Page 137 of The Ashborn

Elowen should have given you my books. They were my favorites as a child, reading about powerful warriors. Selfishly, I named you after my favorite character. Kienna—the one who rose from ruin to lead with the fire of her heart. It was a name born from hope that I knew was right the moment you threaded your life to mine.

Who knows if all those folklores are true, but I believe you are a child who will walk paths where others have fallen and help us unite what others would burn before they understood. I won’t pretend that your life will be easy. Unfortunately, we are your parents, and we did not carve a gentler road ahead. But know this: You can change the world. You are my wild, fierce daughter. Never let the world tame the fire in your heart. They will certainly try to break you.

Remember, you are not a weapon. You are a promise. You are my greatest hope.

My greatest love.

You were loved from the first heartbeat and beyond the last.

With all I was and all I ever dared to dream,

Your mother,

Avenna

The letter slipped from Kienna’s fingers, floating and settling against her thigh. She sat motionless in the growing light of the workshop, shoulders square, chin lifted, as if the weight of her mother’s words had not crushed her. No, not crushed at all. They reforged her. Even now, she could feel the tethered life she gave to her mother, the branded K tingling deeply in her skin.

Ruva stuck her head in through the window. You are Kienna.

Kienna smiled. The Ashborn.

Chapter 55

—Moira—

Moira wrapped Kienna in a tight embrace, clinging to her. She felt different from the way she had the night before, surer of herself. She had an aura about her that reassured Moira of the world’s impending balance. “You’ll come back, right?”

Kienna held her cheeks and kissed her on the forehead. “You are the one who brought life to us, Moira. Me, Danek, and Broan. I hope you know how much we needed you in River Storm.” She tilted her head. “You could come with us, you know. You don’t have to stay here.”

Moira desperately needed to hear those words. Part of her wanted to go with them so she wouldn’t have to be alone. She decided against it. “I can’t join your warpath.” Her hand caressed her stomach, a single tear falling from her dark lashes. “I’ll miss you.”

“Ash will check in on you.” Kienna caressed Moira’s cheek. “You make sure to let him in.” With a tear of her own, Kienna swiped her cheek and said, “I’ll be back for you.”

They hugged once more before Kienna turned. Dove Port smelled of rain, even before the clouds rolled in. The waves in the Lysiria crashed heavily onto the shore as fishermen anchored boats, yelling over the loud alarm of the seagulls flying overhead. The hint of storms in the sky carried wet earth, an exhale of revitalization in the battered city.

Moira would miss them—her Guardians. As she watched Kienna, Connak, and Ruva head to the trees, she realized she could learn to be alone. She could raise her baby in the very likeness of herself and the people she looked up to most. She’d tell her daughter about the woman who saved a helpless city and almost died doing it. The woman who commanded with a giant wolf at her side. And the man who healed beyond everything he had, caring for every living soul. She laughed, imagining the stories she’d tell of Broan. She certainly would recall the Shadowmaster who saved his brother as a child and gave up his soul for it. The man who loved her despite his shadows.

Those were the stories worth telling.

“Hello, Moira.”

Moira’s skin grew cold. The sun was gone, clouds rolling in. She almost refused to turn around. Once she did, it would solidify a course she didn’t want. Swallowing hard, she allowed herself to face the voice. Two men stood before her: a pale Elvish man and one of dark skin with the deepest brown eyes she had ever seen. Eyes that she knew. Her heart trembled before it shattered.

In all the stories she imagined telling her daughter about, she never once thought of a story she would tell her about Rhior.

“Just like that? They pulled you out?” Moira sat with him in The Elarent House as the storm bellowed outside, screaming for refuge. The firelight dimmed, casting harsh shadows across Rhior’s face.

He wiped at the bridge of his nose, exhaustion playing a cruel trick on them both. “The soldiers returned from war, and two of them snuck in. They had to pull me through the river to get out.”

“How’d you get across the bridge?” Moira asked. None of it mattered. She was simply stalling to avoid the bigger conversation at play. What was to become of them now that he was there? She didn’t want to face any of it. “And how’d you fare in the desert?”

Rhior picked at a plate of food in front of him, staring at the duck covered in Grinmelle’s special sauce. He did not seem impressed by the flavors. “The desert was nothing. I found it lovely.” He put his fork down, then placed his elbows on the table, folding his hands together. “How are you?”

“Me?” Moira searched him to see if he was truly being genuine.

His eyes didn’t budge. Rhior glared straight into Moira’s soul. He pressed his fists to his mouth, waiting patiently.

“I’m well.”