestselling Author of These Violent Delights
Rebecca Mix
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Title Page
Dedication
for the kids who survived.
may your lives be filled with nothing but light, healing, and love.
so much love.
Part One: Skra: Sixty Days Remain
PART ONE
SKRA SIXTY DAYS REMAIN
1
The world burned gray.
Ranka knelt among the conifers, a scrap of bloodied cloth pinched between her black-nailed fingers. She’d picked up the scent of something dying at sunrise. Broken twigs oozed sap around her, the pine needle carpet churned raw where someone had sprinted through, not bothering to hide their trail. The earthy tang of witch blood filled her world, tinged with echoes of pain, of death edging near. But was it the blood of an enemy coven—or the blood of her own?
Whoever it was didn’t have long. Still, it didn’t hurt to investigate. Even corpses held answers.
Ranka latched on to the scent of decay and slipped through the trees, looking for clues of the ones they’d lost.
Five witches, vanished in under a month. The number was a punch to the chest. Word had come up from the southern covens—of witches disappearing one by one, leaving no notes, no bloody trails or footprints in the half-melted snow. It was as if the sky had opened up and swallowed them whole.
This is all my fault.
Ranka flinched. Surely, she was just being paranoid. She had no way of knowing if the disappearances had anything to do with her. At least—not yet.
The wind shifted; the reek was stronger now. Ranka shoved her guilt away, focusing instead on that scent, the world of clues unfolding around her, the hungry pulse under her skin and whatever lay dying ahead.
Guilt would get her nowhere. As the only blood-witch left in the north, she was far more valuable here, in her home, than as some political prisoner in the south. And once she found answers, her coven would have no choice but to believe that, too. She hoped.
Ranka drew her axe and broke into a run.