44. Chapter Forty Four
Chapter Forty Four
Eldrake
Hundreds of injured Riftborn had fled Vyper’s tower—wounded, starving, disoriented. Some could barely walk. Others were still half-bound in warding cuffs. We’d done what we could in the aftermath, but we needed more than bandages and firelight.
I’d sent a scout on horseback to Riftreach the moment we cleared the tunnels, and Ness with the other gnomes had answered faster than I expected.
They met us halfway, exhaustion carved into their bones but fire in their eyes.
We stopped in the foothills—remote enough to hide, close enough to keep moving by dawn.
Ness and the others worked without rest, their magic dim and fraying at the edges.
They weren’t as good at healing as Felix, as they mostly trained as an archivist, and the other in other things, but it was better than nothing.
Fen barely looked at them, but Ness didn’t flinch.
They just kept healing. Quiet. Steady. Like the sun rising behind storm clouds.
The fires around camp were barely more than embers—just enough to warm hands, not enough to give away our position. The woods around us were thick, shadowed, and dead quiet except for the distant rustling of wind through pine needles and the low murmurs of the Riftborn encampment.
We couldn’t risk more than a handful of scattered campfires, well-shielded and buried under rock or brush. Even one watchtower scout spotting the wrong shimmer of light could mean the end of all of us.
I shifted on the log I’d dragged closer to Eva’s bedroll. She hadn’t moved in over an hour.
She sat curled in on herself, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs, face half-lit by the fire. Her Star-Glow eyes stared at nothing—glass-bright, distant, haunted. She hadn’t spoken since we stopped moving. Hadn’t eaten. Barely blinked.
Shock was a strange thing. I’d seen it before in war, in bloodied men and broken warriors who’d walked away from things their minds hadn’t caught up with yet. But I’d never seen it on her. And it gutted me.
I crouched beside her slowly, like approaching a skittish animal. “Eva.” Nothing. I brushed my fingers along the back of her arm. “You with me, my love?”
Her gaze didn’t change. But her breathing hitched—just once. I offered her a tin cup of broth. She didn’t take it.
“You need to eat,” I said quietly.
She blinked once. Slow. Then finally—without looking at me—took the cup. Her fingers barely curled around it.
She still hadn’t spoken since we left the tower.
Across the camp, a child stirred in her sleep. Someone coughed. A few murmured words passed between two guards who should’ve been silent. No one laughed.
I stood slowly, stretching the ache out of my spine. The bond tugged behind my ribs like a string still wound too tight. Her devastation was leeching into my every pore. Eva was here, alive, breathing. But part of her was still down there—still locked in the moment she watched our friend die.
Across the fire, Fen sat sharpening her blades with a motion so harsh it sounded like she was skinning the stone. She hadn’t looked at Eva since we left the tower. Avod sat beside her, silent and pale. His arm rested on his bent knee, his gaze unfixed.
“Watch her?” I asked Ness quietly.
They nodded.
I stood and crossed to Avod, sitting beside him on the edge of the boulder they’d claimed as a lookout. Fen didn’t acknowledge me.
“She’s not sleeping,” I said, jerking my chin toward Eva.
“Neither is Fen,” Avod muttered. “She hasn’t closed her eyes since the tower.”
We sat in silence for a beat. The fire cracked. A distant owl called. Avod nudged a pebble with his boot. “You remember that outpost in Helwick? The one with the ale that tasted like burnt molasses and rat shit?”
I huffed. “Gods. Don’t remind me.”
“Oh, I’m going to remind you,” Avod said, his grin faint but real. “You challenged the tavern master to a drinking contest. Thought you could win back that dagger you lost in cards.”
“I did win it back.”
“You did. After throwing up behind the stables and declaring your undying love for a goat.”
I smirked. “It was a noble-looking goat.”
Avod shook his head, laughing quietly. “You tried to name it Commander Hornsworth and demanded we take it with us.”
Drake chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Still better company than most of the squad,” We sat in the quiet, our laughter fading into a shared silence that wasn’t as heavy as before.
Avod’s voice dropped. “Feels good. Laughing. Even just a little.”
