Page 111 of The Ashborn

Too much time passed, and every part of his body faltered.

Connak wiped the memory away, fighting the flood of sorrow in his chest. It stirred in his throat and through his eyes. Kienna sat up now, the clear toll of magical debt evident on her body. The scars would be healed fully once they arrived at Trinity, but he could tell from her eyes that her soul would bear the weariness of it forever. Her breaths were shallow, her arms shaking against Danek’s chest.

“I’m sorry.” He hung his head. “I wish I could tell you, but debriefing comes through our High Commander when he’s ready to share.”

“Is everyone alright?” Moira asked.

Her question only hurt more. Connak wasn’t ready. He couldn’t tell them—especially not Moira. “Kienna needs to rest, but not here. We need to take her to Trinity. Only Seredai can fix the toll on her body…” Connak drifted back to the Lysiria. “Find her a bed for now, and you can go to the square if you wish. That’s where you’ll find Tristian.”

He stood like a ghost and left them at the sea.

—Kienna—

Kienna clutched Danek to keep herself upright as they stood in the square. Her body faltered, forced to put itself together through the turmoil. The feeling of molten liquid scorched the inside of her body. She flew too close to the sun, and she was paying for it. She whimpered as Danek helped her move. Ruva nipped at her hands.

I’m glad you’re alright, Ruva cried, but that was a stupid thing you put us through.

They would have died, Kienna said, a tear dropping into her path. She tightened her grip on Danek’s shoulders.

Tristian anchored himself at the front of the army as a broken city smoked in the background. Buildings that once stood at the peak of their architectural finesse crumbled in shambles, cracks and holes overtaking the stone. In front of them, the Great Hall lay scattered in rubble.

Look away, Ruva whined.

Elvish and Dove Port soldiers won the battle, but the victory cost far more than the lives of good men and women. Kienna held her breath, forcing the world into focus as the weight of the aftermath pressed into her ribs.

The High Commander cleared his throat and approached the center of his commanders and generals, while the lower-ranked soldiers raided the city to find any opposing army forces that might have lingered. Prisoners were rallied and accounted for while other soldiers fled through the hills to the Malintale.

“You fought well.” Tristian scanned the group, his voice low and trembling. His usual, stoic tone cracked, barely recovered. Kienna saw a vulnerability that she had never seen in him before. His hand shuddered at his side before he curled it into a fist. Kienna perked, but it took everything within her to remain upright and focused. “One of our Captains has fallen tonight.”

The Elvish men bowed their heads, moving their hands from behind their backs to clasp in front, a clear sign of their emotions shifting to mourning.

“Oh, no,” Moira gasped. She covered her mouth to remain quiet, but the heartache already spilled from her eyes. She scanned the crowd, searching frantically.

“Apparently, the wards meant to keep Sinmara’s beasts at bay have faltered. A Shade joined Vaerin’s cause and decided to partake in battle tonight,” Tristian continued. His gaze flickered to the ground, then up again as if willing himself not to fall apart.

Connak stood nearby, head bowed. His eyes were low, face tear-stricken through the grime on his cheeks.

“Tislin fought the Shade for as long as he possibly could, but without any known strategy for these creatures, he…” Tristian paused, his throat visibly bobbing. For a moment, he didn’t look like a commander. He looked like a brother. “The bridge gave out, and Tislin fell.”

Moira’s breath came in ragged gasps. Kienna tried not to look over.

As if summoned by Tristian’s news alone, the Elvish soldiers straightened. One by one, they stepped from their formations. In reverent silence, each raised their hands to the sky, fingers spread wide in offering. The motion was smooth and practiced, elevated by their grief. Their eyes remained forward, but their souls looked to the skies, as if calling to the Eternal Mother to receive one of their own.

After several suspended heartbeats, the soldiers lowered their weapons until the tips touched the ground. Metal and wood met earth with a soft ring and muffled thuds. The gesture was quiet, but it echoed through the square, a ripple of shared sorrow. They bowed forward, shoulders slumped over the grounded weapons as though leaning into the soil to carry the weight of what had been lost. Not a word passed between them. Not a breath was wasted.

This was it. The ritual known as the Bow of the Bough, the sacred gesture passed through generations. She wavered as Moira fell to her knees, burying her face deep into her hands. The weight of Kienna’s existence grew heavily on her already aching soul. She didn’t think she would change anything about her decision, aside from leaning more into trusting those around her to help her make them.

“I need to go.” Kienna’s voice fluttered. If she stayed any longer, she would faint and ruin the beautiful ceremony of mourning. The burnt bodies on the street didn’t help the sinking feeling in her gut. “I’m going to be sick, and I don’t want to take more from them right now.”

Danek wrapped his arms around her tightly, pulling her off her feet as he carried her toward the apartments near the sea. Kienna glanced back at Connak. He looked at her with an empty, grieving stare. She took more from him than she ever imagined, a weight that, she feared, would change them forever.

—Moira—

Moira’s sobs consumed the very essence of her body. She’d been warned about everything she could expect regarding Kienna, but she never saw Tislin’s death coming. Living in a world without the man who made her tea in the morning and called her Sunbeam… Her heart ached, and she didn’t think it would ever recover. She regretted everything about their last interaction. She only wished she’d kissed him fully with no regrets. He made her feel important despite everything about her. He taught her the history of herself and fought to be the best man he could be, especially for her.

She remained on her knees long after the ritual was finished, long after the soldiers melted back into the streets. The dead surrounded her, unnoticed. When the clouds rolled in and rain broke over her skin, she didn’t react. Moira couldn’t move. Her world had narrowed to a single moment—her hand on Tislin’s arm, the quiet plea in her chest as she asked him to stay with her.

He didn’t stay with her. He left her, and he died, taking her heart with him when he did. Moira didn’t want to live inside that moment, not without him. She wanted to go to the Goldmere, to sink beneath its surface and settle at the bottom where Tislin’s body might be.