Page 33 of The Ashborn

Master Calder stopped pushing. “No.”

“Come on, Ash,” she teased.

His eyes widened beneath his furrowed brow. “Don’t call me that. It’s disrespectful.”

“Good!” Kienna folded her arms. “Then it fits. You’ve taught me nothing, and it’s about fucking time you let me be a woodcarver and not some shopkeeper.”

Calder grunted deep in his chest. He shuffled toward the shattered pieces of wood, picked one up, turned it in his hand, and sighed. “Fine. But you follow my directions. No flair. And absolutely no talking.”

“Deal.” Kienna brushed the table surface clear. “But no more rum.”

The woodcarver paused, his gaze hesitating on the bottle sitting near his window. “You’re in no position to make demands. You asked to help me.”

Kienna put her hand on her hip. “Do you want to do shitty work? Or do you want to get this done?”

“Take it then,” he growled. “For tonight only.”

Nice work, Little Flame.

I’m not going to break him that quickly, but we can’t give up.

I don’t like how he speaks to you.

Kienna shuddered. I’ve heard worse.

Ruva’s growl hummed in Kienna’s mind. I can’t wait to bite off the king’s hands, too.

Kienna couldn’t hide her smile as she swiped the rum and tossed it out of the window. It shattered in the alleyway. She’d have to pour a bucket of water out there later to clean it, but there was no time to be conscientious. She took the win before he changed his mind. Ash sighed as he pulled broken planks from the ground, checking the window from time to time.

They worked through the afternoon and into the early evening, the sun a golden blur outside, warping the glass window. Though Calder never said a word, he didn’t stop Kienna’s hand once. “Tell me about that magic you used the other day. Are you one of those Elvish?” he asked halfway through.

Kienna didn’t look up from assembling the pieces. “I thought you didn’t want me to talk.”

“I don’t,” he growled and sanded away at the planks. After a beat, he asked, “What about that massive wolf in the alley? She thinks she hides well, but I can see her shadow as she walks.”

Head shaking, Kienna laughed. “Do you want me to talk or not? I’m trying to avoid you throwing a knife at my head.”

“Oh, never mind, then.”

Kienna fastened the final joint. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Why were you destroying things?”

“Not worth talking about.”

The woodcarver stared blankly into the corner at the carvings sitting in a pile. And the dragon. Tears stained his dirty cheek, grime that no doubt had been there for weeks. His hands trembled. By now, he’d be missing a drink, and whatever swirled his mind would beg him for one.

After a painfully long silence, the woodcarver put his chisel down. “Today is the day my children died. Twenty-five years ago.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Kienna stopped working and perched up. “I can’t imagine⁠—”

“Everything was fine until it wasn’t. My son, you see, died of a disease of his mind, and then the Great War started. Soldiers marched in one day, and… Well, they’re both gone.” As Calder spoke, his eyes remained glued to the corner. He never looked up to meet Kienna’s eyes, to see her brows droop low as she consumed his sadness. She spent so much time running away from King Vaerin that she never once bothered to understand that so many others were affected by him as well.

“My little girl…she got taken in the crossfire of battle. She wasn’t even supposed to be there⁠—”

The woodcarver heaved, burying his face in his hands. Kienna sanded the table, taking over his duties. She may have rushed it. It didn’t matter. Calder took himself out of commission the moment he let the tears fall. With no rum to bury his pain, she knew his emotions would no longer be dammed.

When the table was fully sanded, she took the smaller knife she used on her bird and dug into the wood to create a finely shaped flower in the center of a sun. She carved one in every corner of the wood and chiseled away until a knock came at the door. She forced herself to stop, dusting her hands on her navy tunic, specks of wood shavings clinging to the wool fabric.

Calder’s head jerked toward the knock as he stood, wiping his face. “I’ll give her a damn refund.”