From the Ashes (The Elder Blood Chronicles, #3)(53)

Shadows began to rise around the table and Jala spun to look back at Vaze, her eyes searching desperately for his intent. Perhaps if he could simply restrain Finn long enough they could find a way to force Death from his body. The sound of splintering wood brought her attention sharply back to the fight and she saw Valor rolling quickly from the broken table. Finn stalked after him, stooping to pluck a table leg from the wreckage as he moved. He gave a wicked smile as he hefted the wood in his hand and examined the jagged broken edge.

“Ready to see your sister again, Val?” Finn asked as he kicked another piece of the table from his path.

Valor had regained his feet and squared his shoulders. He watched Finn approach with no fear on his face at all, despite the wounds he had already taken. Jala wasn’t sure if the knight had noticed the ring of shadows slowly surrounding Finn’s feet or if he simply did not fear the thought of dying. Whatever the case, Valor simply nodded with a faint smile of his own. “You always did spit on the most important things in life, Finn. I know you have willpower, you bastard, but you never use it at the right times.”

Finn let out a bitter laugh and raised the table leg for a swing. “Sage advice, coming from you,” he chuckled as the shadows rose swiftly from the floor completely shrouding him in darkness.

Jala sagged back against Vaze and looked hopefully at the shadows praying that they would hold Finn long enough for Ash to cleanse him.

Valor staggered slightly and leaned back against the wall, a trickle of blood coming from the side of his mouth and more matting his fine silver hair. He looked across the room toward her, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you OK?” Valor asked softly.

Jala nodded slowly, her eyes moving back to the shadows. It was too still there. There wasn’t even the sound of Finn’s voice. “What did you do, Vaze?” she whispered as she began to move toward the receding shadows. Vaze remained silent behind her as she moved with faltering steps toward the empty place where Finn had been moments before. “No,” she gasped, her eyes searching for any sign of him. “No, no, no!” Jala wailed, dropping to her knees. Her hands scrambled futilely over the wood searching for any trace of the magic Vaze had used. “Finn.” The single word broke from her lips in a sob that shook her. “What did you do, Vaze?” Jala screamed as more sobs shook her body. Her wounds throbbed with protest but she no longer cared.

Footsteps sounded softly behind her and Vaze knelt in front of her. His dark eyes forced her to meet his gaze and he carefully placed one hand under her chin, holding her steady. “I’ve saved your life. Hate me if you must, but know this, Jala. That was a Divine, not Finn. Valor would have died and you would have died and the only one in this room that might have had a chance at facing Death and winning was too wounded to fight. Without you at full strength, we had no hope of winning. There was nothing else I could do to stop it and you did scream for me to make them stop.” He spoke calmly but there was a tone of sadness to his voice. He watched her cautiously as if he expected her to pull away or slap him.

Jala stared at him for a long while and then slowly nodded. “My fault then,” she whispered, more tears coursing down her face. “I should have listened to you and allowed the healing. Then I could have fought.” Her eyes fell from his face and her body slumped as another wave of agony ripped through her stomach. “My fault,” she repeated. This time speaking for the child that was coming too early.





Chapter 10





Sanctuary





The eyes of the dead woman seemed to follow him as he paced in the small circle his chains allowed. Havoc glared back at her and then past her to the countless others in the room. Each bore marks of flame upon them in some fashion. From scorched skin to smoke blackened clothes. It was obvious what had killed them. His breath fogged in the cold air as he let out a disgusted sigh and kicked a rock toward the corpse with the accusing eyes.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have huddled like a rat. Maybe you should have fought! You might have lived had you not been such a damned coward,” Havoc called and kicked another piece of rubble toward the dead woman.

If Lutheron had meant to teach him remorse with this ordeal, he had failed miserably. The only emotion that stirred inside him was anger, and a lot of it. Had these pathetic dead things been Firym they would have died in the streets with blades in hand, not huddled inside buildings cringing in fear. It wasn’t murder he had committed, as Lutheron said, it was a cleansing of the weak. In Firym the weak died, either in training or in the Scarlet Jungle, and no one mourned their loss.

With a faint snarl he pulled on the chains once more as he paced another small circle in the freezing warehouse. His fires coiled inside him, keeping his body warm, but that was the best that they could do. The wards on the chains prevented him from actually unleashing any of his fire or he would have burned the bloody place down within his first day of captivity.

“You remind me of a caged tiger,” Charm’s voice echoed softly from the shadows.

“What in the hell do you want?” Havoc snapped. He had nothing personal against the rogue, beyond his profession. That was more than enough to earn scathing words, however. His Aunt had died to a shadow hopper and then Finn had met the same death. He had no use for any of them, rogues or assassins. They were all the same, clinging to the shadows, afraid to stand and fight.