Page 23 of The Ashborn

“Kienna,” she laughed. She wasn’t sure why it was funny—maybe because it was ordinary. A small, human moment in a world that had never let her have one. Seeing someone so real and unpolished, was a breath of fresh air.

The old man pressed his hand to his chest. “Ah, of course. What can I do you for?”

“The woodcarver, as you all said, is a shipwright as well, and he needs material.”

“That old drunk was here yesterday,” the old man scowled.

Kienna’s heart sank. The woodcarver gave her no reason to be concerned, but she couldn’t help but feel sad for the man. What had broken him in such a way that caused him to drink so much? And he was losing track of time. Maybe the drink, maybe something worse. The old man wasn’t simply angry. He was slipping, and for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she pitied him or feared what that meant for both of them. “Did he at least order enough?”

The man crossed his arms, his burnished-bronze skin folding into wrinkles. “It’ll get him through one ship. As long as his hand doesn’t slip and he measures properly.”

“Go ahead and add more. Probably double.”

“You know,” the man said as he wrote the order, taking Kienna’s money, “Calder wasn’t always this senile. He used to sing. But, uh…well, the Great War changed a lot of us. Him most of all.”

Wouldn’t his business have thrived after a war? They would need more ships and materials. Kienna bit her cheek. “What did he lose?”

“The rest of his family died in that war. Extremely sad story.”

The revelation was illuminating, but it only made her feel worse. She didn’t realize when accepting an offer to work with the woodcarver that she’d be taking care of a mind-worn man grieving for twenty-five years in the process. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too late to tell Tislin she’d rather work elsewhere.

Kienna followed the city maze back toward the center of Dove Port. Artists were already out, painting against stone walls and perched on scaffolding, chiseling reliefs into the limestone façade. Harp music floated over the streets, delicate and haunting. It mixed with the sea breeze and the steady clink-clink-clink of metal tapping stone, like rhythm and memory had gotten lost in the cracks between buildings.

It should’ve brought peace. Should’ve helped.

It didn’t.

All she could hear was Calder’s voice. You’re useless. All she could think about was his shaking hands and how he hadn’t remembered placing the order. That he once sang. That made her want to cry more than anything else.

She slipped into the alley near the Brass Knot and let her back hit the wall. The puddle beneath her soaked straight through her pants and boots, and that was it. The final insult. She didn’t even bother to move.

Ruva waited for her in the alleyway. You okay, Little Flame?

I didn’t think I’d be mourning the woodcarver before he’s even dead.

Ruva panted in her mind with a tiny whimper. You were hoping he’d be the man Maren told you to find.

I don’t think he’s going to help me. She cried into her palms, worried that her quest to leave Maren and Jacob behind wouldn’t pay off. Do you think they’re already dead, Ru?

Connak said no, Ruva replied. Did you stop trusting him?

I’m so tired of worrying. I wish I could see them.

Ruva sat with her, letting her cry while she lay her large head onto Kienna’s lap. Kienna hugged her, sinking her face into the fur. She heaved, her body shuddering until all the tears came out. She hadn’t cried that hard in a long time. How could she when every moment was spent working to be forged into the unwavering strength everyone told her she must be? When was there time for recovery while powering through nightmares, pain, and fear? Through betrayal.

She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. She had killed so many, then ran away from it all to find a man she desperately hoped would fix it for her, only to find Calder instead. Strength left her body, like she finally stopped forcing it to pump in her veins, and she was a child again, begging for her mother to hold her and stroke her hair. Maren used to rub her cheeks with her thumbs and sing lullabies and rock back and forth.

Ruva’s head lifted, and she licked Kienna’s face. Kienna scrunched back but let Ruva continue until her tears were gone.

We’re here now, Little Flame. You and me.

Kienna placed her hands around Ruva’s face. Her silver eyes stared back at her, and Kienna’s heart stilled through the comfort.

Your hands are hot.

Kienna pulled them away and examined her palms. The K on her thumb burned. It was faint, but her hands glowed with a deep orange, like an ember glowing beneath a log as the fire stilled. Was there still magic in there? She couldn’t sense the electrical buzz that usually pulsed inside her. It wasn’t a storm that brewed in her now, but a raging heat waiting to be let out. She couldn’t muster more than the warmth and the glow, but it was enough to dispel the cold. The charm was supposed to kill the magic—all of it—not tame it. So, what was left inside her now?

Ruva sighed. Let’s get you out of the puddle and back on track.