Page 159 of The Ashborn

Baila shifted at the mention of Broan. Her eyes darted between them.

Connak extended his hands, wrapping silver threads of energy around Baila’s wrists. They pulled taut with restraint. “You,” he said with a growl, “will renounce your magic to me. That will be the start of proving your sincerity and ensuring there is nothing inside that Vaerin can use you for to find our city.”

Pulling magic from another was nearly impossible. Connak wasn’t even sure he could truly do it, but the Elvish would never let them bring Baila in without the task done. Only Seredai had the power to manipulate magic. She often dabbled right at the edge of darkness—enough to be efficient but not enough to sink to the lower levels of Dark Priesthood. It would be a risk to Connak’s magic if he failed.

Baila stared at her hands for a long time. Bowing her head, she sighed. “Do it.”

There were two versions of the incantation Connak wanted to use. One was shorter, but it risked far more than he was comfortable with. To do it right, he would have to repeat a longer spell, and he barely knew the words.

“This may hurt,” he said. Connak closed his eyes, waving his hands over hers. “Len va rineth seran thas. Len va shal seran naedral. Na seran lo ess aeshir thas. Aeshir va ess valen ien. I give your magic to the river, and your soul is now my oath.”

A speckle of green power passed from Baila to Connak as he siphoned her magic into a dormant state. When she looked up again, her eyes shone less vibrantly. Except her magic didn’t leave Connak to return to the nature it came from. Her magic stayed with him. It lived, buzzing against the base of his skin, clawing at him to get back to Baila. Connak noted it, decided to process it later, and moved on. He pushed Baila over to Broan. The Viking took her stiffly and led her away, casting another sorrowful glance back at the falling city before disappearing behind the trees.

Connak waited outside M’Ran until nightfall, watching as the last remnants of the city fell into ruin. When the silence finally settled, he ventured back into the rubble. What was left was unrecognizable, hardly the image of what was once a city.

Kienna lay on the ground beside Danek’s lifeless body, her sobs barely audible, her body curled inward as if to shield him from the truth. She was drained, nothing more than a husk of grief. The silver glow of the moon illuminated them, and the forest trees bellowed with the wind. Connak’s heart nearly shattered at the sight of a fractured woman, once rebuilding, now fully broken again. Rubble crumbled around them. The air reeked of ruin, smoke, burned resin, and broken stone. The remnants of magic stained their presence as it wove through the chaos. The sight of his birthplace, reduced fully to ruin by the woman he vowed his life to, was nearly too much to bear.

Connak moved carefully. As he knelt beside her, he brushed against her mind to soothe it before another surge of chaos could erupt. He expected a larger fight to bring her back, but she was tapped emotionally. The rage burned itself out, leaving her empty.

Come, Little Flame. Ruva’s voice mourned in their heads.

Kienna’s charm lay half-buried in the dirt. Connak picked it up, the weight of it heavier than it should have been and gently placed it back around her wrist. Kienna barely reacted, her fingers weakly wrapping around the frayed twine. Connak went to lift her, but she gripped his arm in protest.

“Don’t leave him,” she whispered, her voice wrecked.

“We’ll come back, I promise,” Connak said, his throat bobbing. “I’ll preserve him until then.”

She stared at Danek’s pale face for what felt like an eternity before finally standing. She turned, eyes glazed over, looking at the ruins around them. Her clothes were soaked through with Danek’s crimson blood. She was a nightmare shedding itself into reality. More tears slipped down her cheeks. Connak fought his own, knowing he’d never be able to help her through this.

“Oh, Connak,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

He swallowed hard, his voice gentle. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 64

—Kienna—

Tristian waited outside of Trinity, hands tucked by his belt, watching as Kienna and Connak approached. His face dropped at the sight of blood. “What happened?” His voice came in loud—too loud for the muddled world around her.

Connak blinked, releasing a deep breath. Kienna heard him just as she heard the swaying of leaves. Ruva’s whining and lolling. She heard everything around her but her own heart beating. She moved slowly, nearly walking through Tristian like a ghost, her face streaked with dried tears and her body weak from the toll of magic. Her hands shook. Her fingers fidgeted against the beaded rings, sending her mind spiraling again. Ruva licked Kienna’s hands. Kienna pulled away. She didn’t want comfort. She only wanted Danek, and she couldn’t have that anymore.

“She should sleep,” Connak said with an edge.

It all came in a rushing wave, loud sights and sounds overwhelming Kienna’s mind.

“We should try to get a briefing in while it’s still fresh,” Tristian said, reaching for Kienna.

“That’s not a good idea⁠—”

“Danek is dead,” Kienna interrupted, staring blankly into the trees. The forest stilled with the news flowing off her tongue. It drifted in the wind. As the words traveled through echoes, the flowers drooped. And then she let out a desperate, airy laugh. “M’Ran is gone. Vaerin can conjure himself in places. None of us can kill him. We’re all fucked.”

Tristian stepped toward her, brows furrowed.

Connak placed his hands hard onto the High Commander’s chest, silver shimmering from his palms.

They stared at each other, daring the other to make a move.

Tristian stepped back.