CHAPTER ELEVEN
WILLIAM
We reached the northern farm just as the clouds began to gather again. The air smelled of soil and grain, and the low stone fences stretched across the fields. A few farmers stood in the distance, watching as we approached.
I pulled gently on the reins, and Corven slowed to a stop. The ride had been long but steady. I swung my leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground, the weight of the armor shifting with a dull clink.
Elara still sat behind me, holding her basket in one hand. I turned and held my arm out to her. “Here,” I said quietly.
She hesitated for a moment before taking my hand. Her fingers were small, cold against my skin. I steadied her as she slid down, her feet landing lightly on the ground.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice low.
I nodded once, letting my hand fall to my side. “You’re welcome.”
Behind us, Eric jumped off his horse, his boots hitting the dirt.
He turned to the tall healer and offered her a grin. She ignored it and hopped down on her own.
Eric laughed softly. “Independent. I like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “You would.”
I turned my attention to the fields ahead.
The land stretched wide, lined with rows of wheat and barley swaying in the wind.
Beyond them stood a few wooden sheds and a stone farmhouse, its roof patched in places with hay.
Chickens pecked near the fence, and a pair of tired-looking oxen grazed by a trough.
Everything looked peaceful enough at first glance, though the air felt tense. The farmers nearby watched us closely, their faces wary, their hands never far from their tools.
Eric came to stand beside me, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “Doesn’t look like unrest to me,” he said quietly.
“Maybe not,” I replied, scanning the horizon. “But we’ll check all the same.”
I turned to Elara and Raven. “You can collect what you need. Stay close to the path and keep your eyes open. When you’re finished, wait by the horses.”
Elara nodded, adjusting the basket in her hands. Raven gave a brief wave of acknowledgement before they started toward the far end of the field, where wild herbs grew along the fence line.
I watched them for a moment. The breeze lifted the edge of Elara’s dress as she walked, her pale hair catching the sunlight.
Something about it held my attention longer than it should have.
It wasn’t just her appearance. It was the careful way she moved, as if every step meant something. There was grace in it, but also distance, like she was somewhere else entirely.
The feeling unsettled me. I drew a slow breath and looked away, pushing the thought aside.
“Come on,” I said to Eric. “Let’s see what has the farmers so uneasy.”
He grinned, already walking ahead. “Lead the way, Sir William.”
We crossed the field, the soil soft under our boots. The farmers shifted as we passed, their eyes following us but their mouths staying shut. A few nodded in greeting, but most just went back to their work, slower than before.
The wind carried the smell of hay and damp earth. The chickens scattered as we walked past the coops, their wings brushing the dust into the air. A few wagons sat empty by the fence, one with a broken wheel still leaning against it.
Something felt off. Not danger exactly, but unease that hung heavy, the kind that didn’t come from simple work.
Eric glanced around, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword. “Strange,” he said quietly. “No one’s talking.”
“They’re hiding something,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “Or waiting for something.”
We kept walking until we reached the far end of the field. One of the sheds stood there, its door half open, creaking softly in the wind. I pushed it aside.
Inside was a mess. Tools thrown in a pile, sacks split open, and
the ground was dark with something that looked like tar or oil.
Eric crouched, pressing two fingers into it. “Fresh,” he said. “Smells like pitch.”
I knelt beside him. The scent was strong, sharp enough to sting. “They were burning something.”
He looked at the walls. There were marks there, deep, deliberate.
Not the kind made by accident.
Eric stood, brushing the dirt from his gloves. “Guess we gotta report that to the captain.”
I nodded, eyes scanning the field again. The farmers had gone back to their work, but every so often one of them looked over their shoulder, watching us.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “We will.”
I straightened, letting my hand fall from the wall. The smell of tar still clung to the air.
“Our work’s done here,” I said. “We’ll report what we found and move on. The captain wanted us in Branhollow before nightfall.”
Eric nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Right. The village near the old mill.”
“That’s the one.”
We stepped out into the sunlight again, the shed door creaking closed behind us. The farmers had spread out across the field, pretending to work, but their eyes followed us all the same.
Eric gave a low whistle. “They’re nervous. Either they know
something, or they’re the reason for it.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “The captain will handle it.”
We crossed back through the rows of wheat until the horses came into view. Corven snorted softly when he saw me, pawing at the dirt. The two healers were waiting nearby, with baskets filled with green stems and small white flowers.