I nodded, staring at the fire.
For a moment, it helped. The grief didn’t go away. But it made room for breath.
“Fuck,” I said.
“Yeah,” Avod said, softer now.
We watched the fire for a while. Eva hadn’t moved. Fen was a shadow against the far tree line.
“They’re going to need us to hold it together,” I said.
Avod nodded. “So we do.”
My eyes drifted back to Eva. Her hands were still cupped around the broth like she couldn’t quite remember how to drink.
“I don’t know how to reach her right now,” I admitted.
“Then don’t reach. Just stay close.” Avod’s voice was steady. “That’s what Felix would’ve done.”
I nodded once and turned back toward her.
The night deepened. The fire dimmed. And beside the people we loved—flawed and fraying and fragile—we kept watch.
Days had passed since we had arrived back at Riftreach and the dining hall was quieter than it should’ve been. Not silent—there were still plates clinking and a fire crackling in the hearth—but the sound barely rose above a murmur. Like the whole rebellion was holding its breath.
Evandra sat beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushed mine when she shifted—but she hadn’t looked at me once since we sat down.
Julian was talking. Something about the Vyrmin postures he’d seen in the battle, how one of them had turned its head sideways like a curious wolf before launching at him.
It should’ve been funny. Normally, it would’ve made Eva smile.
She loved when he got theatrical. But she just pushed a piece of bread around her plate, tearing it into smaller and smaller pieces like she couldn’t stand the thought of eating.
I leaned in a little. Let my knee press lightly to hers beneath the table. I kept my hand close enough that if she wanted to reach for it, she could.
She didn’t.
I caught Ness watching her from across the table. There was sympathy in their eyes—and worry. The kind that said they’d noticed the same hollow quiet I had. But even Ness didn’t say anything.
Because what do you say?
Fen sat at the far end, her jaw tight, her eyes locked on nothing.
She hadn’t spoken once. Her plate was untouched.
Her knives stayed strapped to her thighs, but her fingers kept twitching like she wanted something to stab.
When Ness offered her a refill of wine, Fen waved it off like the sight of it offended her.
Avod looked worse. Pale. Drawn. He’d sat stiffly, nodding when spoken to but saying almost nothing. Every time someone said Felix’s name—even in passing—his shoulders tensed like he’d been slapped.
And me? I was trying not to crumble.
Eva looked like grief had turned her bones to glass. Guilt, heavier than armor, was draped over her like a second skin. She wouldn’t eat. She barely blinked. She hadn’t spoken to anyone since that morning—and even then, it had been in half-sentences.
I reached for her hand beneath the table. Brushed the backs of my fingers over her wrist.
She didn’t pull away. But she didn’t hold on, either.
Her thumb just kept stroking the rim of her cup. Round and round. The rhythm of a woman trying to convince herself she was still tethered to this world.
Then she stood.
The motion scraped her chair against the floor, a sharp, jarring sound in the low hum of the hall. Her cup tipped, sloshing water across the stone table. No one moved to clean it up.
“I need air,” she said. No one stopped her. The door slammed as she exited. It echoed—loud, final, like a blade driven into stone.
For a beat, nobody moved. Then I threw my napkin down and started to rise.
Then Julian glanced at me. “You sure she wants company right now?”
“No,” I said. “But I’m going anyway.”
I pushed back my chair and stood. My legs ached from the tension of sitting still, of pretending to eat. I hadn’t been hungry. I’d only come to dinner because Ness asked me to. Because Julian thought maybe sharing a meal would help us start to feel normal again.
Normal.
Felix was dead.
And Eva—Eva was falling apart right in front of me, and I didn’t know how to catch her.
I left the hall. The corridor beyond the dining room was dim, the lanterns low for evening. I passed two rebels whispering by the stairwell, and they both went silent the second they saw me. I didn’t care.
Her scent still hung by the exit tunnel, which meant she hadn’t gone far. I let instinct guide me—followed the honeysuckle like a thread of smoke through cold stone.
Back to our quarters.
Ours. What a fragile word that suddenly felt.