Page 12 of The Ashborn

“Westward, ‘cross the Goldmere, stand the mountains,” Kaelthar said. “The hall of our people. It’s high time you found your way back.”

“I thought I was needed here to fight?”

“Battle has been light,” Elira said. “The Vikings need a tether for their alliance with the Elvish. Kaelthar is the first bridge as he serves on our council, but you are our magical link, and it ties you to the Eternal Mother. We’d like them to acknowledge this and our goddess.”

Broan did not uncross his arms, his muscles tensing beneath the leather. “So, you want me to be some sort of diplomat?”

Connak laughed out loud, confirming his own thoughts that diplomacy wasn’t his strong suit. He forced a cough as Tristian’s boot met the tender spot on his leg again.

“Yer father is Jarl of the Viking clan,” Kaelthar added, his voice quieter, as if tempering the weight of the revelation.

Connak rolled his eyes. Had no one told him this already? He could see why Kienna was so frustrated, though he was no better at clarifying the world for them. He certainly tried his best under the conditions he faced, but it didn’t make it any less infuriating.

Broan blinked once. “You may have failed to mention that I had a father.”

Connak rolled his head to Kaelthar and then said to Broan, “And a mother.”

Broan’s fists tightened against his arms. “And my father is what?”

“The jarl,” Kaelthar confirmed.

Broan’s laughter echoed in the tree’s chamber, flowing upward into the clouds. “What the fuck is a jarl?”

Tristian stood and approached him, a quiet affirmation in his presence. “It’s a good opportunity for you to keep the realm safer.” His voice was calm and sure, the kind of tone that stilled many battlefield storms.

Broan’s brow twitched, his eyes locking on Tristian’s for a beat longer than usual. That alone was enough to make him pause, then finally, with a reluctant nod, he said, “I’ll go, but I’m not bowing to any jarls. Just so we’re clear.”

Connak grinned. He’d become more attached to Broan than he thought he would. He tried not to admit that, knowing how Kienna felt about him, but his blunt demeanor was needed in this cryptic city.

“Then we’re dismissed,” Elira said. “You leave with Kaelthar tomorrow. And Connak,” Elira stopped him before he could leave, which he was quickly doing. “Tell Kalyra to stay with Tislin from now on.”

The council cleared, and Connak moved as swiftly as possible, grateful for his freedom. As he walked out and down the bridges to the forest floor, Tristian fell in line next to him. “What’s your plan?”

Connak shrugged as he took a bend in the bridge. “Tell her to stop seeing the woodcarver, of course.”

“Is that really your plan?”

“Of course, High Commander.” Connak gave him a sly wink. “I would never defy my leader’s orders.”

He left Tristian standing on the bridges and walked to the edge of Trinity until the city folded back into itself. He stood in the open forest, away from the growing pressures of his queen. They’d caught her attention far too early on this journey. The council wasn’t a threat yet, but they could be if they included higher powers. Connak chewed his cheek as he strategized how to approach his next steps. With Broan leaving, that left Danek to his own devices.

Connak’s grin returned. He could use Danek for a lot of things.

Chapter 6

—Kienna—

Kienna swept the floors, listening to the crashing of metal against the walls, then the smashing of glass. The woodcarver brought in two bottles of rum that morning, and judging by the sounds, he’d only managed to break one.

I’m sure he drank it first, Kienna muttered to Ruva. Think he’ll tell me to clean up the mess when he’s done?

You were not meant to sweep things. Ruva sat outside in the back alley, waiting patiently. Kienna told her to hunt multiple times, but the wolf insisted on sticking close by. There was no telling what sort of trouble Kienna would find herself in if Ruva left.

Kienna sighed, setting the broom in the corner. She studied the tools scattered about the shelves and learned there were nine different ones. They were well-worn and shaped by years of use. Some had wide edges for rough shaping; others had narrow ones, nearly sharp. Those must have been how the woodcarver got the dog’s fur to look so realistic.

I bet I could make the spitting image of you, Ruva.

Maybe try a bird. I’m one of a kind.