Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
The courtyard was organized chaos.
Briar stood near Phaeon, checking his saddle for the third time even though she knew it was secure. Her hands needed something to do, some task to focus on that wasn't the weight of doubt pressing against her ribs, or the star metal pendant cold against her skin beneath her cloak.
Around her, the group prepared to leave with varying degrees of efficiency.
Sian moved between packs with quiet purpose, redistributing weight, while Halian fussed over ward stones that were already perfectly organized.
Thaine checked weapons with methodical precision, his dark eyes tracking everything even as his hands worked.
Karse lounged against the courtyard wall, watching the fae scramble with barely concealed amusement.
"If you tighten that girth any more, you'll suffocate the poor beast," Eliam said from behind her.
She jumped slightly, then forced herself to still. "Just making sure it's secure."
"It's secure." His hand covered hers on the leather strap, warm despite the cold morning. "You've checked it twice already."
Had she? The morning felt fragmented, her attention scattered across too many things.
The doubt that had kept her awake most of the night, turning over Arion's words like poisoned candy.
The way Eliam had held her tighter than usual when she'd finally fallen asleep, as if he could sense something pulling away.
She pulled her hand from under his, busying herself with adjusting her cloak. "I want to be prepared."
"You are prepared." His voice carried that edge of controlled frustration she was learning to recognize. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just nervous about the journey."
The lie sat bitter on her tongue. She felt him studying her profile, weighing her words against her tone, and forced herself to meet his eyes.
"Briar—"
"Is everyone almost ready?" she asked, looking past him to where Arion was emerging from the residence, head low as he spoke to an attendant.
She felt Eliam tense beside her, his hand falling away from where it had been reaching for her face. When she glanced at him, his expression had shuttered into something carefully neutral.
"Almost," he said, and moved away to check his own horse.
The loss of his warmth felt more significant than it should have. Briar pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the warmth there pulse in response. Seeking him even when she was pulling away. Was that her or the magic? Did it matter anymore?
"Good morning."
Arion's voice made her turn. He stood close, too close really, holding a small wrapped bundle that steamed slightly in the cold air. His light flickered around his fingers in that new, sharper way she'd started noticing.
"I thought you might be hungry," he said, offering the bundle. "It's not much, just some bread and cheese wrapped to stay warm. You didn't eat much last night."
She hadn't realized he'd been paying that close attention. She took the bundle, feeling the warmth seep through the cloth into her cold fingers.
"Thank you," she said, surprised by the gesture.
His fingers brushed hers as she took it, the contact lingering a moment too long. His hand was warm, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Anytime." His smile was gentle, concerned. "Did you sleep well?"
"Well enough."
Another lie. They were stacking up like kindling, waiting for a spark. She could see him noticing, reading the tension in her shoulders, the way she wouldn't quite meet his eyes.
"If you need to talk—"
"She doesn't." Eliam's voice cut between them, sharp and cold. He'd moved back without her noticing, now standing close enough that she could feel the barely contained violence in his stillness. "And you should focus on your own preparations, princeling."
Arion didn't step back and didn't acknowledge the threat in Eliam's tone. Instead, his light brightened slightly, a challenge.
"I was merely offering—"
"I know what you were offering." Eliam's hand found Briar's lower back, firm and possessive. "And she doesn't need it."
"Perhaps she should decide that herself."
"Perhaps you should remember whose—"
"If you're all quite finished," Karse's drawl cut through the mounting tension, "we should leave before noon. Unless you'd prefer to measure who has the bigger—"
"Karse," Sian said sharply.
The Drak grinned. "I was going to say territory. What did you think I meant?"
Despite everything, Briar felt her lips twitch. The absurdity of it—two fae lords posturing over her while they prepared to journey into corrupted wilderness to prevent an apocalypse. The situation would be funny if it didn't make her want to scream.
"He's right," Thaine said, already mounted. "We're losing daylight."
The group began final preparations with renewed urgency. Briar moved to Phaeon, grateful for the excuse to put distance between herself and both Eliam and Arion. The horse nickered softly as she approached, his breath steaming in the cold.
