Ashes Unwritten: Oblivion's Heir [Volume 1 Complete!]

Seventeen.

Rowan read the final death toll several times, scrawled in a hurried letter from Grandbow—one filled with excuses and apologies. The numbers matched Claire's own grim count she'd given before collapsing onto the floor. The injured numbered close to a hundred. Similar lights elsewhere in the city blew as well, adding to the injured, but not the dead. Most of those garrisons hadn't been at full muster and hadn't been able to afford as many lights as Redring.

Rowan's stomach churned and bubbled, though he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. He'd simply run out of time. Perhaps he'd been too busy chasing Kess, worrying about foolish nonsense like politics and keeping his father at bay. Maybe his research just hadn't been focused enough.

Regardless, he'd failed. Seventeen men, all gone. Soon, the city would find out that he was a fraud and a sham. Soon they would find out that he was a murderer like Mariel and wonder why in the world he'd want a Seat besides the obvious answer of tyranny and corruption.

It seemed poignant that the lights powered with Rae's Fulminancy had blown the same night that Kess attacked. Were they responding to her Fulminancy, a cry for help? Or had it simply been coincidence? Odder still was how Grandbow had access to Rae's Fulminancy at all. And it had been Rae's Fulminancy—Rowan had confirmed that a few nights ago.

As such, he no longer trusted Grandbow. While the man obviously hadn't wanted another disaster on his shoulders, his desire to turn a profit was a weakness. He'd have trusted any Fulminancy given to him, Rowan thought bitterly. Especially if it was cheap. His insistence on keeping Rowan uninvolved in his own invention had just made matters worse.

And then there was Kess.

Rowan checked to see if she was breathing for the seventh or eighth time that day. It had been nearly a week since he found her collapsed next to a similarly exhausted Claire. Her sleep was too still—half corpse, half human, barely alive. Her face was bruised in the shape of a hand, the rest of it ghost white. Rowan felt a strange mix of emotions as he watched her sleep.

On the one hand, Kess hadn't had the entire story when she attacked the garrison. That much was on Arlette's head. She'd allowed Kess to go as a distraction, knowing that Redring garrison would be attacking points of interest in the Downhill that night—the manor being one of them. Their home had been saved only because Kess's destruction—and later Rowan's lights—had sent many of those men rushing back. If the garrison had been at full muster, Kess would have been forced to use much deadlier attacks to fight her way through the garrison—and it still might have been a death sentence.

On the other hand, Kess had used her anger at the garrison leader as justification for attacking dozens of his men. It was hard to feel particularly sorry for them, but it still made for a bloody night. With two-thirds of the garrison between the manor and Redring, and a larger portion retreating when they saw they were outmatched, she hadn't done the damage she'd intended to. Her staff played a role in that too, keeping killing blows down to maiming blows more often than not.

Rowan wondered if that had been her intention all along with the staff. She often straddled a line, not quite knowing where that destructive energy fit within her sense of self. She'd complained about the blade, but maybe unconsciously, she'd hoped to temper her own blows, should her fights come to it.

Still, there were plenty of whispers about what she'd done to the garrison leader. Staff or not, Kess had brained him to death, and from the looks of her bruised and bloodied knuckles, she'd only used Fulminancy for some of that. The man had deserved it, but Rowan still found himself uncomfortable with what she'd done.

Though Kess was partially to blame for the deaths and injuries, much of the carnage lay squarely on Rowan's shoulders. Men hobbled by Kess had been trapped in the blaze. Though Kess and much of the Downhill—including Rowan—had made a valiant effort to retrieve those men, a fair few had succumbed to the smoke and flames, or had later died of burn wounds that even Claire's new healing techniques couldn't help.

And the worst part of it all is that I solved it anyway, Rowan thought, walking over to an array he'd dragged into Kess's room. There he let a dark, subtle fire take shape in his hand. Tinged with white light, the interior seemed to suck the color from the room itself. It gathered slowly, churning like a tiny storm all his own. From there, he channeled a portion of it to one of Kess's lights. He'd left most of them alone—dangerous or not, they were his best source of information on Kess's condition given what he'd witnessed with Rae's lights.

This time, though, the crackling blue fire of her Fulminancy settled and stabilized. Rowan smiled faintly, though there wasn't much joy in it. Kess had been right about his powers, but what good did it do? He'd been working on them for weeks now, but he could only use a small amount at a time—the best he could do was spread it up the hilt of his sword. Beyond that, no amount of straining could gain him more than slow, steady progress.

