From the Ashes (The Elder Blood Chronicles, #3)(97)

“I don’t like the thought of dealing with mercenaries. They can’t be trusted,” Valor objected with a sigh.

If I only dealt with those I trusted, my arrangements would be limited to you, Neph, Marrow, and Sovann. I’m not asking you to trust Kithvaryn in this, Valor. I’m asking you to trust me. Jala sent the thought directly to Valor’s mind and she saw his expression shift with her words.

“Always,” Valor replied simply and moved back to give her room to work her magic, though not so far that he couldn’t be at her side in an instant if the situation demanded it.





Chapter 18





The Darklands





“That son of a bitch,” Finn railed as the scry faded before him. Fiona stepped quickly back from him as his full temper seized him. Snarling, Finn kicked the table back from his path and barely noticed as the wood shattered against the wall. “Did you see the earring he wears now? Do you know what that signifies in Arovan?” he demanded as he whirled to face Fiona.

“It is a Widow’s ring, as they are called. It represents your son and his devotion to the child and its mother,” Fiona answered simply, her pale gold eyes watching him as he paced the room.

“He cut his hair too. Only married men in Arovan cut their hair,” Finn added in a growl.

“And you are mad at him, why? What has he done to raise this fury?” Fiona pressed.

“She is my wife. That is my son, and he…” Finn began, his voice a dangerous snarl then fading as he stopped his pacing to glower at Fiona. “And he is doing exactly what I asked of him and caring for them as if they were his own. He doesn’t have to be enjoying it though, damn it,” he finished, his voice filled with his frustration. Angrily he kicked a chair from his way and searched the room for anything else he could vent his anger on. It was empty of everything aside from Fiona who simply stood watching him with an expression that suggested he was an utter fool. “I don’t bloody well want this. I want to go home,” he said lamely and felt his temper cooling far quicker than he wanted. At least with his anger he could ignore the loneliness and depression that plagued him constantly. “I took them all for granted when I had them. I would give anything for a lecture from Sovann right now. I would sell my soul a thousand times over to simply be near Jala,” Finn began and then sighed heavily. “I want to hold my son, Fiona. I want to see the sunlight again. I don’t want to be alone in this damned black hole attempting to learn magic. I am a swordsman not a god damned mage. I am not the right man for this job.”

“You lived your life through death Finn. This is poetic justice in my eyes. You killed others to live comfortably and now you serve those that you killed. You are not the right man for the job, I agree. You are spoiled and selfish, but you are the only one we have to fill the job and so you will do it,” Fiona said calmly repeating words she had spoken to him a dozen times or more.

“And what if I refuse?” Finn snapped, fully aware of how childish he sounded and not caring a bit.

“Then when your friends die their souls become lost in the Darklands,” Fiona replied simply with a shrug.

“There is nothing that says they will die. They may all survive this,” Finn objected.

“Ahh. Yes, the odds are definitely in their favor, aren’t they,” Fiona shot back in a mocking voice and gave him a cold smile. “You’ve had your scry for the day, Finn Sovaesh. It is time for lessons. Quit sulking like a child.”

“I really truly completely and utterly hate you,” Finn grumbled as he glared at the dead woman. Fiona was the only company he had in the Darklands and she was as bitter as he was frustrated.

“The sentiment is mutual. Now as your first lesson of the day you can repair our table,” Fiona replied mildly.

“Truly hate,” Finn muttered as he turned to regard the wreckage of wood scattered by the wall. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to get a new one?” he sighed, but already knew the answer Fiona would give. For Sovann, fixing the table would have been as easy as drawing breath. Magic had always come easily to his little brother. For Finn, however, it was a task that guaranteed he would have a headache. Each and every splinter of wood seemed to defy him as he wrapped his magic around the fragments and willed them back together.

“Perhaps if you weren’t such a bitch to him he would learn faster,” a man’s voice echoed through the room and Finn dropped his attempts at magic at once.

Turning, he scanned the room searching for the source of the voice. It was a soft voice with a faint accent he couldn’t place, and it wasn’t a voice he recognized.

“Go away, Seth, he isn’t ready to deal with you yet,” Fiona snapped.

“Bugger off, Fiona. I serve Death, not you,” the man replied smoothly.

The voice had come from the shadows of the rafters and Finn searched the heights of the room until his eyes spotted movement. It wasn’t a man his gaze found as he had expected, but a raven. The bird cocked its head at him and hopped a bit closer on the rafter peering back down at him. Finn stared back, unsure if this was Seth or simply a spirit. The Darklands were full of every manner of spirits, though this was the first actual bird he had seen so far.

“Have you introduced him to Yasney and Kaverax yet?” the bird asked, his head cocking to look down at Fiona.