Page 109 of The Ashborn

“Dammit!” Danek stripped his armor off and flung his weapons to the ground. He needed to feel light for this.

“She needs a lot of healing. It is likely more than you can handle,” Tristian said. “I shouldn’t ask you, but I need you to try.”

Nodding, Danek knelt. “How much do you need me to give, High Commander?”

He’d give it all. He just needed Tristian to confirm it.

Tristian sighed as he studied Kienna’s deep wounds. “I shouldn’t ask you to give anything in the condition you look, but you’re the only healer I have close by, and she needs attention now. I would have retrieved one already, but I fear if I left, she would have given up.”

“It’s okay.” Kienna sat up, grimacing through the pain as her skin pushed against the wounds. “I can try to do it.”

“Lie down!” Tristian demanded forcefully.

Danek listened to Tristian’s attempt at calming his breath. He put his hand on the High Commander’s shoulder. “I can do it, but I need to pull energy if you have some to give.”

Tristian looked at him for a moment with confusion. Under his breath, he asked, “You can do that, too?” He shook the question away immediately. “Whatever you need.”

“From me, too,” Moira agreed, kneeling beside them, but her hand wafted to her stomach. “Only not too much.”

Danek hesitated. His eyes flickered to where her hand rested. A subtle crease fell between his brows, and for a moment, his expression broke. It started with surprise, then concern. He wanted to spend more time piecing together hints that he hadn’t known before. But not in this moment. He shook the thoughts away and moved on.

“I, too, will help,” Elowen agreed, lining up.

One by one, people around them knelt by Danek, eager to assist. Danek took a deep breath and placed his hand on Tristian first, his other floating over Kienna’s body. He summoned every last bit of his magic from the tips of his toes to the last thread of hair. He pulled what he could from himself and dipped into Tristian’s reserves. Feeling the High Commander’s energy was like drinking a fine wine. Intoxicating at the mere shock of power in his veins.

Danek kept pulling, the energy consuming him. He was alive. On top of the world. Kienna’s wounds were practically piecing themselves together. Tristian grunted next to him. His breathing came in shallow spouts, chest heaving under the weight.

“Stop,” he pleaded, nearly falling to the ground.

Danek removed his hand, his body now trembling from the loss of his power. He studied Tristian for a moment. He was far more powerful than he’d ever let on. Kienna’s moan brought him back to reality. He shifted toward Elowen. She nodded, and the healing process began again.

“It’s not fast enough,” Tristian grunted.

Danek begged for water. Moira retrieved it for him as often as she could, summoning any version of the sun to boil it first. He drank and continued, pulling from anyone who would give him the energy to go.

Plenty had fallen in the chaos of the battle, but not the Guardians. Their circle had stayed intact through every horror so far. Danek shivered at the thought of that changing.

He’d be damned if this was the night it did.

—Connak—

Connak weaved through the maze of the city, jumping over the fried bodies in his wake. Buildings crumbled around them, another obstacle to maintain. In the clearing, the bridge appeared. The Shade danced haughtily around a familiar form. Tislin’s motions were slowed, more pointed in panic now than what Connak was used to seeing from his tactful friend. The shadows around him swiveled in a desperate attempt to push the Shade away. They, too, were afraid of their true master.

Connak sprinted.

He had no plan. What could he really do to destroy a shadow when light evaded them? Only two people in the world carried the light, and they didn’t know how to use it. If Connak could only distract the Shade, he could buy Tislin enough time.

Before he reached the bridge, the Shade dove underneath it and appeared again on the side with a familiar rune ticking. An explosion rocked the core of the earth, followed by a rumble at the bridge. The foundation crumbled, stone and metal toppling into the roaring river.

Connak yelled, eyes wide.

He reached out as if he could summon Tislin’s safety from afar, but Tislin was already plunging toward the rapids. As his body descended, the Shade jumped into the shadows and speared after him. Connak stared. “Shift, you bastard!” He waited for the Shadowmaster to disappear into the darkness and pull himself to safety. “Shift!”

—Tristian—

A shadow moved at the edge of the crowd. Tristian turned, expecting another civilian. It was Connak. His cloak slung low, dusted with dried blood and soot. His jaw clenched tightly, shoulders squared, as if holding himself together by sheer will. Mud crusted his boots. A long, dark smear crossed one cheekbone, but there was no fresh blood. Whatever wounds he earned were from earlier.

Connak’s eyes were dimmed, weighed by something deeper than fatigue. “Tristian,” he said, voice too even.