It was enough to confirm his research, but not enough to solve his lights. It would take months or years to adjust each light by himself. Still, it seemed useful—like his own way of fighting. So he kept at it as he paced Kess's room, as he had for weeks before that, day and night, a man caught in his own quiet struggle as the world around him fell apart.

Lightning cracked overhead, so forceful that it shook the building and rattled Rowan's chair. He bit back a curse and looked over his shoulder at Kess. She didn't move.

She should be awake by now, he thought, watching her still form. He told himself it was a professional concern—the nomination was in two days, and if Kess showed up looking anything like she had after Draven's death, people would ask questions. But Rowan had never been a very good liar, even to himself. He resumed his pacing, his hand on his sword hilt.

He paused in front of the hearth, staring at the scar where Kess had shared her powers, then at the woman in question. How many times can you cheat death, Kess? Rowan thought. She was alive for now, but Rowan had heard plenty of stories of burnout from Claire—the end was often long and drawn out. If the victim didn't wake up within a week or so, they usually wasted away to nothing. Their bodies simply couldn't keep them going.

Rowan stared at his scar for a moment longer, then decided something. It was rash, and it was stupid—a plan that Kess herself would have approved of. Which makes it perfect, Rowan thought.

He drew his knife and made his way over to Kess's bed. If burnout was produced by a Fulminantically attuned body burning itself out trying to create what was lost inside, then why not fill it back up with Fulminancy? It was one of Claire's most reliable treatments.

Rowan didn't have Fulminancy, exactly, but he wasn't sure it mattered. And while Claire's transfusions could take weeks to take effect, Kess's locket would make quick work of it—provided it didn't kill him, of course.

Rowan knelt on the floor in front of Kess, heart thudding against his chest, the knife trembling. With shaking fingers, he brought out Kess's locket, the air warping around it strangely. A part of him realized the absurdity of what he was doing. There was no precedent for this, other than the locket draining the outsider dry. But he was more comfortable with his power now, and he channeled as much as he dared into his sword hilt, hoping that it would somehow stay off limits to the locket.

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It was a foolish hope, but in spite of what Kess had done, Rowan wanted her to live. She was more than this. Maybe she would curse him for forcing her to face what she'd done, but he wanted to at least give her that chance.

He steadied the knife over her hand and cut gently, then placed the locket in the blood that welled up there. Thunder rumbled overhead, and Rowan took a deep shaking breath, then sliced his own hand again, the sting bringing clarity to his mind.

He had to try, at least.

He placed his hand on top of the locket and gritted his teeth.

He blinked.

The room disappeared.

The storm raged and cursed around him, a whirlwind that snatched him from the warm room where he'd been not moments before. Rain he shouldn't have been able to feel pelted him, stinging his skin, and lightning snapped around the two of them, swirling into a vortex overhead. Those same storm clouds that had infested Kess danced about with yawning faces that Rowan could have sworn were human.

The locket warmed and finally burned, the pain searing into his hand where blood dripped between his fingers onto a ground he could no longer see. Something clicked, and his own power flooded into Kess's hand, its hue a dark fire lit at the edges. It left him like breath leaving his body, and pain slammed into his gut. He gritted his teeth and held on, but it felt different from the last time they'd done this. The last time, though Kess had mentioned almost being unable to stop it, it had seemed controlled. This time, it was like a ball rolling downhill, and the more that disappeared into Kess, the less Rowan thought he'd be able to stop it.

Clenching his jaw, he peeled back his fingers from the locket, one by one. Every muscle in his body screamed, and each joint of his finger felt as if it were held down by a giant.

One.

Something in the storm beckoned him, calling.

Two.

Cloud-like hands brushed against his face, the touch moist, cold, and otherworldly.

Three.

Kess began to stir, her ephemeral face wincing.

Four.

The last of his power slammed out of him as he released his final finger and fell sideways, away from the locket.

The storm disappeared as quickly as it had come, and Rowan got a fleeting glimpse of Kess's room, the amber lights twinkling innocently before he lost consciousness.

"Rowan." Someone shook his shoulder, insistently. "Rowan." He wished they'd go away. He just wanted to sleep, to drift. He had never been so exhausted in his life. "Rowan! You cloudspawned bastard, don't you dare do this."

The insult got his attention, at least. He opened his eyes slowly. His head ached so fiercely he almost closed them again. Kess sat in front of him, half clothed, the blankets fallen around her bare legs as she knelt in front of him, swaying slightly. Her dark blue eyes were worried, exhausted, terrified even, and the bruise still decorated her cheek, but she was alive, some of the color back in her face. Rowan smiled from where his head rested against the edge of the bed. He supposed he'd fallen like that, but he also wasn't sure he had the energy to get back up again.

