Karin
I woke up alone.
For a long time, I just lie there, listening. The tent is too quiet, like the world is holding its breath.
I squeeze the blanket in my fists and stare up at the fabric above me, dark and wrinkled as an old leaf.
For a moment, I don't know where I am. My head feels stuffed with cotton, and everything around me smells strange: earthy, sharp, and bitter, like the little bottles Papa kept on the shelf, the ones he made me drink when I was sick.
Then it all comes back.
The running. The dark forest. Kael's voice telling me to stay.
I sit up fast, and the blanket slides off my shoulders. This tent is bigger than I remember. Too big. It stretches up high, almost tall enough to touch the trees.
Shadows huddle in the corners, deep and still. Wooden shelves line the walls, stacked with glass bottles and clay jars, some filled with dried leaves, others with thick liquids that glow like trapped fireflies.
I pull my knees to my chest and stare.
A book sits open on a stool nearby, its pages thick and rough, filled with letters I don't understand. They twist and curl like tiny black vines, and when I look too long, my head feels funny, like the words know I don't belong here.
Something hums in the air. I can't hear it exactly, but I feel it whispering in my bones. The whole tent feels alive.
I hug my legs tighter.
Kael said not to leave.
Stay in Marwen's tent until Rowan whistles.
I remember nodding last night, his rough yet gentle hands firm on my shoulders, his face serious in the firelight. I had promised.
But it's so quiet.
I glance at the tent flap. Thin strips of sunlight slip through the seams, painting the floor in golden slashes. It must be late morning already.
Why haven't they come back?
The thought creeps up my spine like cold fingers. I push it away, but it lingers, curling in my chest.
I shift onto my hands and knees and crawl toward the entrance. The ground is cool under my palms, the floor of the tent made of thick woven fabric. Slowly, I reach out and push the flap open, just a little.
The campsite is empty.
The fire pit is nothing but gray ash, untouched since last night. The logs around it sit just as they were. The trees stretch high overhead, their leaves shifting in the breeze, sending dancing shadows across the ground.
No Kael. No Marwen. Just…no one.
I let the flap fall shut and press my forehead to my knees.
They should be back by now.
My stomach tightens. I try to breathe slowly, like Papa used to tell me when I got scared. But it doesn't help.
The memories press in, hot and sharp.
I remember the torches, flickering against the dark. Boots thudding against the ground. Shouts. Hands grabbing me, too tight, too rough.
Papa was there. He came running, shouting my name.
"Get your hands off her!"
I see him in the doorway, his face dark with fury, his hands clenched into fists.
He fought. He wasn't strong—he was just a blacksmith, not a soldier—but he fought for me. His fists cracked against armor. He grabbed a man by the collar and slammed him into the wall. He bared his teeth and swung again, again, his breath ragged, his body moving faster than I had ever seen before.
But there were too many of them.
A soldier wrenched my arms behind my back, so hard I screamed. I kicked and thrashed, but they tied my hands together, tight enough to burn.
Papa turned at the sound of my cry, wild-eyed, reaching for me—
And then they hit him.
I hear the sound in my head. The sickening crack of bone. Papa hitting the ground.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but I still see it.
I still hear his voice, low and rough, slurred with pain. "Leave her alone."
But they didn't listen.
They turned to me.
"Tell us where a man named Elias lives, girl."
I didn't know. I swore I didn't know.
A hand struck my face, hard enough to rattle my teeth.
"Tell us, and we'll leave you alone."
I gasped for air, my head ringing. My hands stung where the rope bit into them.
"I—I don't know!"
"Liar."
Another blow. This one to my ribs. My knees buckled. I hit the floor with a whimper, tears streaking my face, breath hitching.
"Where does he live?"
Of course I knew where. I had wandered too far that morning, looking for the prettiest flowers I could find before the festival. That's when I saw him. Back then, he didn't seem special. Just another boy, wandering around a strange man's cabin, quiet as a ghost.
But I was scared. And hurting. And I thought…if I just gave them something, anything, they would stop.
So I told them what I'd heard in whispers.
"There is a cabin in the northern edges of the village," I choked out. "By the forest."
Silence.
The soldier studied me, then nodded.
I barely had time to feel relief.
Because then—
"Papa!"
They turned back to him.
They had promised to leave me alone.
But they didn't. They beat him.
In front of me.
Again and again, until his body was still, his blood soaking the wooden floor.
I screamed. I begged. I pulled at my bindings until my wrists bled.
"Papa, wake up!"
But he didn't move.
And then they took me.
I kicked. I fought. I screamed for him, over and over, as they dragged me away.
"Papa!"
