From the Ashes (The Elder Blood Chronicles, #3)(54)

Charm dropped lightly down from the rafters and landed in a crouch without as much as a thump of his boots on the wooden floor. Slowly the rogue stood upright and dusted his dark leathers. He straightened his shoulders once and adjusted his long blond braid to where it fell straight down his lean back. “Jala lives. I thought you would want to know. She returned from the Darklands yesterday.” Charm’s voice was hushed and his eyes flicked to the door as he spoke.

“And they told you to not tell me,” Havoc surmised in a low growling voice.

“You are in penance,” Charm pointed out with a faint shrug. Glancing over his shoulder, the rogue let his gaze trail down the corpse that lined the wall and then turned back to Havoc. “I told Lutheron that remorse is not a word that is found in the Firym language,” he offered quietly.

“Flames devour the weak,” Havoc said, quoting a Firym proverb. To his people, fire was a lifeline and a test of power. If you could not control it, you died. It was better that way at any rate. For a Firym to be burned and not die would be worse than death. The shame and scorn his people would show would be unbearable.

“They weren’t Firym,” Charm reminded him gently.

“And they were devoured. You expect me to feel pity for them? I have no use for any of them and I refuse to mourn their loss. They were a waste of air,” Havoc snapped, his anger twisted inside him just long enough for guilt to press him. He had thought he was past that. He had let his temper rage for days to keep that other emotion at bay. “They should have fought,” he added, his voice cracking a bit on the last words.

“Were you any other Firym, I might think you truly believed that, Ki’jani. Not you, though. Not the one that washed ashes from a child’s face and promised her safety despite the fact that she was Merrodin, a sworn enemy of your people.” Charm’s voice was soothing and Havoc despised him for it.

Havoc felt his temper cooling further and snapped the chains in frustration. The use of his true name had caught him off guard. Only a few people even knew that name. “Jala is strong. She fought. I heard her spells tearing the Justicars apart. Jala doesn’t cower and hide,” Havoc snarled. His gaze rose once again to the line of corpses and he spat on the floor in disgust. “They should have fought,” he repeated in a lower voice that held a quaver that sickened him. If his people saw him now they would swear he was not of the ruling house. His own father would walk away in disgust. “What the hell do you want Charm? You’ve given your news, now leave!” Havoc snapped the chains again and turned his back on the rogue as well as the dead staring eyes.

“Jala is strong but I’m afraid she isn’t strong enough,” Charm began cautiously.

“Explain that!” Havoc demanded as he whirled to face the rogue once more.

“She fought Death and it is said that she is dying now. The wounds she took were grievous. Vaze did all he could for her, but there was nothing he could do against a Divine’s raw power. I’m sorry, Havoc, I wish that I brought better news, but Jala failed and now she is going to suffer the full extent of her folly. Finn was raised, but Death possessed his body. Vaze had no choice but to send him back to the Darklands in an attempt to soothe Death,” Charm continued, his eyes searching Havoc’s face as he spoke.

Swallowing heavily, Havoc allowed himself to fall back against the wall. His throat grew tight and he bowed his head as he considered the rogues words. Finn was truly dead, then, and the little ragged girl they had found in the ashes of Merro would be soon. He inhaled again and tried to fight back the emotions that were swiftly drowning his anger.

“Victory is waiting for you. He says the two of you buried Badger and it is only fitting that the two of you bury his child. He wanted to tell you himself but getting in here is a bit tricky,” Charm said softly.

“Damn you,” Havoc gasped as he felt the first tear trail down his face. His grief was silenced as the chains fell away from his wrists and clattered loudly to the floor beside him. In complete shock he stared down at his chafed wrists and then up to Charm who was rapidly backing away from him.

“A tear, a single tear. That’s what Lutheron set the penance at. Let the Firym brood in darkness until he can manage a single tear for what he has done,” Charm whispered. “Victory didn’t actually say any of that by the way. He did mention that you would never cry no matter what and that you would rot in this place for the rest of the war. Vaze also said that since Jala survived the initial fight she does in fact stand a chance,” the rogue added as he jumped upwards and nimbly grabbed a rafter. With a slight twist of his nimble body he disappeared into the shadows above.

“You son of a bitch!” Havoc bellowed as he unleashed a torrent of flame after the rogue. White hot fire washed over the ceiling and the building began to fill with smoke. “I am going to gut you, rogue!” Havoc screamed as he turned toward the sealed doors of the warehouse. Drawing his hands back he summoned the fire once more and unleashed it in a blast. The wooden doors exploded with the violence of the flames and Havoc stalked through them, his fury fueling his every step.

“By Fortune’s grace did he actually manage it then?” Victory gasped. The Fae stood leaning against his warhorse and was staring with shock written clearly on his features. Slowly he leaned and looked past Havoc to the burning warehouse. “Damn it, Havoc, you were locked up for burning a building down,” he sighed.