“I was much younger. I was a skilled healer, but I’d never saved anyone so close to death before. His mother brought him to me, years before I had to seek refuge in these mountains. I’ll never forget the pain in her eyes. He was a bloodied, battered mess, and there was barely a heartbeat left to save. I told her there was nothing I could do, but she begged me with all the fierceness of a mother. She cried, bargained, pleaded with me to try.” Zera spoke through broken sobs now, each one stronger than the last. “I…I couldn’t find it in me to turn her away. To let her watch her son die in her arms at my doorstep. I…I thought I understood the consequences…I thought maybe it would be worth it. I warned her. I knew Shadow magic came with a price. But neither she nor I could have imagined how high a price it would be.”
“They left, and she thanked me, and the sound of her gratitude haunted me every day after, leaving me to wonder what would become of that poor boy…until now.”
Zera’s words echoed around in Caramyn’s head, snaking their way through her thoughts like vile serpents. She wasn’t angry with Zera. Her remorse seemed true, her inner turmoil genuine. But none of that helped Caramyn to see the path forward. None of that changed the fact that behind her, on the other side of the tent, was a man cursed by a darkness so deep it might destroythem both long before they found a way to outrun it. And she had been the one to reawaken it.
And then the question plagued her. Did he know? Did he know how close he was? How many kills he had left before he became the beast forever? Did he know that he could never be free of it, without damning someone else to the same fate? “You should tell him.” She finally managed to utter to Zera.
And then the tent doors stirred behind them, and Asterious emerged, the image of a hardened hunter in the midst of the cruelest winter. He was clad in thick wools and leather boots, and a cloak lined with stone-colored fur drawn closed around his shoulders. His once regal air now partly eclipsed by the rugged edge of a weathered warrior. Unshaven dark scruff shadowed his jaw and chin, accentuating sturdy cheekbones beneath that steel-hard gaze. His hair was a touch longer than when Caramyn had first met him, stray midnight locks falling in sharp waves across his forehead and brows, framing his face.
“No need,” he muttered as he ducked beneath the tent entrance. He pulled a covering over the lower half of his face as the icy wind blew, but it couldn’t hide the brokenness in his eyes. “I heard everything.”
47
No More Room for Risk
Caramyn
The rest of the day was awkward, tense, and almost more unbearable than the bitter chill of the mountain. No one spoke. No one knew what to say.
By nightfall, Asterious insisted that they leave as soon as possible, despite his injuries. His reasoning being that they would heal quickly regardless, and that he couldn’t give Sinevia any more time to steal the Veil’s power and build her army. Though Caramyn didn’t doubt that was part of it, she found it far more likely that he just wanted to get away from this place that had stirred up so many horrible memories and uncovered one too many dark truths.
She couldn’t blame him. She was more than ready to return to the witchlands, and eventually, the Woods. She’d thought about it all night—about the Shadowblood’s Blade. If it was as powerful as Asterious said, then perhaps it could save him from the Blackheart. Perhaps he’d already thought of that, too. Perhaps he hadn’t. But either way, whether he admitted it or not, it was yet another reason to find it. Another reason to try.
As they sat around a fire that night, Nocthar fluffed his feather, perched on Caramyn’s lap as she shielded him from the evening breeze. In what was the first attempt at breaking silence amongst the three of them all day, Zera spoke up, poking the fire.
“You won’t be able to cross these mountains the way you came with your Kuhrissi. It’s far too harsh. And the skies are showing signs of a blizzard soon. Get caught in that and there will be nothing you can do to keep her from freezing to death.”
“I know,” Asterious said, elbows on his knees as he stared into the flames.
“Then, how do we get back?” Caramyn asked, not directing the question at either of them.
Zera smacked her lips and pointed out into the horizon of white nothingness where the edge of the mountain awaited. “Take the mountain path back down to the docks. Best to travel at night, just to be sure no one from Ironfell is passing through for trade. I’m sure they’re keeping an eye out for Hrothvor’s lilac-eyed assassin.” She gestured to Caramyn
“If women are sold to these clans, won’t they find it suspicious that one is trying to leave?” Asterious asked flatly.
“They will. But you might find a fishing boat with a captain named Veylan there. Tell him Zera sent you, and he’ll take you wherever you need.”
“Then we’ll leave tonight,” Caramyn said without a hint of hesitation. “We can take the horse. Asterious, you can pretend that I’m your captive to at least throw off suspicion.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time, strangely enough.” Asterious grumbled, and for a moment, the weakest smile flashed across his face.
“Very well.” Zera slapped her hands on her lap and stood. “Narahbi and I will go and prepare some food and supplies for you. I’m very glad to have met you both.” She disappeared into the tent with Narahbi in tow.
Asterious went to tend to the horse, and left Caramyn sitting in the company of only her raven. She watched the prince, his movements slow and stiff, likely from the soreness of his muscles and the stitches pulling at his skin. Caramyn stood as Nocthar fluttered off to the tent, and pulling her coat around herself, shuffled over to Asterious.
“Need a hand?” She asked, already determined that she was going to stick around regardless. “Just because it won’t kill you, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
Asterious was silent as he picked ice crusted from the horse’s hooves and picked up a brush. Caramyn walked around to him and touched his wrist before he could swipe the brush across the animal’s coarse fur. He glanced away, but not before she could glimpse the shine in his bleary eyes.
“Don’t do this to me,” she said. “Don’t come all this way for me and then act like you can’t even look at me. Whatever it is, whatever is hurting you…you don’t have to face it alone.”
“If I don’t face it alone, everyone suffers.” He brushed the horse with quick, defensive strokes. “It is my burden. And mine alone to control. No matter how painful.”
“Who told you that?” Caramyn’s face hardened. She already knew. “Was it Wyran? Was he the one who trained you to stuff down every inkling of emotion? The one who told you to abuseyourself to learn to drown out your own feelings? Because how’s that working out now? It appears to be destroying you far faster than the Blackheart ever could.” She noticed the way he flinched. “You think the answer is numbing yourself to pain and fear. But in doing so, you numb yourself to the good feelings, too—to happiness, to joy, to…” The word snagged on her tongue, and she realized she’d been speaking faster than her mind could keep up. But Asterious was looking at her now, waiting every so intently for that last word, and she couldn’t leave him empty. “to…caring deeply for someone,” she said in place of the real thought she left lingering on her lips.
Asterious stopped brushing the horse and turned to face Caramyn. He gripped her shoulders, firmly, desperate and slow, with intention.
“You think I don’tcare deeplyfor you?” he breathed. “You are a thorn in my side. And yet you are also the rose. And you are the rain that falls on its petals, and the sun that warms its leaves and lifts the world from the night.Youare the ruin of my existence. Where once I knew my purpose, and my duty, now I am hindered by you in every step because...because...to say I merelycarefor you is not nearly sufficient.”
