Chapter 8 Kaelren #2
The golden threads in her blood were already knitting the wounds closed, flesh mending at a pace that would have taken a human days.
“You heal fast,” I observed, watching the process with clinical interest. “Faster than yesterday, even. The transformation is accelerating the regeneration.”
“Apparently being part plant has benefits.” She tried to sound casual about it, but I caught the tremor in her voice. Fear of what she was becoming, probably. Or fear of how quickly it was happening.
“Don’t rely on it. Fast healing makes people reckless—they start taking risks they shouldn’t because they know they’ll survive them.
” I pulled bandages from my pack, the motion automatic after years of field injuries.
“Then one day they take a risk just slightly too large, and the healing isn’t fast enough. I’ve seen it happen.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Yes. Multiple times, actually. I’m a slow learner when it comes to my own mortality.
” I gestured for her to hold still while I wrapped her shoulder.
“The corruption speeds my healing too, in its own twisted way. It’s kept me alive through things that should have killed me.
But every time I rely on it, it claims more territory. ”
She was tense under my hands but didn’t pull away. The bandage work required closeness—my fingers brushing her skin, her breath warm against my neck as I reached around to secure the wrapping. I focused on the task, ignoring how aware I was of her pulse, steady and strong beneath my fingertips.
“Why did you really bring me out here?” she asked quietly.
“Training—”
“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp. “The Sage would never approve this. They’d say I needed more controlled practice before facing constructs in the field. So why?”
I finished with the bandage, stepping back to put necessary distance between us. The truth sat heavy on my tongue, and I considered lying. Would have lied, usually. But something about her directness demanded the same in return.
“The constructs would have found our camp tonight. I saw the signs this morning—tracks converging on our location, probably drawn by the power spike from your threshold crossing.” I met her eyes.
“Better to face them here, in daylight, with preparation, than have them attack while everyone’s sleeping.
The Sage wouldn’t have approved, which is why I didn’t ask. ”
“You could have just said that from the beginning.”
“Would you have believed me? Or would you have thought I was using it as an excuse to get you alone and test your abilities?”
She considered that. “Probably the second one.”
“Then my initial approach was more efficient. Sometimes a small deception prevents a larger argument.” I started walking back toward camp. “Though I’ll admit the efficiency argument loses some merit when you end up injured anyway.”
“Everything’s about efficiency with you.”
“Survival requires efficiency. Sentimentality is expensive.” But even as I said it, I was remembering the rage that had flooded through me when she was wounded, the way I’d let corruption spread unchecked.
That hadn’t been efficient. That had been pure reaction, and I didn’t know what to do with that information.
We stood there in the circle of death and growth—my corruption having killed everything, her power already reclaiming it. The contrast felt significant somehow. I wanted to move, to return to camp and the safety of routine, but something held me there.
“Kaelren?”
“What?”
“Thank you. For the save.” She was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t read. Not gratitude, exactly. Something more complicated. “I know you did it to protect Josephine’s investment or whatever justification you’re using, but… thank you anyway.”
“You would have survived without my intervention. The healing would have kicked in.”
“Maybe. But it would have hurt a lot more, and I might have panicked and done something stupid.” She flexed her shoulder experimentally. “So. Thanks.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say more. The walk back to camp stretched in silence, but it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. Just… quiet. Contemplative.
When we arrived, the Sage was waiting at the camp’s edge, arms crossed, disappointment radiating from them like heat.
“I said she needed rest.”
“She needed more field experience. The constructs were coming regardless—better she face them prepared than surprised.”
“She needed healing and controlled practice, not to be thrown at bone-monsters like bait.”
“She needed to know she could survive when things went wrong. And now she does.” I kept my voice level, meeting the Sage’s eyes. “You can be angry about my methods, but the results speak for themselves. She’s alive, she’s learned, and the constructs won’t be attacking camp tonight.”
The Sage looked between us, taking in Elle’s bandaged shoulder, the blood staining both our clothes, the exhaustion in her posture.
“What did you learn?” they asked Elle, voice careful.
“That I can kill things by making them bloom. Those constructs are horrifying. And that Kaelren’s solution to everything is death.”
“All valuable lessons,” the Sage said dryly. “Tomorrow, controlled training only.”
