Page 13 of The Ashborn

Kienna rolled her eyes but reached for a blade anyway. It made sense to use one that had a wider edge. It was the only type of blade she knew when carving into wood. It would have to do, since the curved and hooked blades certainly made no sense to her. She took to the wood, allowing the rhythmic flow of the blade to lose her in time. Shavings fell around her feet, and after a while, the block of wood indeed shaped a bird, as Ruva requested. But she stared at it for far too long, seeing where it lacked definition and perfect proportion. She used to think her carvings were outstanding. Comparing her work to the woodcarvers’ shelves made her cringe.

It’s the tools, isn’t it?

I know less than you, Ruva panted. Try another one?

Kienna looked at the line of tools again. She gently lifted one with a narrow edge honed to a perfect point, feeling the bone handle warm in her hand. And then she fell once more into rhythm with the blade, chipping away at the wood until every inch looked like real feathers.

I think I’ve been fully transformed, Kienna laughed.

Me, too! Moira gave me some cream.

Where did you find Moira?

She just left The Elarent House. She was in a rush, but she couldn’t say no to me!

No one can say no to you. You went all the way to The Elarent House?

The workshop door opened with a thud, jolting Kienna from her conversation with Ruva. The door slammed, and Calder Ashfell stumbled out with another bottle. Kienna jumped to her feet, setting the carving knife down. She squeezed the bird so tightly that the wooden lines imprinted her palm.

The woodcarver fumbled around, pillaging the shelves and knocking down carvings until he snatched a knife and wobbled back toward the door. He paused, looking at Kienna with sunken eyes that shifted curiously to the carving she held. He sauntered to her and snatched it, looking at the details.

Heat rose to Kienna’s cheeks. “I finished cleaning, so I thought I’d take a break.”

“No break is worth this garbage.” He tossed the bird into the corner of the workshop. “I would never put that on the shelf.”

With that, he retreated into the workshop and slammed the door shut. Kienna remained, staring at the door, warm tears forming in her eyes. Ruva said something, but she couldn’t hear it behind the pulsing through her mind telling her the one skill, the one thing that was truly ever hers, keeping her afloat in all her brokenness wasn’t good enough either.

I don’t care who that man is. If he ever talks to you like that again, I’ll bite his hands off. Ruva paced outside The Elarent House in an alleyway while Kienna stared into a cup of water inside. See if he can carve anything better when he doesn’t have fingers.

Kienna planted her elbows on the table and dipped her head into her palms. She hoped Moira would be there since she had taken a position waiting tables, but she was nowhere in sight. When asking for her, the barkeep, Grinmelle, mumbled that she had an errand to run and would be back later for the night shift. Then she returned with a plate of plain rice, setting it in front of Kienna.

Eat, Little Flame. You’re getting too skinny.

Kienna took a bite, but she could only manage one swallow before tears welled in her eyes. Was she ever going to come across a person who was simply nice? She’d withstood torture in River Storm and cold blankness in Trinity. She managed fine, but when the woodcarver said her bird was inferior, her heart sank, weary from the constant inability to be enough.

Men from the shipyard poured into The Elarent House, taking residence across from where Kienna moped. One with a faded blue cap pulled low over his ears looked at her. “Oi, you look like you swallowed a storm. What’s crawlin’ round in your head, lass?”

“Ain’t she the one old Ashfell dragged in?” asked another man, much taller than the first.

Kienna glanced at the group. The three of them were dressed similarly with their woolen caps and loose-fitted linen shirts. They were damp, as expected from men who worked by the water.

“I heard Ashfell’s been hired to build boats again. Think that old man can still lift a hammer without falling apart?”

The men laughed.

“They say he was the best back in his day, but hell, that day was a long time ago,” said the man who greeted Kienna. “Reputation don’t hold a chisel steady.”

“Apparently, only the rum does,” Kienna muttered. She thought the words were too quiet to hear, but they all burst into laughter in response.

She recalled Tislin telling her that Calder was the best in the shipwright trade as well. Kienna never saw that talent, only a broken man destroying his workshop and yelling at her.

“I don’t envy you,” said an older gentleman who sat alone at another table. He was worn and dirty, specks of woodchips clinging to random places in his wool shirt. “He used to build ships that didn’t need fixing. His carvings were so clean you’d look twice to make sure they weren’t watching you. Now he’s an asshole and a hard bastard to work for.”

The first man who spoke to Kienna leaned over. “Is he like that?”

The three men and the older gentleman from across the room stared at her. It became glaringly clear to her how few people she had interacted with since leaving River Storm. She was far too aware of her own presence. Her hands collected sweat, and she shook her head and looked down, hoping to avoid the mist clinging to her eyes.

“Name’s Fenlo,” the man said again, as if he already knew what she was thinking. He jerked a thumb toward his crew. “That’s Eban, and the big one’s Harn. We ain’t lookin’ to meddle, just figured we’d say our bit. We’ll keep outta your way.”