Page 8 of The Ashborn

Her glow returned as her full mental presence enveloped his own again. “You wish.”

“I do wish,” he said lightly.

Kienna’s breath hitched as she looked at him. He couldn’t fully read her expression and wasn’t sure he wanted to know her deeper thoughts. Connak nudged her and laughed. “Did I steal your breath?”

Her expression didn’t change when he said it as she looked around. Now, he’d give anything to hear her thoughts. Kienna smiled at him, but her eyes were dull. A beat of silence passed, one of comfort. When Kienna’s mind dimmed again, she fought back tears. “Am I safe here?” she whimpered. “Dove Port is unprotected, and Vaerin could⁠—”

Connak brushed her cheek. “I have my Blades everywhere. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be careful, but we’ll never let anything bad happen. Do you trust me?”

“I should go. I must be at the workshop early tomorrow.”

“Let me know how it goes?” Connak asked, regretting he’d tried to diffuse the situation at all. Kienna pulled away, taking her warmth with her as his mind returned to the damp forest. The trees stood silent, and cold crept into the air.

—Kienna—

Moira rested peacefully in bed. Her chest rose and fell without a single care in the world, and Kienna envied her. Moira didn’t see the horrors the rest of them did in war, the way the walls of Dalelry came tumbling down, and the decrepit creatures of King Vaerin’s army tore into the limbs of soldiers.

Steadying her pulse, Kienna quietly opened the door into the common room. She startled at the sight of Elowen sitting in her chair, knitting a tiny hat as firelight flickered against her face.

“Don’t worry, child. I knit when I can’t sleep. Feel free to take whatever you can to help your troubles.” The old woman began to hum. “The books are a great place to start.”

Kienna looked at the stacks piled on top of each other and in the corner. She approached the old leather and poorly bound pages. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed Elowen staring at her, lips parted as if she were waiting for something to happen. Turning back to the books, Kienna rummaged through them, opening a few to see if she could find topics of interest. Most were about healing tinctures, others about history or art. It was a small book bound in green leather that caught her attention first. Sifting cautiously through the pages, Kienna noticed the words were written in a peculiar language.

She held it out to Elowen. “What’s this one?”

“Oh,” Elowen chirped, a laugh escaping her lips. “Elvish poetry. I was gifted that as a young girl.” She brought her bony hands to her cheeks as if wiping the blush away. “It’s Edranic poetry. I never could read it.”

Kienna smiled. She didn’t understand Edranic either, but the sound of poetry was too tempting. “Do you mind if I take this? I think I know someone who would like it.”

“Yes, yes! Of course.” Elowen put down her knitting needles and approached Kienna. “Are there no other books here that catch your attention?”

Kienna gave the books another once-over. They were all so old that she couldn’t bear the thought of destroying them because she wanted to clear her mind. She shook her head and tucked the poetry under her arm. Elowen looked disappointed, swiping at her dress with a sigh.

“Is there one you think I should read?” Kienna asked, picking up a paintbrush instead.

Elowen pursed her lips. “Oh, no, no. Not unless they call to you, dear child. Until then, paint away.” She disappeared through the kitchen.

Kienna paused, the books tugging her awareness. What did Elowen mean by the books calling to her? Was that a term lovers of the written word would use? Was a story supposed to call them before they could read? Kienna didn’t attempt to understand the peculiar woman. She yawned and dipped her brush into the prettiest hue of green she could find, stroking it against the canvas until morning found her.

Chapter 4

—Kienna—

The woodcarver’s shop was narrow and half-swallowed by the shadows of the alley. Its windows sagged beneath the weight of dust and cobwebs, most of the panes cracked or patched with uneven planks. A faded sign hung above the door, its letters so worn that only the word workshop could still be made out. Tislin had claimed the woodcarver was among the most sought-after craftsmen in the city, a man who shaped keels and figureheads, even dabbling in shipwright work. The minute scale of the shop indicated anything but greatness.

“Hello?” Kienna called as she pushed open the door. Dust greeted her, as if no one had been there in years, which was hard to believe since Tislin also said he had enough work to need an apprentice.

Maybe he stepped out, Ruva suggested, hidden amongst the other alleyways.

Tislin said he wanted me here at this time. Why would he leave?

I don’t know, Little Flame.

Kienna took a chance to familiarize herself with the space. Shelves lined the planked walls, stacked with wooden bowls, cups, and animal toys. Concrete covered the floors, the simple material contrasting with the intricacy of the wood. Kienna assumed it hid the sawdust that filled the room while the carver worked, settling into the cracks and crevices. Light filtered in from the boarded windows at the front, highlighting a meticulously carved door that framed the back wall. Kienna attempted to open it, but it was locked.

She grunted and turned to discover tree stumps sitting beside stripped, unused logs and planed planks on the floor. Special carving tools lay scattered along the shelves, tools Kienna had never seen before. She’d only ever carved with a standard knife. She wouldn’t even know what to do with these tools. The room pressed into her, mocking how she was completely out of place here.

That’s why you’re the apprentice. Learn from him, Ruva said.