"Rowan, what did you do?" Kess demanded, dabbing the comforter over his bloody hand. Her own hand dripped onto the blankets, but she didn't seem to mind. Slowly, Rowan's mind cleared.

"I gave you my powers," he replied. His voice was muffled, his tongue thick as it stumbled over the words. His hand stung where Kess dabbed at it, but at least he was alive. She paused, staring at him for a moment.

"You what?"

"I gave you my powers," he repeated, then frowned. "Temporarily, I think. Like the last time."

"Rowan, that could have killed you." Kess seemed so genuinely put out by this idea that Rowan raised his head from the bed, wincing at the pain in his neck, shoulders, and head. There was emptiness where his power should have been, and then he thought to check something. He unbuckled his sword from his belt, and a tiny bit of that fire snapped back into him with a feeling of warmth and familiarity. So it worked, he thought.

He moved to stand, leaning the sword against the nightstand, but his balance was treacherous, and he nearly fell backwards before Kess grabbed his shirt, tugging at him insistently, though her touch was weak. She kept tugging though, with gravity as her aide, and before long Rowan was stretched out beside Kess, leaning against the headboard.

"This is highly inappropriate," he muttered, though he was uncertain he had the strength to even move now that he was seated again.

"I assure you nothing inappropriate is going to happen," Kess snapped from beside him, looking equally exhausted. Rowan snorted, closing his eyes. He supposed she was right. He barely had the strength to breathe, let alone do anything else.

Silence passed between them, punctuated by the rain beating against the windows. Rowan thought Kess had fallen back asleep, but then she spoke, her voice quiet and intimate.

"Why did you save me?" she asked. Rowan listened to Kess's quiet breathing and the rumble of thunder overhead before replying. He knew the implication in her question—that she had deserved to die, wanted to die even, given what she had done.

"Do you know what my sword master told me before he ever let me touch a blade?" Kess shook her head. Rowan thought of that day, a Drystorm whipping around the courtyard at his home, the weather otherwise peaceful for Hillcrest. "I asked him how I would know whether it was right to kill someone. He'd spent weeks telling me the sword was a tool, but one that could easily take life, given the chance." Rowan sighed, watching the fire. "He told me that many men live who deserve death—and others die who deserve life."

"And how are you supposed to tell the difference?" Kess asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"You can't," Rowan said simply. "That's why we save who we can." He looked at her then. "Because none of us know what our futures hold, let alone the futures of others. Even if we mess up, even if we flounder, I prefer to envision a future where people have the chance to become better than they were before. And…I prefer a future with you in it, Kess."

Kess's shoulders shook next to him, and tears fell down her face—the first he'd seen since Draven's death. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her, but he could barely move, so he simply sat there, a steady presence against her despair.

"Those men will never have that chance," she choked out. "I killed them."

"And yet you saved countless more," Rowan said.

"They wouldn't have needed saving if I hadn't attacked them in the first place, Rowan!" She wiped at the tears with her sleeve, her arm shaking. "I—I just wanted to do something. I thought I could make them feel that same loss that I've felt. I thought that I could finally fight back—that I could finally make them understand what I've felt for years, running, hiding, losing everyone and everything to them." She paused then, her breath hitching slightly. "But there is no them, Rowan. They're just…people. All of them. All of us. Why did I have to murder them to see that?" She stared at the wall ahead, her eyes haunted. Finally, she whispered, "I was a fool, and a monster. I don't deserve these powers, I don't deserve the Seat, and I don't deserve you."

"If we all got what we deserved, the world would be a very sad place, Kess." Kess looked at him then, the tears making her dark blue eyes a brighter shade than they were normally. He took her hand then, gently, because they were both still bleeding. "Do you know what the best part about living is?" he asked.

"What?"

He held the eyes of the woman who had vexed, frustrated, ashamed, and somehow enthralled him at the same time, her spirit a whirlwind of destruction, change, and life swirling around inside of her, and somehow knew that she would change things. This flawed, broken woman would be the change to his stasis.

And he wanted to be by her side through it all.

He smiled.

"We get to have second chances."

Kess tilted her head at him then, something strange in her eyes as she cupped his cheek with her other hand. Then, tears still falling, she leaned forward and kissed him, her lips warm and soft against his. And strangely, though the city burned around them, the storm raged overhead, and a war brewed outside, Rowan felt that she was all that mattered.

They would take this second chance, and they would make things right again.