Kingdom of Ash

Wyrdmarks.
And then waited.
His magic was a steady thrum through him,
the small flame he dared to conjure enough to
heat his body. To keep him from shivering to
death while the minutes passed.
Ice had been the first manifestation of his
magic. He supposed that should give him
some sort of preference for it. Or at least
some immunity. He had neither. And he’d
decided that if they survived long enough to
endure the scorching heat of summer, he’d
never complain about it again.
He’d been honing his magic as best he
could during these weeks of relentless, useless
hunting. None of the witches possessed power,
not beyond the Yielding, which they’d told
him could only be summoned once—to
terrible and devastating effect. But the
Thirteen watched with some degree of interest