Page 43 of The Ashborn

She squinted with a curve to her lips. “Are you still mad about Vaerin’s shadows?”

His hand brushed her cheek before he could stop it. “I was never mad.”

Kienna’s eyes floated up until they found his. She smelled sweet like honey, a scent he’d recognize for the rest of his life. It wrapped around him with a wave of sadness as he wondered if she could love him. Danek would do anything for her for the sake of it. Connak would do anything for her because they were woven together by stupid prophecies, and their lives depended on it. That meant enough to stop him. But the way she started looking at Danek like he was something more… Then there was the more complicated matter of Tristian to consider. His fingers almost tightened on Kienna’s cheek. Instead, Connak slid his hand to his side, pushing the fractured feelings away. They weren’t his. He noted this, despite how hard it was to keep emotions at bay. “How is your woodcarver?”

“Much better. I need help building a ship. Tislin said you could send some Blades?”

Disappointment gripped him. Though flattered that she came to him to ask for help, it wasn’t on her own accord. Had he been trying too hard? Had he pushed her further than she was ready for? He didn’t think so. He took great care in how he presented things to her, giving her information when her mind was truly ready. Regardless, he was losing her, and he couldn’t pinpoint why…except maybe her nightmares. He’d seen her in the dungeons a few times. Those were the nightmares she pushed him out of purposefully.

“I never apologized to you,” he said, his chest sinking as he realized the misstep.

Kienna took a step back, searching him. “For what?”

Desperately, Connak’s eyes bounced between hers. “You must know, I did not mean to put you in the dungeons in River Storm. I made the wrong choices, and it got you hurt. I am incredibly sorry.”

Her lips parted, a furrow etching across her forehead. She scanned him multiple times, as if deciphering a long-lost clue that hadn’t been revealed until now. Her eyes glossed over as they shifted to keep tears from falling, but her mind darkened. Connak felt it in his own as he tried to hold the pieces together before they shattered them both.

Kienna crossed her arms. “Can you send Blades to help or not?”

“Kienna—”

“Please, Connak, I don’t want to hash that out⁠—”

“Hash it out!” he snapped. Before he could control the anger flowing into his veins, he lashed out and slammed his fist into a tree, pain searing his knuckles. “Fuck!” His hand went to his forehead to try to regain control, to push Kienna’s emotions away before they unraveled his mind.

He didn’t want her to pull away anymore. She needed to let him help her. Whether or not they liked it, their tether was never going away, and he’d be damned if he lived in a world where she didn’t at least trust him. His hands shook, and emotion tugged in his throat. “I will always be on your side, and I will always try to make this right. I’m not your enemy, so please, stop treating me like it.”

Kienna stepped forward, fury burrowing in her as darkness in her eyes illuminated the scowl. “Don’t you dare talk to me about enemies, Connak. I don’t even know how long I rotted before he let me out. You could have disappeared before they caught you, but you wanted to piss with the king. So, fuck you.”

Connak’s throat bobbed. He made many mistakes with Kienna, ones he could never rectify. He feared that much before he broke the wall to River Storm. This only confirmed it. He stared into the distance, a bleak silence encompassing their minds in static.

“You’re right, Kienna,” he said softly, daring to look at her. “You will always be right when it comes to my mistakes. I have made many.” He paused, anger dissipating within them. “I’ll send the Blades.”

He pulled away. They needed space. Kienna needed to heal, to have herself back where she could process how she felt without him in her way, reminding her of all the things that led her here. He desperately wanted to help her, but she’d never learn to trust who they were to each other until she could understand why he was put there in the first place. He couldn’t be the one pushing her trust. She had to do that on her own, and he couldn’t make it any better for her if he were constantly absorbing her anger and reflecting it.

Connak placed a ward over his mind, something he thought he would never do, and forced Kienna from his. It created a void that begged to be filled by her presence. He was rejecting his duty, his purpose. He imagined what she’d feel. Would she be as empty and scared as he was, or would she be relieved? He wasn’t truly severed from her; their tether kept them intact. It only placed a wedge between them, blocking each other out. It would be removed as soon as he let go of the ward. For now, Connak would have to trust that Tislin would keep an eye out for her and handle it with his life.

“Commander.” Danek’s voice cut through the rush of the river and the screaming of the void, sharp enough to jolt Connak fully back into himself.

“That was fast,” Connak said, already scanning the waterline. “What did you see?”

Danek leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Shadow weapons.”

Connak stilled, growing cold in his calculation. The word settled heavily in his chest. “Alright,” he said quietly. He turned, already pulling the next steps into place. “I’ll send Tislin. I want to know where they’re coming from and what they can do before we act on this.” His jaw tightened. “For now, let’s get some Blades and regroup in Dove Port.”

Chapter 17

—Broan—

Fucking Jacob. The bastard refused to go with Broan when he offered back at the Meadstead, and he’d tried to be selfless for Kienna. He wanted to throw himself off the mountain, thinking about it. There was fear in his eyes that Broan could understand, though. King Vaerin wielded immeasurable power. He never came across anyone in the Elvish city who could do what the king could do. He hadn’t admitted that out loud, but as he climbed the uneven ridges of stairs leading up the freezing mountains, Broan had too much time with his thoughts. It was that or think about how fucking cold he was, and he couldn’t allow that.

Behind him, Ithril trailed, covered in furs that Kaelthar had found for them back at the village. It didn’t stop the frost from clinging to the black of her tightly wound hair. Blue caressed her lips as they chattered against the cold shrieking of the wind.

“You need more fur?” Broan asked. “We can steal some from Chatterbox over there.”

Even as he said it, Kaelthar was deep into a story about his younger days in the Viking stormhold when the jarl took command from his own father and bore himself a daughter. Kaelthar chuckled. “That Ingrid is a spitfire, she is. Yer father made sure of it.”

Kaelthar carried a large pack on his back with supplies they’d picked up in the village. Broan carried one of similar size, stuffed with dried meats, canteens of water—which he hoped weren’t frozen—and furs.