Raven stood with her arms crossed, her dark hair falling over one shoulder. “Took you long enough,” she said.
Eric grinned. “We like to be thorough.”
Elara looked up at me. The sunlight caught in her hair, turning it almost gold. Something about her gaze looked nervous, though she tried to hide it. My chest tightened before I could stop it.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
I nodded. “Enough to keep the captain interested. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t press.
I adjusted the reins and looked toward the sun, already dipping low over the fields. “We’ll ride you both back to the castle first,” I said. “After that, Eric and I will head for Branhollow.”
Elara opened her mouth to protest, but I was already turning
toward Corven. “It’ll be faster that way,” I added.
I mounted, the armor settling against my shoulders with familiar weight. When I looked back, she was still standing beside the horse, the basket clutched tight in her hands.
“Come,” I said quietly, holding out my hand.
She hesitated only a moment before placing hers in mine. Her fingers were cool and small against my palm. The sound of the fields dimmed around us, the world narrowing to that single point of touch.
I lifted her easily. This time, instead of settling her behind me, I guided her in front. Her breath caught, soft but clear in the quiet. She straightened quickly, though I could feel the faint tremor in her back as she steadied herself.
My arm brushed her side as I reached for the reins. Her hair slipped against my arm, light as silk. For a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.
“Comfortable?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
She nodded. “Yes.”
Corven shifted beneath us, his weight rocking gently from side to side. He waited for a signal, patient but restless. My hand stayed on the reins, the other resting lightly at her waist to steady her.
The faint scent of her hair reached me. It wasn’t the sharp tang of herbs most healers carried. It was softer. Clean. Something floral, like lilac and rain. Too fine for someone who spent her days tending wounds.
I told myself not to notice. Focus on the road. On the fields. On anything but her.
But it was useless. The wind caught her hair and lifted it just enough to brush my chin. My heartbeat stumbled once, hard and quick. Every small movement seemed louder than it should have: The sound of her breath, the rustle of fabric and the warmth of her back against my armored chest.
Corven started forward, and she steadied herself quickly. Her hands gripped the edge of the saddle. I could feel her body relax little by little as the tension left her spine.
The forest opened wider as we rode, the trees spreading apart to let the sunlight fall in thin golden bands across the path. The rhythm of Corven’s steps steadied beneath us, each stride smooth and strong.
The quiet between us was no longer awkward. It felt weighted. As if both of us were holding our breath for reasons neither could admit.
Her scent lingered. The faintest movement of her hair was enough to pull my thoughts apart. I forced my eyes forward, counting Corven’s strides, though it did nothing to steady me.
After a while, her voice broke the silence. “Are we close?”
Her tone was soft, almost hesitant, as if she didn’t want to
disturb the stillness around us.
“Almost,” I said. “You’ll see the gates soon.”
The path curved, and the sound of running water reached us. The same river that wound beneath the castle’s forest edge came into
view, its surface bright in the fading light. Two swings hung from an old tree by the water, the same one Elara sat on earlier. They swayed slightly in the breeze, just enough to move the air around them.
Without meaning to, I slowed Corven. His steps grew softer until we came to a stop by the bank.
The others rode on for a few paces before realizing we had halted.
Elara turned around and looked up at me, her voice uncertain. “Why are we stopping?”
For a moment, I didn’t answer. I was watching the river, the same one where I’d found her that morning. The light slid over the water like glass, catching on the ripples.
“No reason,” I said at last. My voice came out lower than I intended. “It’s a good place to rest the horse.”
She nodded, though she didn’t move. Her fingers brushed the edge of her dress, twisting the fabric lightly. The gesture was small, almost nervous.
The breeze shifted. Her hair lifted and brushed against my arm. I felt it like a spark. Too soft. Too close.
Corven shifted his weight beneath us, impatient to move, but I didn’t give the signal. My hand tightened on the reins, not because I meant to stop, but because I couldn’t quite bring myself to go on.
I knew I should ride. The road to Branhollow waited. The
captain would ask questions if we were late.
But none of that seemed to matter in that moment. Not the orders. Not the distance ahead.
All I could hear was the quiet sound of the river, and her breathing just in front of me.
I told myself it was nothing. Just a simple pause, a moment to rest.
Yet I stayed there, watching the water move in the light.
Maybe I just wasn’t ready to take her back to the healer’s wing. Not yet.