Chapter 6
—Kienna—
Kienna swept the floors, listening to the crashing of metal against the walls, then the smashing of glass. The woodcarver brought in two bottles of rum that morning, and judging by the sounds, he’d only managed to break one.
I’m sure he drank it first, Kienna muttered to Ruva. Think he’ll tell me to clean up the mess when he’s done?
You were not meant to sweep things. Ruva sat outside in the back alley, waiting patiently. Kienna told her to hunt multiple times, but the wolf insisted on sticking close by. There was no telling what sort of trouble Kienna would find herself in if Ruva left.
Kienna sighed, setting the broom in the corner.
She studied the tools scattered about the shelves and learned there were nine different ones.
They were well-worn and shaped by years of use.
Some had wide edges for rough shaping; others had narrow ones, nearly sharp.
Those must have been how the woodcarver got the dog’s fur to look so realistic.
I bet I could make the spitting image of you, Ruva.
Maybe try a bird. I’m one of a kind.
Kienna rolled her eyes but reached for a blade anyway.
It made sense to use one that had a wider edge.
It was the only type of blade she knew when carving into wood.
It would have to do, since the curved and hooked blades certainly made no sense to her.
She took to the wood, allowing the rhythmic flow of the blade to lose her in time.
Shavings fell around her feet, and after a while, the block of wood indeed shaped a bird, as Ruva requested.
But she stared at it for far too long, seeing where it lacked definition and perfect proportion.
She used to think her carvings were outstanding.
Comparing her work to the woodcarvers’ shelves made her cringe.
It’s the tools, isn’t it?
I know less than you, Ruva panted. Try another one?
Kienna looked at the line of tools again. She gently lifted one with a narrow edge honed to a perfect point, feeling the bone handle warm in her hand. And then she fell once more into rhythm with the blade, chipping away at the wood until every inch looked like real feathers.
I think I’ve been fully transformed, Kienna laughed.
Me, too! Moira gave me some cream.
Where did you find Moira?
She just left The Elarent House. She was in a rush, but she couldn’t say no to me!
No one can say no to you. You went all the way to The Elarent House?
The workshop door opened with a thud, jolting Kienna from her conversation with Ruva. The door slammed, and Calder Ashfell stumbled out with another bottle. Kienna jumped to her feet, setting the carving knife down. She squeezed the bird so tightly that the wooden lines imprinted her palm.
The woodcarver fumbled around, pillaging the shelves and knocking down carvings until he snatched a knife and wobbled back toward the door. He paused, looking at Kienna with sunken eyes that shifted curiously to the carving she held. He sauntered to her and snatched it, looking at the details.
Heat rose to Kienna’s cheeks. “I finished cleaning, so I thought I’d take a break.”
“No break is worth this garbage.” He tossed the bird into the corner of the workshop. “I would never put that on the shelf.”
With that, he retreated into the workshop and slammed the door shut.
Kienna remained, staring at the door, warm tears forming in her eyes.
Ruva said something, but she couldn’t hear it behind the pulsing through her mind telling her the one skill, the one thing that was truly ever hers, keeping her afloat in all her brokenness wasn’t good enough either.
I don’t care who that man is. If he ever talks to you like that again, I’ll bite his hands off. Ruva paced outside The Elarent House in an alleyway while Kienna stared into a cup of water inside. See if he can carve anything better when he doesn’t have fingers.
Kienna planted her elbows on the table and dipped her head into her palms. She hoped Moira would be there since she had taken a position waiting tables, but she was nowhere in sight.
When asking for her, the barkeep, Grinmelle, mumbled that she had an errand to run and would be back later for the night shift.
Then she returned with a plate of plain rice, setting it in front of Kienna.
Eat, Little Flame. You’re getting too skinny.
Kienna took a bite, but she could only manage one swallow before tears welled in her eyes.
Was she ever going to come across a person who was simply nice?
She’d withstood torture in River Storm and cold blankness in Trinity.
She managed fine, but when the woodcarver said her bird was inferior, her heart sank, weary from the constant inability to be enough.
Men from the shipyard poured into The Elarent House, taking residence across from where Kienna moped. One with a faded blue cap pulled low over his ears looked at her. “Oi, you look like you swallowed a storm. What’s crawlin’ round in your head, lass?”