"At least you're simple," she murmured, stroking his neck. "No complicated feelings. Just carrots and apples and not being kicked."
"Talking to the horse now?"
She turned to find Halian leading his own mount over, his usual cheerfulness dimmed but present. Of everyone, he seemed the most affected by Ferria's escape—guilt written in the tight line of his mouth, the shadows under his eyes.
"Horses are better conversationalists than fae sometimes," she said.
"Fair point." He paused, then: "I'm sorry. About my sister. About everything she's done."
"It's not your fault."
"Everyone keeps saying that," his hand clenched on his reins. "But I should have seen it. Should have paid more attention. She hated that I made her leave the Forest Court, that I turned her into an outcast. I thought she would get over it. I guess I was wrong."
Briar didn't know what to say to that. What comfort could she offer when Ferria had helped orchestrate so much pain?
"We'll stop her," she said finally. "And Malus. We'll fix this."
Halian managed a weak smile. "Your optimism is refreshing. Possibly misguided, but refreshing."
"Mount up," Eliam called, already on his horse. "We're leaving."
The group assembled with the practiced efficiency of people who'd traveled together before—except Briar, who still needed two attempts to get into Phaeon's saddle and nearly slid off the other side before Eliam's hand shot out to steady her.
"Careful," he said, and she hated how her body responded to even that simple touch, warmth flooding through her that might be hers or might be the magic or might be so tangled together she'd never separate them.
"I'm fine," she said, adjusting her seat the way he'd taught her.
His hand lingered on her thigh for a moment before he pulled back, and she saw uncertainty flicker across his face. As if he could feel her pulling away and didn't understand why.
I don't know what's real, she thought. I don't know if I chose you or if something inside me did it for me.
But she couldn't say that. Not here, not now, maybe not ever.
The group formed a loose column with Thaine at the lead, followed by Eliam and Briar, then Arion, Sian and Halian, and Karse ranging somewhere behind.
The formation felt deliberate with Eliam positioning himself between her and Arion, a physical barrier to match the emotional one building between them all.
They moved through the Star Court gates as the sun crested the horizon, pale winter light painting everything in shades of blue and silver.
Briar looked back once, seeing the crystalline spires catching the light, the gardens still impossibly blooming despite the snow.
Safety. Warmth. Everything they were leaving behind.
When she turned forward again, Eliam was watching her.
"Second thoughts?" he asked.
"No." That, at least, was true. Whatever doubts plagued her about her feelings, she knew this journey was necessary. "Just... saying goodbye."
"We'll come back."
It sounded like a promise, but Briar heard the uncertainty underneath. They were riding into corrupted wilderness to reinforce a seal holding back ancient horrors, with a mad king hunting them and Ferria escaped to gods-knew-where. Coming back felt more like hope than certainty.
"You're quiet this morning," Eliam said after they'd been riding for a while, the Star Court now just a glimmer behind them.
"Just tired."
"You barely slept."
"How would you know?"
"Because I barely slept." His hand found her waist, steadying her as Phaeon navigated a rough patch. "And because I know you."
Do you? she wanted to ask. Or do you know the warmth and assume you know me?
But she said nothing, just let him guide her horse with practiced ease, his body close enough that she could feel his heat even through layers of winter clothing.
They rode in silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts.
Soon the Star Court had disappeared behind them, the crystalline spires swallowed by distance and trees.
The landscape had shifted gradually from the manicured gardens and careful pathways to something wilder, denser.
True forest now, the kind that had grown without fae hands shaping it.
The trees here were massive, their trunks wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder, their canopy so thick that the sunlight filtered through in scattered beams. Moss covered everything—rocks, fallen logs, the lower branches of trees.
The air smelled of earth and decay, the natural rot of leaves and wood returning to soil.
It was beautiful in a raw way, untamed and ancient. But there was something else too, something Briar couldn't quite name. A heaviness to the atmosphere, a sense of watching eyes. The forest felt aware, though whether it was hostile or simply indifferent she couldn't tell.
"How much further today?" Sian asked from behind them.