Page 134 of The Ashborn

“Are you already tired of getting your ass kicked?” Danek laughed.

“Shardborn,” Broan said, pulling himself up. “I’ll show you an ass kicking.”

Broan didn’t know he was faster, too. That was something Danek couldn’t wait to show him. He glanced at Tristian, noting his frustrated demeanor as he continued to scratch furiously at his book.

“Give me a moment.” He nodded toward Tristian once.

Broan grumbled, then stalked off to the edge of the island.

—Tristian—

Tristian scribbled the same words repeatedly. He’d been writing a poem to encompass the type of life Tislin lived. What could be meaningful enough to give weight to that? Tristian barely knew what sort of life Tislin led after he went to Silverthorne to train as High Commander.

Frustration nipped at the edge of his fingers. He felt hollow, like half the man he’d ever been. Every path he took sent painful memories with ghosts of Tislin’s childhood form giggling in mischief. He drove the Elvish folk mad when they visited the hidden city with their mother. His pale, blond little brother spent most of his days playing tricks. A slow smile crept on Tristian’s lips as he thought of words that could define the life that was his brother’s chaos. There was a time when Tislin, no more than ten, snuck into the ceremonial chambers the night before the celebration of the forest. This event spared no expense of magic to showcase to the world what the Elvish could do.

Tislin tampered with crystals that should have sent elegant ribbons of color into the trees with pale golds, silvers, and blues. Instead, the crystals shot out a chaotic flurry of color, hues of bright orange, fuchsia, green splatters, and confetti…like sparkles. Paint spewed out all over the forest floor, painting half the Elvish High Council in ridiculous shades.

Tristian stared forward as Raelan commanded her wind mages. They put everything they had into their magic, flowing with the essence of the trees. The breeze swayed in one direction, then another, blowing Tristian’s hair out of place. He let it be. How could he lead the finest warriors while working with Connak in the shadows? That was Tislin’s job, after all—to work around the Accords. To be the man in the shadows. To find things worth the cause of rebelling. He wasn’t supposed to die in them.

“High Commander?” Danek’s voice startled him. He knew he was there in theory. Tristian simply thought he was deep in his sparring match with the Viking.

He set his book aside, blowing a stream of air from his nostrils. He was far off his game if Danek could throw him. “What do you need?”

Danek took a seat next to him. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Tristian glanced to the man he bet his life on in Dove Port. His sigil had faint traces of blue sparkling through his temple, reminding him of what he was and did. Soldiers passed by and nodded at their High Commander. Tristian exchanged a nod. He didn’t reply immediately to Danek. He kept his focus outward, careful not to show how much fatigue gnawed at him. “Shouldn’t you be with Kienna? The heiress is futile⁠—”

“She’s gone,” Danek whispered, pushing his hands together nervously.

Tristian turned swiftly. How did he miss that? Maybe it was for the best, though. She didn’t want to be heiress to the throne, and she didn’t want to be anything they needed her to be. He certainly didn’t want to be anything. At least he wasn’t running from it. Still, she held his life in the balance. “Have you told Connak?”

Danek shook his head. “I haven’t been able to find him.”

He stole a glance to the edge of the island where Broan stood, arms crossed, waiting for Danek. Danek waved him off.

“Kienna will be back. I trust her that much. In the meantime, is there anything I can help you with?”

“It’s easier not to love her,” Tristian said, his voice cold as ice. He waved off Danek’s second question. “She’ll curse your life more than you can imagine.”

Pursing his lips, Danek stood. He held his hands behind his back and relaxed as he said, “Tislin was a good friend. We all loved him, too.” With that, he walked away, meeting Broan by the bridges. Broan nudged him off the island, roaring with laughter as he ran through the trees. Danek shot up with a gust of wind and trailed off.

Tristian exhaled sharply, resting his head against the bark of the tree he sat against. He needed to bathe, eat, and sleep most of all. The gentle, gliding wind nearly got him to rest. It caressed his face, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. His mother used to hold him as a boy, shushing in the same way. There was never a word she needed to speak. She only pushed the wind from her lungs. That was enough to coax him to sleep every night. He needed it for a time when they brought the sword that would give him the scar on his collarbone.

He reached for it. It was thick beneath his armor, still raw. It ached at times when he didn’t expect it. Most of the time, it made him want to run. And run he would, speeding through the forests until his memories couldn’t catch up with him. The world spoke of prophecies—too many to count. He couldn’t keep up anymore. Last he heard, he was supposed to⁠—

“The god of light stirs.” The voice broke him from his trance immediately. Tristian looked around, searching for the source. Two soldiers sat behind a training post, cleaning their blades as they spoke. “The world has been moving again.” The one speaking was an older, Elvish mage—Weldric. He ran his hand over his blade, then set it down.

The other man shifted. He was a younger Elvish soldier, newly promoted to the Trinity army—or demoted, depending on how Silverthorne looked at it. He was green around the edges, hands shaking as he ran cloth along his own blade. “What do you know of the light?”

“He’s been sleeping like the Eternal Mother.” Weldric leaned forward, staring point-blank into the young man’s eyes. “The children are waking, you see. Dark forces are creeping outside the realm. But they can’t get in.”

“Why not?”

“The god of light strengthens the wards. He purifies the land. If he were not still here, the wards would have fallen already.”

“Aren’t they weakening?”

Weldric shrugged. “Only if he fails.” Tristian turned fully to face the soldiers. “The god of light will prevail.” His eyes snapped directly onto the High Commander. “And we do not intend to stop him.”