When they opened again, they found hers.
And something shifted.
Pressure pulsed at the base of her throat, a hush inside her skull—as if everything else, even the sound of the wind, had stepped aside.
She didn’t blink.
Neither did he.
His expression wasn’t guarded or searching. Just…still, like he saw something he recognized without understanding why.
The space between them stretched thin, and for one long, impossible second, the world paused.
“Then why?” His throat bobbed. “Why were you here?”
“I go…” She looked away. “Where the Weaving takes me.”
“Exasperatingly vague.” Kaelith shook his head. “You’re either a Hollow-born speaking in riddles, insane, or halfway through a very underwhelming verse.”
Rynna opened her mouth to respond, but was cut short.
Voices.
The tread of boots over grass. A murmured command. Then another.
She faced the ridge just below them, where the trail wound out of sight, resting her hands palm up on her thighs.
They weren’t alone anymore.
Chapter four
“Mystoryhasn’tchanged.”Rynna leaned back in the chair, spine digging into the rough timber. The ceiling above her rounded in a shallow arch, carved directly into the mountain’s face. “I don’t know the man, other than that he’s irritating. I’d never heard of the Source until today. And I’ve certainly never used it.”
The woven metal binding her wrists grated as she adjusted her seat, resisting the urge to twist against it again. It was too tight for that, braided fine as thread but harder than chain, biting cold where it touched her skin.
She glanced toward the elevated bed on the other side of the room.
Kaelith lay motionless over a simple wool coverlet, one arm stretched toward each corner post and secured in the same silvery rope. His head lolled to the side, dark hair fanning across the pillow. Beside him, an elderly woman crouched, fingers moving lightly along his bare torso, pausing at the wound in his side.
“Yet you dragged the Hollow-born through miles of mountain terrain. And you carry the forbidden map.” There was a pause. “Not to mention that ignorance of the Source is next to impossible.”
The voice came from nearby, casual in tone but not in focus.
A woman sat in front of her, legs folded beneath layers of deep ruby-red fabric spilling in waves from her waist. Her sleeveless bodice was snug, made of dark leather stretched across her torso, cinched at the waist. And poking out from under the skirt, bare toesrested on the stone floor as she eased forward, chin resting on her hands, elbows braced on her knees.
“It is the truth.” Rynna’s fingers ached to rub her temples.
Fool. It was too early for questions like this. She didn’t know enough about this world to sound like she belonged.
Maybe Kaelith had a point. A few broken ribs or a head wound would’ve made this much easier to explain. Something clean. Amnesia.
“Then convince me.” The woman leaned back, arms folding neatly across her chest as she shrugged her long, deep red braid over one shoulder.
Looking toward the bed where Kaelith stirred under the old woman’s hands, Rynna’s mouth clamped.
Proving loyalty usually only ended one way.
“You want me to kill him.”