I press my forehead to my knees, shaking. My breath shudders. I grip the blanket so tight my knuckles turn white.
They hurt him because of me.
Because I didn't know how to lie.
I curl in on myself, pressing my forehead to my knees, trying to block out the thoughts, the memories, the fear crawling up my throat.
And then—
A whistle.
Sharp and clear.
I jerk up so fast I nearly tumble forward.
Rowan.
I shove the blanket aside and scramble to my feet. My legs feel shaky as I push my way out of the tent.
And then I see them.
Torren is carrying someone.
Someone small, limp.
Someone with white hair.
Kael.
My breath catches.
His head hangs against Torren's chest, his arms dangling uselessly. His clothes are torn, his pale skin streaked with dirt and blood. Bruises cover his face, his hands, his arms.
"Kael—!" My voice cracks as I run toward them. My hands reach out, but I don't know where to touch him, afraid I'll make it worse.
Rowan grins, like nothing's wrong. "Relax, kid," he says, lightly tapping Kael's chest. "Still breathing. Sort of."
But I barely hear him.
My hands shake as I kneel beside Torren, who carefully lays Kael on the ground. His face is too pale, his lips cracked. He looks smaller than he should.
Marwen steps forward and presses something into my hands. A glass tube filled with thick, green liquid.
"Give him this," she says calmly.
I don't move.
"He just needs rest," Marwen adds.
I don't believe her.
But I still unstopper the vial and press it to Kael's lips. My fingers tremble as I tip it forward, watching the green liquid slide into his mouth. For a moment, nothing happens.
Then, slowly, his throat moves. He swallows.
A little color creeps back into his face. His breathing deepens. His fingers twitch.
I sit back, breath shaky. He's not awake, and the bruises remain. But he's alive.
And I don't leave his side for the rest of the day.
—---
That night, I pretended to sleep next to Kael. Marwen's tent, where we both slept, is slightly open.
The fire is nothing but glowing embers now, and the adults sit close around it, their voices low.
I stare at the jagged shadows across their faces. I sit just by the tent entrance, listening.
"We have less than two weeks," Liora says, her voice clipped, sharp like a knife. "That's all the time we have."
Rowan exhales, a short breath that's almost a laugh. He shakes his head, running a hand through his tangled hair. "That's not enough."
Torren stiffens. His broad shoulders rise, and I can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curl against his knees. "He can do this," he says, firm, like he's daring anyone to challenge him. "He just needs time."
"Time?" Liora's voice spikes. "We don't have time."
She leans forward, her dark, snake-like eyes flickering in the firelight. I can hear the frustration in her voice, the barely hidden fear underneath it.
Torren scowls. "You think pushing him harder will make him stronger? He's just a boy."
"He's Thaneborn." Liora spits the word like it should mean something more. "Power doesn't wait for readiness."
Rowan shakes his head. "And if we rush him? If we push too hard? What then? We could have nearly killed him today."
Silence.
Marwen finally speaks, her voice calm and cool, but heavy. "Mikael won't wait."
Her words freeze the air.
No one speaks.
The fire crackles, but the warmth is gone.
I shiver, hugging my arms around myself. I don't know Mikael, not really. I only remember what Papa said about him: Captain of the Drakewall special forces. He used to be a mere soldier fighting the Veyrn. Now, he wanted to finish the job.
Marwen's voice doesn't waver. "Whether they find Kael or not, they will execute Elias."
My breath catches.
I bite my lip to keep from crying out, but my fingers dig into the fabric of my dress, knuckles white.
They're going to kill him.
Even if Kael stays hidden. Even if we do everything right.
They're still going to kill him.
I close my eyes, pressing my hands to my ears. I lay down next to Kael, wrapping the blankets around me.
I don't understand why Marwen saved me.
She could have left me behind.
So why didn't she?
I can't sleep.
The fire is almost out, the night deep and quiet.
Before Marwen turns in, I sit up.
"Marwen?" My voice is small.
She stops. "What is it, child?"
I hesitate. Then, whisper, "Something's wrong with me."
She tilts her head. "What do you mean?"
I swallow. "The night we were taken… my wounds disappeared. No one healed me. I didn't drink anything. But they just… went away."
Marwen watches me for a long moment. Then she says, "I don't have an answer for that."
I don't know why that scares me more than anything else.
I turn to Kael, still sleeping beside me. His breath is steady, his brow furrowed like he's having a bad dream.
I reach out and touch his cheek.
A sharp breath catches in my throat.
His wounds.
They're fading.
Not all at once, not fast, but right under my fingertips. The bruises lighten. The cuts smooth over.
I snatch my hand back, heart pounding.
I stare at him, breath shaky.
Something is different.
Something is wrong.