Pride.
Interesting.
For a time nothing happens. She purchases dried yarrow from the widow Halren and exchanges a few polite words that feel strained on both sides. The bond remains controlled beneath my ribs, warm and calm.
Elowen lingers a moment longer at a stall than necessary. The merchant, a narrow-faced man with clever eyes and a trimmed beard, leans across the counter with the casual confidence of someone accustomed to easy conversation.
“You look like you haven’t slept,” he says, pushing a small basket of dried apples toward her. “Village excitement will do that.”
She gives him a faint smile, though she is not happy at all. “Excitement is one word for it.”
“Fear is another,” he replies lightly.
The man studies her with open curiosity rather than hostility. Unlike the others, he does not seem afraid to meet her gaze.
Most villagers avoid looking at her directly now, as though she might ignite if stared at too long. Elowen notices the same thing.
“That will be two copper,” the merchant says.
She reaches into her satchel and places the coins on the counter. “Thank you.”
He does not take them immediately. Instead, his eyes flick briefly over her face, then to the thin red mark still faintly visible around her wrist where Garruk grabbed her the night before.
“People talk too much,” he says quietly.
Elowen stiffens slightly.
“They do,” she agrees.
The merchant finally takes the coins, his expression softening just a fraction. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you burned anyone.”
The bond hums faintly with her surprise.
“I appreciate that,” she says.
“And,” the man adds with a crooked smile, “if you were a witch, I imagine you’d have turned half the village into frogs by now.”
A small laugh escapes her before she can stop it. The sound sends a strange ripple through the bond. She rarely laughs.
The merchant seems encouraged by the reaction. “If you ever decide to start cursing people, let me know. I’ve got a list.”
Her smile fades quickly, but not entirely. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She turns to leave the stall.
“Wait.”
The merchant reaches across the counter before she can step away. His hand closes lightly around hers, not rough, not painful, but far too familiar.
“Careful,” he says with an easy grin. “If you start granting curses, half the village will be lining up to ask for favors.”
Elowen stiffens.
It is not a hard grip, but it is a presumption. Her fingers tense in his grasp as she tries to pull her hand back.
“I think the village already has enough problems,” she says, her voice polite but cooler now.
The man doesn’t release her immediately. Instead his thumb brushes lightly across the back of her hand in a gesture that is meant to be charming. The bond reacts instantly. Rage detonates inside my chest. The shadows around the square shudder as underworld heat surges beneath my skin. The instinct is immediate and absolute.
