Page 107 of The Ashborn

Tristian held him steadily to stop him from running into the frail structure. Only a small pathway led to the barricades now. The stairs were surely demolished with no safe path forward. He bit his lip hard. They needed to find Kienna immediately. To do that, he either had to get Connak or finally open himself to her. Weighing his options, Tristian realized that Connak would never be able to find her down there. Amongst the rubble, it wasn’t her mind holding on anymore. Everything she went through, the strife and the suffering, she would be in a mindless, numbing pain. She was down there, though.

Her heart guided the path. It was the only thing left she was holding onto.

Tristian grunted. “Go around to the beach. I’ll need you there.”

“I need to get Kienna!” Danek yelled.

“No,” Tristian said firmly, pulling Danek to face him. “I will find her. Trust me. Go to the beach. Now.”

Danek hesitated before he shot through the sky. Tristian bolted into the Great Hall, the floor crumbling as he stepped. He moved quickly to avoid falling into the pits of whatever remained below.

He was right about the stairs. All that remained was a gap that yawned below, at least two stories of bitter darkness. Dust hung in the air, shimmering in the glow of the dying torches. Tristian rolled his shoulders and braced himself as he let go. She was down there; he simply had to search through it all.

Anyone else would have broken their legs on impact. Tristian trained his whole life to handle brunt force to his body. The strain on his muscles nearly buckled his knees, but he caught himself and landed gracefully. He scanned his surroundings. A deep, splintering groan rolled through the stone above.

He had to be quick.

The barricades were already completely crumbled, wooden planks covering the ground with pieces of the floor from above. Tristian used his strength to push concrete out of the way. A faint glow continued to guide him until he finally saw a strobing light near the tunnels.

Kienna sat, trembling on the floor, her body convulsing from the raw overload of magic she unleashed. One hand spasmed like a claw holding the fragile barrier upright around herself. Rubble pressed on her like a burial shroud. The magic flickered violently, the last of her energy wavering.

Tristian pulled at the rubble, his chest heaving with desperation. It was rare for him to feel this level of purpose pulling on him outside of his duties as High Commander.

He’d get her. He promised he would.

—Kienna—

Dust sat thick in her throat. Kienna’s breath came in gasps, shallow and frantic, as though each inhale might be her last. Her bloodied fingers clenched the air as if she could hold on to her own strength a moment longer.

She whimpered through the anguish. A pleading sound for the pain to end or for the magic to hold. Through the haze, a presence cut through the smoke and debris. A hand, warm and anchoring, reached into her light and pulled her from the ruin.

Tristian.

Above the rubble, the darkened barricade was only a fraction of what it had been. Tristian’s arms cradled her tightly, though gently enough to mind her wounds. His eyes dipped to the torn skin on her arms and sides, and then to the dark red soaking into her shirt.

“I’ve got you now,” he whispered, voice so soft it could have been part of the wind. Kienna’s breath settled through the comfort it brought her to know she wouldn’t die alone in the rubble. Because that’s what she was doing—dying—though she could feel something else holding her together internally. Forces kept her alive that she couldn’t understand.

Tristian weaved through the tunnels, the sound of the Great Hall crumbling within itself following them. They moved faster than Kienna had ever moved before. Tristian swerved through the smell of damp earth until they reached the shore of the Lysiria amongst the others that were in the barricades before their attack.

The High Commander gently set her onto the rocks near the water, mindful of the gashes on her flesh. His eyes searched hers for a hint of reflection or awareness. Kienna was tired, as if she had borrowed energy that was not hers with no means of ever repaying the debt.

Ruva. She called it out into the world, heart aching.

Hold on! The bond flared to life like a thread snapped taut. Panic and anguish rushed over Kienna as the wolf sensed her pain. It was sunlight through fog. Distant, but real. Ruva was alive, and she was coming.

Kienna fell into that bond, the pulse of loyalty. She eased through the echo of a snarl not far from the city, allowing it to be her tether back to consciousness.

Chapter 43

—Connak—

Even when the Great Hall collapsed, Connak held his worry at bay. His gut wrenched. He could sense Kienna. It came in waves of pain, but he preferred that over the feeling of nothing.

He focused on his command: following Tislin. He and the Shade slipped between shadows, eluding Connak’s eye. Every time he closed the distance, they slipped through again, forcing him to begin again. By now, Dove Port’s victory could be heard through the night. Creatures retreated into the Malintale. Whatever was left of the River Storm soldiers was not worth worrying about, and Connak had Talon scoping for Baila.

In the streets, soldiers raged through the storm, pushing through the damp stones and bloodied bodies fallen in their path. They pushed with such strategic grace that the chaos of Vaerin’s army was no match in the end—the burned bodies leaving nothing for the enemy to reclaim or rise again. The soldiers let out a battle cry, celebrating. Raelan surfed the wind, pounding her sword up to the moon as the clouds began to clear.

Connak wanted to celebrate, too, but the shrill of the darkest corner snapped him from any merriment. He turned to the Goldmere River, roaring and rushing at a pace unstable for crossing.