Page 108 of The Ashborn

Tislin’s form appeared from his shadow hop.

“Stay there,” Connak pleaded and leapt from the building.

—Tristian—

Every soul that stowed away in the barricades sat safely on the shoreline of the Lysiria. The people were cold, scared, and hungry. The battle cries of victory from Tristian’s soldiers were a relief to his ears. The sea crashed against the rocky shore, reminding them that victory was still a long way off. The air hung thick with salt and smoke. Hushed sobbing carried on the breeze, mingling with the lap of waves.

When they first got to the shore, Tristian pulled his armor off, ripping his shirt to bind the wounds. Kienna lay on the ground as he ran strips of his tunic around her body. He kept cursing, muttering ancient words to summon magic, but not enough came out. Not the kind he needed to make this right. Not the kind that had been torn from him and sealed away, somewhere far beyond his reach.

Moira sprinted when she saw them, pushing through the crowds as her face drained of color. She immediately took to ripping fabric from her own dress, flowing long and heavily around her growing body.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” Tristian urged, grunting helplessly. He stood frantically, scanning the people at the beach. He never felt so disheveled in his life. “She saved your lives.” His voice cracked unnaturally. “If anyone has any skills at all, I implore you to help!”

The people stirred at the shore, children’s cries ringing out. A few stepped up and offered their shirts and dress hems. Elowen pulled at her pockets and offered herbs. Tristian didn’t think they would help, but he took them anyway.

Where the hell was Danek?

Kienna moaned. Her body was caving. She fought to keep her eyes open. Trembling, her hand reached out to Tristian’s, her grip tight. Her icy skin jolted him from his constant prodding and wrapping.

“Ruva,” she rasped, shivering. The wolf stepped up behind him, startling him. “Put Ruva on me.”

Tristian glanced at the wolf as she panted, a soft whimper slipping from her jaws. Why hadn’t Kienna called for her? The thought of their bond fraying—or severing—flickered through his mind like a shadow he refused to face. Carefully, he reached for Ruva and guided her closer. She growled at the touch, a warning born of fear rather than anger, then let out another helpless whimper as she folded over Kienna, pressing herself along her side.

Waves crashed against the shoreline, splashing water furiously over them.

“You need to be with your troops,” Kienna whispered, her hand weakly pressing against Tristian’s chest as if to push him away. Her eyes were vacant, looking through him. Her body gave out immediately, collapsing back beneath Ruva’s weight.

“Connak went,” Tristian replied.

He watched helplessly. He didn’t have enough time for healers. He had the Vardent in the streets and still no fucking Danek. The magical defense that fought internally against Kienna was so strong, as if Vaerin desperately didn’t want her to find her strength. Tristian saw it, the awe-inspiring will and sacrifice to protect the people standing on the shore.

This couldn’t be how her story ended. How they all ended. He put his hand on her, if only for warmth. She flicked her attention to him, her chest pounding as rapidly as her breath.

“I get it now,” she whispered, lacing their fingers.

Tristian sparked the smallest hint of magic against her palm, a flicker of life to show her he was there.

“Why you push so hard. The realm…it depends on⁠—”

“Save your energy.” Tristian gulped, feeling her weakness in his own body. He lifted himself, turning back to the city. “Where the fuck is Danek?”

—Danek—

Danek pushed harder, desperate to reach the beach as Umbrin swarmed him. A sudden wave dragged him down, their weight pinning him to the cracked stone. He carved through them as fast as he could, tearing free with a burst of wind that launched him upward, only for another hand to clamp around his ankle.

Baila wrenched him out of the air and slammed him to the ground. She rose over him, sword angled like a personal triumph, despite her forces already retreating. Her lips curved in a hungry smile. “Give it up, Danek. She’ll be mine by the end of the night.”

Danek huffed, gasping for air. His fingers curled into fists as he sneered. “Go to hell, Baila.”

He lunged forward, pulling her sword from her grasp. Her eyes widened, the sound of her breath escaping her lips. The minute the weapon was in his hands, Danek swung.

Baila gasped at the cut in her arm. She glanced down, the tiny black vein slithering through her from the blade. Her eyes narrowed. She pulled the blade from his hand, and then, without warning, her form flickered away, and she was gone.

Danek’s gaze drifted to the sky, a sharp ache tightening in his chest. Whatever became of Baila now—whatever monster she might rise as—would stain his hands for the rest of his life. If the weapon could twist the dead into mindless Umbrin, he could only imagine what horrors waited for her. He swallowed hard.

He’d mourn later.

Rushing to the beach, his vision blurred. His energy was nearly depleted, but seeing Kienna on the ground covered in blood⁠—