Neither of us wishes for the day to end. We take our time returning to the glade, and instead of riding back, we stroll arm in arm, leading the horse behind us at an easy pace. I feel as though I walk in a dream, one I never wish to wake from.
But returning to the cottage, the dream shatters.
The door hangs crooked, its iron latch splintered. Bootprints press into the soil where none should be. Vale shields my body as we approach. Inside, soot drifts across the stones of the hearth, as though unseen hands have stirred it to test how long it has been cold.
My breath catches. “Vale?—”
He steadies himself against the wall, eyes narrowing. “They’ve been here. Mira, if the men who attacked me are still searching, it’s not safe here. We can’t linger.”
“You can barely stand,” I whisper. “You said yourself it wasn’t safe to make the journey before your strength returned.” Beneath my words lies more: hesitation at leaving the only place I have ever known true peace.
“The risk of leaving,” he says, voice low but firm, “is far less than the risk of anything happening to you. These woods are no longer safe. I had hoped the attack on my men was an isolated strike. But if they are here, if they are searching…” He straightens as best he can, gaze steady and resolute. “You are no longer safe here. I beg you, come with me. Tonight.”
My hesitation breaks.
I lead him to the chest at the foot of the bed, opening it with trembling hands. I cast aside its contents until I find what lies hidden. Wrapped in cloth, waiting. I unfurl the bundle and reveal a mighty sword, its steel dulled with age but its edge still sharp.
For a fleeting moment, I think of Eryndor—of the quiet generosity that guided me here. His gift brought Vale and me together, and even now it serves its purpose: an old friend reaching across time to aid another once more.
Vale’s breath catches. He takes it with reverence, his thumb brushing the hilt. “All these years… he kept it.”
He straightens, fastening the worn belt at his side. The weight drags at his wounded frame, but no longer is it merely a blade—it is a piece of his past restored.
“We have no time to waste,” he says, voice steady despite his pallor. “Gather what you must. I’ll stand guard at the door.” The sword glints at his side, a relic become weapon again. “We ride at once. Whatever waits in those woods, we’ll outpace it together.”
I came into this place with little more than the clothes on my back. I fill a satchel with only what matters: herbs and provisions, a few precious texts whose margins brim with wisdom, and the empty journal I have begun scrawling in.
It is there, beside the untouched volumes, that I see the talismanonce more. Its pull is louder now, insistent. When once I left it untouched, too sacred to claim, something now urges me not to leave it behind.
Not as clear as the memory of Eryndor when I reach for the sword, but a force unto itself—a voice I do not resist, one I yield to without question.
I slip it over my neck and tuck it beneath my cloak, close to my heart. A whispered prayer of protection escapes my lips.
At the threshold Vale stands guard, and I nod that I am ready. He stokes the fire, kindling flames that send smoke curling into the night. “If they are near, the fire may lure them back,” he murmurs. “It will buy us time.”
With that, we are off. No longer an easy stride beneath the sun, but an urgent gallop into the dark. Into a future full of unknowns.
I look back only once. My hand finds the pendant at my breast, and the calm that spreads through me whispers what my heart most needs: I have made the right choice.
Chapter Ten
The night cuts sharper now, every breath a sting in my chest as we tear through the woods. Bracken’s hooves strike the earth like war drums, urgency in every pounding stride.
I clutch Vale tighter. He does not flinch. Does not falter. The warmth of him anchors me even as memory betrays me: the kiss, the glade, my hope and surrender, and then the memory of blood. His body broken, life nearly stolen. Fear grips me once more, fleeing from unseen danger that might yet finish what it has begun.
How cruel the swing of it all. Just this morning I rose with my heart in my throat, fearing Vale had vanished into the forest without a word—only to find him waiting beside Bracken for a day he had quietly planned. Fear gave way to wonder, and wonder to joy, as sunlight carried us into the glade, where every hour felt spun from a dream. I thought I had found a place I ached to keep forever—his laughter in the clearing, his hand in mine, and the lingering heat of that first kiss sealing it all into memory.
But dreams are fragile things. They shattered with the cottage door forced wide, with tracks carved by feet that were not ours. Vale’s voice, taut with a fear he tried to hide, urging me to gather what I could. His words from the night before echo in my mind—“I could not bear it ifanything happened to you.” Fierce ire giving way to unyielding passion. “You undo me…” We seem to unravel something in each other. And now, whisked into the night, I cannot help but wonder what form of ruin awaits: the surrender of my heart or the threat that had nearly taken his life.
The same hands that have held me with such gentleness only hours before now guide his steed with unspoken urgency. Vale’s jaw hardens, his touch leaving me only to rest upon the sword, as though instinct alone carries him. I fix on the echo of Bracken’s stride, begging it to drown out my own thoughts. By the time we slow, I am weary beyond measure—the strain of my unrelenting hold on him and the battle within my own heart both taking their toll.
Vast walls of stone rise on either side as we pass into the hidden fissure.
“These paths are too narrow, too perilous for any who do not know them well.” His words crack the hush, awakening an alertness deep within me. His hand finds mine, and I cling to him as if the ground itself might give way.
“The journey from here will be arduous and slow,” he says, voice low and steady. “But trust me, Mira—now we are safe.”
The chasm winds deeper and deeper until stone presses in from every side, the mountain itself seeming to swallow us whole. At times the air grows so close I fear the weight above will collapse, burying us where no one will ever find our bones. At others, the path spits us out onto a ledge no wider than a blade’s edge, the abyss yawning beneath. When my gaze dares to drop, vertigo tugs me downward, and only Vale’s voice—low, steady—anchors me. His hand brushes mine, grounding me until I force my eyes back to the narrow way ahead.
