Page 80 of The Ashborn

Tristian straightened and fought the tug on his lips. He thought back to his father. How proud he would be that Tristian rallied the Trinity army behind this rebellion. It was something his father failed to do before losing his life. The army back then was full of the most elite warriors. The best that Silverthorne could spare. Since Vaerin’s dabble into dark magic, the mountains refused to share their best. Now, Trinity consisted of the rejects. Soldiers who were still supreme because of their bloodlines but could never measure up to those at the top. The only one who could was Tristian. The mountains would have kept him if Tristian hadn’t put his name into consideration for High Commander. Someone had to take over his father’s reign over the army. It only made sense for it to be Tristian.

Now, he commanded these rejects, and their bitterness played to his advantage.

“The cause I serve is for the realm. For Alistile and beyond.” Tristian let another wave of silence pass between them for the thought of what was beyond, those who were banished and warded away. A glimmer of hope passed between a few of them. “To those our rulers pushed beyond the mountains. To those who they told weren’t good enough. To the humans. If we die for it, so be it, but the cause is worthy.”

One by one, the commanders returned to formation as the weight of command settled into Tristian, heavy and familiar. The Trinity army was his. It always had been.

Tristian touched the scar at his collarbone without thinking. The blade that gave it to him was still out there. When the time came, he would need it. Kienna would need it.

Only then would the realm truly be ready.

Chapter 31

—Moira—

Moira waited outside The Elarent House, looking at Tislin as he gazed at the sea. He clasped his hands behind his back, a motion he only made when he had too much going on in his mind. They’d barely had any time to connect since his injury, and she wished she could get him to open up about it. She wondered if he was thinking about his brother again. Tristian’s presence always brought them down. Even injured, seeing them near each other was a strain. If she had a brother, she would want to do everything in her power to keep him close.

She didn’t have a brother, though. The king stole that from her when he took her from her home and killed her family. She huffed, surprising herself with the newfound anger. “Are you ever going to tell me about Tristian?”

Tislin’s brow rose, but his face held stoically as ever. He was too good at feigning indifference, a fact that infuriated Moira. It also boiled her blood in other ways that infuriated her. She continued her intent stare until he eventually turned back to the sea.

“There’s nothing to talk about. He wants me to be more. I am content being who I am.”

“Even if the shadows almost killed you?” Moira asked, forehead tightening.

Tislin’s head bowed slightly. “Yes.”

Moira couldn’t pretend she understood the shadows or how heavy they were to carry. Even on his best days, his eyes fell more than they smiled. It didn’t stop her from asking why anyway. Almost losing him made her bold. A few weeks ago, she brushed away the shadows, hoping they weren’t as serious as they truly were. She let it be his secret, allowing him to ignore the conversation. No more. Not when the shadows could have killed them all.

Tislin didn’t provide any further clarity. Moira scoffed. “Your shadows pushed me, Tislin.”

He winced.

“They ate at Danek’s hands. I deserve to know why you keep them.”

“I made a deal a long time ago, Sunbeam. I can’t get rid of them for as long as I want Tristian to live. Or I can give them my soul, which I wouldn’t dare do either.”

“I’d like to know more,” she pressed, pushing her hand onto his. The shadows at his feet diluted, and Moira stepped closer. “You don’t have to hide with me.”

Moira’s stomach thrashed. Now was not the time for a vision. She tried her best to stifle it, to will it away, but the kicking grew more frantic, and Moira’s mind spiraled. Time moved backward. Her grip tightened on Tislin’s to ground herself.

She was still in Dove Port, the night as black as ink. No stars trailed the skies; the moon was blocked by darkened clouds. It was the darkest she’d ever seen the city. The only light came from a single house near the farms. Moira jerked her head back and forth, searching for the child to guide her and get this over with. There was no little girl. Only shadows. But a voice echoed out into the night. “Be careful, Mama. The Shade can reach you at any time. Trust the Shadowmaster to pull you out.”

Moira’s heart thrummed faster, but she couldn’t stop. Tislin wasn’t pulling her away, though her child said he would. It was as if he wanted her to see. Shaking, she reached for the door.

Her child’s voice echoed again. “The window. Don’t go inside.”

To her right, an open window caught her eye. It hadn’t been there when she approached the house, but now the flickering light inside was undeniable. It was warm at first. The closer Moira got, the more she realized the light was being stolen by the dark shadow. She hunched under the windowsill and peered inside, trying to stay hidden.

A slithering whisper echoed as the shadow approached a tall woman with deep tan skin. “The Hollow King paid a good price to find this family,” it said.

The woman pushed two boys behind her, unmistakably Tislin and Tristian. His mother’s death. That’s what he guided her to. Moira’s lip quivered as she realized what she was about to see. She wished desperately to save her, to do anything that would turn the Shade away and keep all the pain from gutting Tislin. The thud in Moira’s womb told her to stop wishing and watch. The Shade slipped into black smoke, suffocating their mother. Her face contorted at the lack of oxygen. Tristian stepped forward, power roaring through him. He thrust both hands toward the Shade, unleashing a torrent of golden light that ripped through the air like a storm. It struck the creature with enough force to peel shadow from bone, but the Shade recoiled, slamming the magic back in a brutal wave. The blow sent Tristian crashing to the floor, his body limp. While he lay unconscious, the Shade moved to finish their mother, snapping her neck without even touching her. Moira gasped as tears flooded her eyes, and she tasted bile.

How horrid to witness this as a child. Tislin was young then, perhaps five. He watched bravely, his fingers twitching at his side as he stared at Tristian and not his mother. No tears escaped his eyes, but Moira had enough for both of them. She covered her mouth when her breath came out with pitch. The Shade coiled in the dark, a blackness staring at the window for far too long. Moira ducked, holding her breath and tears.

The presence moved on. Moira willed herself up, her hands shaking as they gripped the windowsill again to peek inside. The Shade approached Tristian’s still body, but Tislin stepped in front of his brother, lips pursed tightly. “Take me,” he begged.

“The Hollow King has no use for you,” the Shade whispered. “We have been looking for him for years. Now that I’ve found him, I intend to deliver him. The king will kill the light. Move.”