Page 83 of The Ashborn

Kienna sank into her chair, thumbing carefully through the fragile pages. The words bled into her like old magic waking up. Fire and mist, a girl crowned by ash, a people led from darkness. As she read, her heart stumbled.

Long ago, the veins of magic ran free beneath the earth, enough to twist the creatures of the wild. When the sun refused to rise, the creatures would crawl from their dens and spill across the land. Fields were blackened, rivers turned to steam. The very stones bled with corruption.

Kienna thought of King Vaerin and the creatures he summoned for his army. Were they creatures he had created himself? Or were they ancient beings of the world’s oldest magic? Maybe both?

In the heart of the Shrouded Vale, where mist never lifted, and shadows ruled, the last free people stood with nothing but rusted weapons and shaking hands. No walls guarded them. No armies rode to their aid. Only a woman with a worn cloak and a crown she never asked to wear.

Her name was Kienna.

She almost shut the book. Connak grazed her arm. “Keep reading.”

The warrior of folklore bore no shield blessed by mages. No sword forged by kings. She bore only the fire that lived in her heart—wild, unyielding, and bright enough to shame the stars. When the beasts came howling through the mists, Kienna did not run. She stood at the mouth of the vale, a torch clenched in her fist. Behind her, the broken remnants of a hundred scattered villages huddled together. Kienna looked at them once.

Only once.

She cast the torch into the field of dry grass and fallen leaves. The fire caught like a living thing, racing outward and roaring to life. The creatures screamed as the flames encircled them, as the mist itself turned to gold and ash. The fire tore through the lands as the cloak clung to Kienna. Flames licked at her skin, seared her hands and face, but she did not fall. She walked through the ring of flame, barefoot and bleeding, leading her people of the Shrouded Vale while the beasts withered behind her into the inferno.

They said later that her cloak burned away, and when she emerged from the smoke, the ash clung to her skin like a second soul. They called her the Ashborn Queen from that day on, a woman crowned, not by bloodline, but by survival. Where her blood spilled into the soil, the earth grew stronger. When the world needs her most, her fire will rise again. She will be reborn of fire and wind, a seer of all things, to destroy the last of the darkness.

Kienna’s hands trembled against the pages. “Surely, you aren’t showing me this to tell me I’m an Ashborn Queen. That’s bullshit.”

Connak shifted. “There’s more when you’re ready.”

“This is a Dove Port story. Perhaps it was common enough. Why else would Vaerin call me Kienna?” She closed the ancient text in front of her. “I bet if you looked hard enough, you could find an ancient hero you’re named after.”

“Sure,” Connak whispered. He placed a warm hand over her shoulder, brushing her ash-laden hair out of her way.

“I’m not her.” Kienna tensed as her eyes bore into Connak’s with such vulnerability. She was uncomfortable revealing it, but she’d pushed him away for so long, and she was tired, too.

Connak gave a sad smile. “It’s only a path.”

“Why must it be me? I wanted to get away and be free. No one is letting me.”

He only shrugged, giving her his famous lopsided smirk. “Why must it be anyone? We can only guess what the world has in store for us. Your parents were building something here. Whatever it was, The Mother believed in them enough to give them you.”

Kienna wanted to argue, but she didn’t have a solid retort. Culture, rich and alive, lived in her through what her parents had built. They believed in something so deeply that they led a rebellion against the natural order of the world, one that eventually drove Vaerin to madness in search of his own power. She came from everyone, yet nothing. “I wish I knew who they were before the world turned on them. They could guide me.”

“Elowen did,” Connak said firmly. “That’s why she has these books.”

Kienna glanced at the faded leather and set the books next to her. “Can you stop disappearing? I’m going to need you.”

Connak lowered his brows. “I don’t think you do anymore, Kienna. We need to live in a world where that can be true.”

She thought about a world without Connak to talk to. She found she’d taken him for granted before, not realizing how much he’d gotten her through the worst times between River Storm and now. The dungeons loomed over them like a dark reminder, but it lessened on her, knowing he’d only tried his best.

“I promise to take these books with me and think about them if you promise to stop thinking like that,” she said.

Connak ran his hand through his hair and grinned. “Can’t get enough of me?”

Kienna took hold of his hand. “Something like that.”

She glanced at another book, peeking into the pages. The first page she landed on indicated magical projections. She squinted. “Spells?”

“I don’t know that one. Be cautious of what you read there. Projections can be dangerous. You could get stuck if you’re not careful.”

Kienna read through the page.

Magical projections served to channel the mind and presence into a physical location. Highly skilled sorcerers could do this and physically alter the world.