"I'm going to inspect the patrol routes."
The words come out flat, final. I reach for my axe, sliding it into the harness across my back with practiced ease. The familiar weight settles between my shoulder blades like an old friend, solid and reassuring in a world that suddenly feels unstable.
"Wait."
Her voice carries the tone of someone accustomed to being obeyed, sharp with authority she assumes is hers by right. I turn slowly, letting my full attention fall on her like the weight of a mountain. She's still seated on the log, wine vessel clutched in manicured fingers, but something in my expression makes her shift uncomfortably.
"It's not your place to question me." Each word drops between us like stones into deep water. "I am to be your superior. That's what this marriage is. Putting Galthan as chieftain of both clans—not you."
Her mouth opens slightly, those painted lips forming a perfect circle of surprise. For the first time since I've known her, Rytha of Vaskyr appears genuinely speechless. The wine vessel trembles in her grip, dark liquid sloshing against the clay walls.
I turn my back on her without waiting for a response, my boots crushing dried grass beneath their weight as I stride toward the patrol paths. Behind me, I hear the soft clink of clay against stone as she sets down the wine, but no words follow. Good. Some lessons are best learned in silence.
27
THALIA
The river whispers secrets to the stones, its voice the only sound in this pocket of peace beyond the festival's reach. I sit with my feet dangling in the cool water, watching moonlight fragment across the current like scattered silver coins. My hands rest in my lap, fingers tracing the faint glow that still emanates from the vine sigil when darkness falls—a reminder that my life changed forever three nights ago.
Footsteps approach through the grove, heavy but careful. I don't turn around. I know that gait, the way he moves like controlled thunder through the world.
"You came."
"Did you think I wouldn't?"
His voice carries that familiar roughness, like gravel beneath silk. I finally look over my shoulder to find him standing at the edge of the clearing, his massive frame outlined against the trees. Even in shadow, he seems to take up more space than should be possible, as if the very air bends around his presence.
We move toward each other with the careful deliberation of people walking across thin ice. Each step feels weighted with consequence, with the knowledge that every moment we stealtogether pushes us further from the safety of pretense. When we're close enough to touch, we stop.
His hand rises slowly, fingers rough with calluses from years of weapon work. When he cups my cheek, his palm engulfs half my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone with surprising gentleness. I press my own hand against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart through leather and cloth.
"These days have been agony." The words rumble from his throat like distant thunder. "To have you so close yet too far."
A laugh escapes me, bitter and sharp. "I've felt that way my whole life."
Something shifts in his expression, those dark eyes searching my face as if trying to read a map written in a language he doesn't quite understand. His thumb continues its slow path across my skin, and I find myself leaning into the touch despite every instinct screaming that this is dangerous.
"Tell me."
The request is simple, but it opens floodgates I've kept sealed for years. I look away from his intense stare, focusing instead on the river's endless movement.
"Well… I was seven when they took me. Raiders hit our village during harvest season—ironic, considering." I gesture vaguely at my marked arm. "My parents tried to hide me in the grain cellar, but smoke has a way of drawing people out of small spaces."
His hand hasn't moved from my cheek, anchor and comfort both. I continue speaking to the water, letting the words flow like the current itself.
"Rytha's father claimed me for her household. Said I had clever hands, good for detailed work. They trained me in herbs and healing, in how to bow properly and speak only when spoken to. In how to make myself small enough to disappear."
"Thalia..."
"I used to dream of forests." The confession slips out before I can stop it, raw and honest as an open wound. "Green places where no one owned anything, where the trees grew wild and free. Now I only dream of silence. That… Silence would be enough. Or, well… it used to be."
He makes a sound deep in his throat, something between a growl and a sigh. When I finally meet his gaze again, I see something I don't recognize—guilt mixed with something fiercer, more protective.
"You should have had those forests."
"Should have had a lot of things."
The space between us seems to shrink without either of us moving. His other hand finds my waist, fingers spanning the narrow curve with ease. I can feel the controlled strength in his grip, the careful way he holds me as if I might break under too much pressure.
