Caramyn stared at him, then looked down at her own arm, the realization creeping in like the black veins that now covered it completely, her Shadowblood marking still there in the hollow of her elbow, but now woven into a new pattern that sprouted from a defined point rooted at the center of her spine. Crackling branches unfurled like twin wings, each arcing toward the other across her back and ribs, never quite touching. A pattern that mirrored Asterious’ perfectly, and if they stood skin bare, side by side, it would’ve formed a symmetrical union of the black shimmering lines that met at the fanning tips.
Caramyn studied the flames in her hands, and the way they pulsed in time with her breath. Of course. A curse thatpreyed on deepest fears and emotion would not manifest the same way twice. Asterious’ Blackheart was the wolf—strength, fortitude, endurance. Hers had become fire—survival, will, transformation. Something untamable.
She’d almost lost herself to it. And combined with the innate power of Shadow she carried in her blood, she shuddered to imagine how strong it could be.
I’m not a monster.
“A Blackheart?” Brenn shouted at Asterious, staggering between them. “I thought that was a myth.” He stooped and grabbed the broken blade used to complete the spell and hurled it into the raging fire with a hoarse cry. “And yet you fractured it. Split a singular, deadly curse in two. That shouldn’t be possible. There’s no explanation for any of this unless—” He froze, something like horror dawning in his eyes. “Unless the curse recognized her as bound to you beyond blood or vow.”
“Unless…she is my mate.” Asterious looked at Caramyn through tear stains dried beneath blood and cinder, confirming the bond she’d felt—that she’dseen—between them. This prince who had once been no more than a stranger trespassing in these Woods, so fierce, regal, strong, and unshakeable, now stood before her in tattered, bruised, and broken, stripped of any armor but the truth. “The Blackheart no longer seeks a heart to claim. It reaches across us now—toward each other. And that means it will never stop reaching.”
Caramyn noticed something like torment claiming his movements. Something like regret, uncertainty, and fear most of all. In his eyes, she saw everything she’d carried alone for years. Rage, grief, defiance, shame, and the ache of surviving when the world had demanded she break.
Did he know? Had he understood what it would mean when he’d asked Brenn to save her? How could he have known? If he had been dying, she would have done the same. Withouthesitation. To watch one’s mate die would bring the kind of desperation that made one, well,reckless.
Her heart had already been darkened by the world. The Blackheart had simply lit that dark heart afire. Not to destroy her, but to free her. To freebothof them. To shape the pain into something purposeful. Somethinggood.
She folded her wings behind her back. They vanished into smoke, and the violet flames died with them. The fire raging around them went up in a violent burst toward the sky before extinguishing, as if commanded by the same flames within her, leaving behind nothing but smoking tendrils and charred branches.
“I have nothing to forgive you for.” Caramyn reached for the prince’s cut hand. She pressed her palm to his and interlocked their fingers, mingling their blood. “I do not fear carrying darkness. We’ve been doing it all our lives. To carry it alone is the real curse. And we are no longer alone.”
Asterious leaned forward, cupping her face in his hands. “I don’t deserve to stand in your shadow, let alone at your side.”
Caramyn faintly smiled at him, but something ominous swept over her as she stared at the rippling Veil in silence. It’s abyss groaned and writhed as if beckoning her one last time, in either warning or in welcome, and it bothered her that she could not tell which. For a moment, she wondered what awaited beyond the great tree at its gate, and what it might’ve meant that the Veil had begun to split open as she was dying.
Asterious’ voice pulled her from her spiral.
“We’ll be back soon enough,” he promised quietly. “But the road home calls us now.”
“Yes,” she sighed, a breath of relief as she flicked her gaze back to his face. “It does.”
64
Not Out of the Woods
Asterious
As the trio traversed back through the Woods, Asterious' thoughts weighted each step.
The Veil still stood. Sinevia was still queen. And in the furthest reaches of his mind, old scars had been torn open.
He knew the path to healing them would be a kind of torment all its own. But for now, he had all he cared to want. And as he watched the amethyst-eyed, fireborne woman walking ahead of him, leading them out of these Woods, he decided there was no kingdom he wouldn’t let burn for her. She might have been a goddess of old, carrying herself with unshaken poise, new confidence blazing within her, ash and scorched shadow tracingher beautiful face like the memory of flames that had dared to burn her, and failed. Even the trees seemed to bow in her wake.
As they wound their way through the Woods with Brenn in tow, the only sound was frost splintering beneath their boots. There were no longer any traces of hissing Shadows or their chilling distant whispers, leaving the forest unnaturally still. A strange quiet had settled, a fragile peace that almost felt more dangerous than the Shadows’ presence ever had.
Still, the unseen weight bore down on him of what had happened at the Veil. He’d been so sure—so foolishly sure—that once he had the Blade on his side, he would be able to reach Sinevia and pull her from the darkness that had ensnared her. Yet, she’d been unreachable, even as he’d offered her every chance to turn away from the Shadows.
“You did everything you could.” Caramyn said softly, calming the storm raging through his mind. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d stopped to wait for him to catch up.
The prince smiled weakly and looked ahead, the edge of the Woods a beacon of light in the distance. “Sinevia will come for you again. We must learn the extent of your power before she does.” He clenched his jaw at the thought.
Sinevia didn’t hesitate to stab Caramyn—didn’t show an ounce of restraint at the thought of killing her.
There was no further room for grace. He couldn’t keep lying to himself. He could no longer choose to see Sinevia as merely a victim of his father’s cruelty, no longer only his misunderstood sister. She was an enemy who refused to yield, even when given the chance. And suddenly all of it—the magnitude of what lay ahead hit him like a gust of wind. “Before long, we’ll need more allies to help oppose her…and we must begin spreading the truth of my identity to gain the people’s trust.”
Brenn’s voice cut through the crunch of slush and dried leaves beneath their boots—surprising Asterious, given how long he’dlingered at the back of the line without a word. “I’ve heard talk of remaining Lightborn in hiding and secret druid councils that may be willing to accept the ascension of a half-Lightborn king—even if he is a Blackwynd. I’ll spread the word and see if we can get them to organize.”
“Thank you, Brenn.” Caramyn nodded.
