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They stood in silence as the last pieces of Tavrin burned away—until the ash was gray and still. But it wasn’t Tavrin anymore. She pictured him beyond the Veil—arm in arm with Marrowen’s sister—laughing, of course. Just as she remembered him. Waiting. Until the day Brunna joined him.

Chapter 24

Kindness Like an Echo

Mist covered the ground in a soft carpet of cool, damp air. It brushed through Wren’s fur as she stepped toward the massive tree in the gloom. Under her hooves, vines curled like snakes, pulsing in time with the heartbeat in the trunk. Stagnant air smelling of rot and decay hung heavily around her.

It almost smelled like home. She belonged here.

The Binding Bough towered before her, branches cutting across the starry sky like dark veins. The wound gaped wider, oozing oily tar across the steps, pooling at her hooves. She stepped closer. It called to her, pulled at her—ancient and powerful.

It needed her. She belonged here.

Then, the scar in the tree shook. The bark pressed outward like a membrane. A skeletal hand broke through, decay pouring from the opening in a river of filth. A shoulder. A head of light brown hair. Horns. A torso. The head lifted, and Tavrin’s face smiled out at her, too wide.

Mushrooms curled out of his mouth and tumbled to the ground. Insects crawled from the wound in the tree, spreading across the earth in a tidal wave. Tavrin’s skin split open when he pressed forward, reaching. His eyes bloomed in rotted fungus.

“Join me,” his voice whispered. “It’s quiet here.” Stalks of mushrooms tore through his skin. “You belong here.”

Wren woke up screaming. She shot upright, breath ragged. Tavrin’s voice still rang in her ears, and the faint stench of rot coiled in her nose. Around her, darkness pressed close—broken only by the soft amber halo of a lantern. A man’s face surfaced in the light, carved by shifting shadow. She scrambled back, hands sliding on wet leaves.

“Easy.” He raised a palms slowly. “You’re safe now.”

She blinked as recognition slid into her mind. Silas. He’d tried to help her in the Glen. His were the bolts that saved her. His voice carried the same even rhythm it had then—each word weighted to catch against her panic, a steady net thrown into a churning river. He sat a short distance away, cross-legged, not reaching for her.

Her gaze flicked past him, scanning for landmarks. Trees towered like sentries, their branches swallowing what little light the Veilmoon gave. She tried to remember how she’d gotten here, but her thoughts dragged through fog.

She forced herself to sit up, the trees tilting around her as she did. “Where are we?” she asked at last. “How did I get here?”

“We’re in the Virewood,” he said calmly. “You were alone when I found you. One of the Witherborn was standing over you. I made sure it couldn’t do more harm.”

Her pulse stumbled. Fragments flashed. Running. Fire. The whisperstone. Orzen. She’d been looking for him. But it hadn’t been him who followed her into the forest. Tavrin had followed. Tavrin had—memory came crashing back.

“No—no, no!” She shook her head. The words tore out raw. “Did you see him? Tavrin? Was it real?”

She’d told herself it had only been a dream, but Silas’s steady silence said otherwise. She shook her head and squeezed her eyes shut. No. If she didn’t say it aloud, maybe she could pretend it wasn’t true.

Tavrin was with Brunna. He was supposed to stay. To be safe. To settle down and have a life with her, finally. He was supposed to—Her breath hitched. A terrible sound escaped her throat—one she didn’t recognize until it became a sob.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” Silas said quietly, reaching for her with a gentle touch to her arm. She flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. “You were strong. Stronger than most would’ve been in your position.” After a moment, he asked, “Do you think you can walk? There’s higher ground. We could see what’s happening in town from there.”

She nodded. Her hand drifted toward the waterskin at his side. He passed it to her without a word. The cool liquid scraped like ice in her throat. She handed it back and forced herself to her hooves, muscles aching.

Tavrin was gone. The others might be too. There was no telling what the Thistlehold might be like now. It couldn’t be safe to return there yet. Her world had shrunk to the pool of lantern light between her and this stranger.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Silas murmured. “I was there for your performance. That tree…” There was a pause full of quiet awe. “I’ve never seen anything so powerful.”

The memories belonged to someone else—someone braver than her—the stage, the tree, the flames, and fear. She’d thought she could outsmart Theordrin by doing something gentle, but it had all gone wrong.

She still didn’t understand what had taken over. A power not her own, feeding the weaving, creating something she’d never intended. And then the Witherborn had attacked.

“Have you seen anyone else?” Wren asked, stepping carefully over fallen branches in the dark. “Garin? Marrowen? Orzen?”

He shook his head. “No. I’m sorry.” He sighed heavily. “The old friends I came with disappeared too.”

His mouth twitched into a thin white line that gave his face a bleak tightness in the dim lanternlight. “Not sure where they ended up. Poor timing on our part, I guess. Who knew the village would be as dangerous as the forest?”

Wren glanced at him. Calm. Controlled. He’d hinted that he was not naive to the danger in the forest, and he’d taken out two Witherborn in her defense. Not a terrible idea to stick close now.