“Ain’t she the one old Ashfell dragged in?” asked another man, much taller than the first.
Kienna glanced at the group. The three of them were dressed similarly with their woolen caps and loose-fitted linen shirts. They were damp, as expected from men who worked by the water.
“I heard Ashfell’s been hired to build boats again. Think that old man can still lift a hammer without falling apart?”
The men laughed.
“They say he was the best back in his day, but hell, that day was a long time ago,” said the man who greeted Kienna. “Reputation don’t hold a chisel steady.”
“Apparently, only the rum does,” Kienna muttered. She thought the words were too quiet to hear, but they all burst into laughter in response.
She recalled Tislin telling her that Calder was the best in the shipwright trade as well. Kienna never saw that talent, only a broken man destroying his workshop and yelling at her.
“I don’t envy you,” said an older gentleman who sat alone at another table.
He was worn and dirty, specks of woodchips clinging to random places in his wool shirt.
“He used to build ships that didn’t need fixing.
His carvings were so clean you’d look twice to make sure they weren’t watching you.
Now he’s an asshole and a hard bastard to work for. ”
The first man who spoke to Kienna leaned over. “Is he like that?”
The three men and the older gentleman from across the room stared at her.
It became glaringly clear to her how few people she had interacted with since leaving River Storm.
She was far too aware of her own presence.
Her hands collected sweat, and she shook her head and looked down, hoping to avoid the mist clinging to her eyes.
“Name’s Fenlo,” the man said again, as if he already knew what she was thinking. He jerked a thumb toward his crew. “That’s Eban, and the big one’s Harn. We ain’t lookin’ to meddle, just figured we’d say our bit. We’ll keep outta your way.”
Kienna picked at the food in front of her. “I’m Kienna.”
Fenlo gave a subtle nod. “Kienna, yeah? Good t’have you around.”
They turned back to their own table to wait for their meals. Kienna grasped Fenlo’s arm. “Maybe you could tell me more about the woodcarver—I mean, Master Calder.”
She needed to understand. Kienna couldn’t quite determine whether he was the woodcarver Maren told her to find.
He didn’t seem like it. He was a broken man who used to do great things but lost his touch to the dreaded hands of time.
She was in no position to ask him to guide her, nor would she ask if he had a letter for her.
What she could do was learn about him. If he was broken, she needed to know why.
What could break a man so desperately that he’d turn to drinking to cope?
Would that be her future, too, if she didn’t find a way to heal herself?
Fenlo, Eban, and Harn looked at each other and moved to Kienna’s table.
—Moira—
Tislin led Moira up the stairs of a boarded building next to The Elarent House.
It smelled of mildew, and the ceiling leaked, which made her hesitant, but the owner said he’d give her and Kienna a fair price if they rented the apartment upstairs.
Moira gladly agreed since she had nothing better to do besides work and fix it.
“It has three rooms, like you asked,” Tislin said. She’d reveal why to Kienna in due time, but explaining the child would require explaining the father, and she wasn’t ready to give Rhior shape yet. For now, she was grateful she had hidden her secret for yet another day.
He swung open the door, and Moira walked in.
She looked around, trying hard to picture it as anything but desolate.
Floorboards were missing; others jutted up.
Good. That could be Kienna’s project. The walls were built with old brown brick, its surface uneven from years of settling.
They would need fresh mortar. Maybe Tislin would help her with that.
Wooden beams formed the structural frame and remained exposed.
To her left was an open cooking area with a long table.
Moira squealed. She’d never had an open cooking area.
Two rooms were built to Moira’s right, and the third room connected to the kitchen.
Across from Moira was a glass door to a terrace overlooking the lake.
The view alone made renting this place worth any money they’d pay the landlord.
Moira clasped Tislin’s hand, shocking him as he took a sharp breath, and she pulled him outside, careful not to trip over any of the bulging planks on the floor.
Staring back at her, with a full sun and breeze, was the Lysiria.
The sea welcomed her with the melody of seagulls and waves crashing onto the shore.
From there, shipmasters called to each other, unloading and reloading boats.
Where did they go from Dove Port when they set sail?
Where did the Lysiria lead them that made being a shipmaster so fruitful?