Page 135 of The Ashborn

“You shouldn’t blaspheme the Mother’s name with other gods,” Tristian said, standing. “Be careful what you speak of here, or the goddess may see it fit to remove your magic.”

The soldiers shared a weary glance, then turned their backs. Tristian gathered his items, pulled them into a pack, and stalked to the front of the barracks where the soldiers couldn’t see him anymore. He stood there for a while, wondering if maybe they’d continue. Not that he cared about what they spoke of. Rumors of other gods and children of the gods were just that—rumors. Dangerous ones that would send too much attention their way. Tristian had no intention of letting that attention grow if it meant shedding lives. No. Tristian had the Eternal Mother. She was the source of all the magic. That was enough for the realm to worry about.

When it appeared the soldiers wouldn’t bring up the god of light again, Tristian motioned to move. His heart nearly stopped when he heard them speaking. This time, it wasn’t about the gods.

“I saw it,” said the younger soldier. His voice barely carried with the wind. These words were not meant for him, yet Tristian leaned in closer. The wind wanted him to hear. “Tislin never even hit the water.”

“You can’t report shit like that,” scolded Weldric.

“The shadow creature went after him. They vanished like smoke. I’m not crazy. I saw where it went, but I never saw a body.”

Tristian froze, swallowing hard. He could’ve stepped out and questioned them again, demanded clarity, but part of him feared what he would hear. The words were poison to logic. They stirred hope, and hope was lost.

Except, it wasn’t. It had simply gone still, and now it was begging to get out.

The only way to confirm the Shade caught Tislin before he hit the water would be to venture to Fire Storm to verify. No one intended to confirm. It was a suicide mission to anyone who even dared to dream of going there. Would Tristian be so careless as to go? He couldn’t be so sure, but he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that the thought crossed his mind.

Hope caressed him again as the young soldier’s voice trailed in, lower this time as if he wanted to remain discreet. “The smoke went south.”

“South?” Weldric said. “Not North?”

“South.”

Tristian pulled away from the barracks, heading far away from their conversation. For the first time since Dove Port, a hint of life returned. He didn’t dare to dream that maybe Tislin lived from the fall, but maybe he didn’t die in the shadows. He simply became the shadows.

That was something Tristian could work with.

Chapter 54

—Connak—

Kienna slept restlessly. Her mind grappled with the information Connak gained from the living quarters. She brushed everything she learned off as a coincidence and a fable better left in the pages. Why was it coming back up in her sleep?

When her mind finally settled into a deeper rest, the sun had risen high in the sky, blaring a bright yellow glow against the shattered walls. Connak picked up the books and stood from the couch, his hand brushing against Moira’s bedroom door before pulling his boots on and slipping out of the apartment.

Dove Port smelled of burned wood, coated in the dust of crumbled stone. The sound of hammers and steel rang out while men and women heaved their bodies into patching buildings and tossing old material into fires. Connak weaved through the brittle streets and over blasted cobblestones from the effects of magical runes exploding. Even now, he felt the buzzing remnants of the armies tearing through the city.

When Connak turned the corner to the workshop, the scent of sawdust hit him first. It was sharp and earthy, comforting in the way that made his shoulders drop a little. The workshop stood half-swallowed by ruin, its timber frame scorched and split, and the roof patched with mismatched shingles and canvas. A tree branch broke through one of the wide walls, now half cleared away, revealing a clutter of tools and shavings with a man who refused to stop working simply because the world around him collapsed.

A rhythmic scraping carried through the open doorway, each pull of a blade across wood echoing like a heartbeat through the fractured silence.

“Ash,” Connak said, studying the old man in front of him.

“Calder,” Ash corrected without looking up.

Connak sat. “I’m here about Kienna.”

Ash turned, eyes wide. He straightened his shoulders and faced Connak, recognition dawning on him. “Tell me she made it through.”

Connak’s heart sank as he focused on the man’s brown eyes, grasping for hope through the sinking ship inside. Moira mentioned they never got word back from the Elvish after they left the battle. He didn’t realize the weight of it until he stood before Ash. “She’s okay,” he assured the woodcarver.

A breath of relief poured from his lips.

“Kienna is here, in Dove Port. She means to find you, but I need your help first.”

“I take it this is regarding my daughter’s books you carry?” Ash brushed his hands on the leather, encompassing the fine lines and faded engravings.

“She’s lost. She doesn’t know how to disentangle herself from the web that…” Connak tempered the weight of his words. “The web that Vaerin has her in.”