“Tomorrow might be complicated,” Nimor said, his form solidifying from shadow at the edge of camp. His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of bad news delivered too many times. “Crown scouts. Three miles out and closing.”
The camp went still. Even the insects seemed to pause their humming.
“How many?” I asked, though I could already guess from Nimor’s expression.
“Full patrol. Forty soldiers, maybe fifty. Standard search formation, moving methodically. They’re not rushing—they know we can’t have gone far.
” He flickered, checking over his shoulder as if they might appear at any moment.
“They’ll reach this location by mid-morning tomorrow if they maintain their current pace. ”
“They found us,” Elle said, and I heard the resignation in her voice. The acceptance that this had always been inevitable.
“They were always going to find you. The marks are like a beacon to anyone who knows how to look.” I started cataloging resources mentally—weapons, supplies, escape routes. “The only question was when, not if. Auradelle wants what you’re carrying too badly to just let you disappear into Wynmire.”
The crew exchanged glances, that silent communication that came from years of running together.
“We run,” Eltrien said immediately, already thinking about how to pack his healing supplies quickly. “We’ve outmaneuvered patrols before. We can do it again.”
“We fight,” Sarnyx countered, her thorns extending as if the decision was already made. “I’m tired of running. Forty soldiers isn’t impossible odds. Not with what she can do now.” She jerked her chin at Elle.
“We prepare for both,” the Sage interrupted, their voice cutting through the brewing argument with the authority of someone who’d survived more conflicts than any of us.
“Tonight we plan every contingency. Tomorrow, when we see their actual formation and capabilities, we decide. Running blind gets you killed just as fast as fighting stupid.”
The camp erupted into controlled chaos—Bryx checking the bees, Vashael gathering her plants, Nimor disappearing to set watches. Through it all, I watched Elle stand frozen, processing what this meant.
I caught her arm as she started toward her tent, pulling her aside where the others wouldn’t overhear.
“Listen to me carefully,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Whatever happens tomorrow—whether we run or fight or some combination of both—there’s something you need to understand.”
“What?” She looked up at me, fear evident but controlled.
“Don’t let them take you alive.”
She went very still. “What?”
“The Crown has methods of extracting power from marked individuals. Techniques refined over centuries, designed to pull every drop of magic out while keeping the host alive as long as possible.” I held her gaze, making sure she understood.
“You wouldn’t survive it intact. The person they’d eventually release—if they released you at all—wouldn’t be you anymore.
Just an empty shell that remembers being Elle. ”
The color drained from her face. “That’s… that’s horrifying.”
“That’s reality. Which is why I’m telling you now, while you can still prepare for the possibility.”
She swallowed hard, then asked the question I’d been expecting. “Would you do it?” Her eyes searched mine. “If it came down to it—if they were about to take me—would you kill me first?”
The honest answer sat between us, heavy and sharp.
“Yes.”
“Without hesitation?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Hesitation would be cruel. It would give you time to hope for a rescue that isn’t coming, time to beg, time to believe there’s another way.” I kept my voice steady, clinical. “Quick is kinder. It’s the last gift I could give you if it came to that.”
She pulled her arm free from my grip, stepping back like I’d burned her. “Good to know exactly where we stand. You really are just waiting for permission to fulfill your promise to Jo, aren’t you? This is just another acceptable outcome.”
“Elle—”
“No. I get it. I’m a mission. A debt. An inconvenience wearing marks you think should be yours.” Her voice shook, but whether from fear or anger I couldn’t tell. “Thanks for the honesty, I guess. At least I know what to expect when things go wrong.”
She walked away before I could correct her assumption, and I let her go.
Better she think I was cold, calculating, waiting for an excuse.
Better than her knowing the truth—that the thought of what the Crown would do to her made my corruption flare with a rage I couldn’t afford.
That I’d burn through the last of my life to prevent them from taking her, not because of Jo’s debt, but because somewhere in the last few days, she’d stopped being just a mission.
I watched her disappear into her tent, shoulders rigid with hurt and anger.
Let her hate you, I told myself. It’s safer for both of you.
Even if the cost of that safety was her thinking I’d kill her without a second thought.
Even if the truth was I’d already started counting all the ways I’d die to keep that from being necessary.