Chapter Three
Adira
Adira woke to the smell of wet stone and the muted rhythm of dripping rain.
Several hours had passed. The wards that Kairen Vale had drawn still shimmered across the floor, the silver runes pulsing like a heartbeat.
For a moment she lay very still, listening.
The forest that was called haunted was breathing again, calm after its rage.
In the sunshine of midday, it looked like any other forest: verdant, green, inviting.
Kairen was already awake. He sat near the doorway, dark cloak slung over one shoulder, gaze fixed on the mist beyond.
In his dark, roughhewn clothes, he looked carved from the same stone that ringed the ruin: worn, immovable, faintly dangerous.
His hair was still damp, a streak of silver glinting through the black.
His eyes were a pale blue, but she still remembered how they had glowed silver in the storm last night.
The amulet at his wrist glowed faintly where his thumb rested against it.
He did not turn when he said, “You sleep too lightly for a diplomat.”
“I’m a realist,” she replied, pushing herself upright. “Realists wake when the floor hums with old magic.”
That earned her a glance, quick and assessing. “You noticed the pulse.”
“I notice a great many things,” she said, rising to her feet.
Her saree was still damp from the storm, as was her cloak.
She wrapped the pallu around her shoulders like a shawl and crossed to the ancient runic circles on the floor.
The sigils were unlike any she had studied in Sunvaara—curving lines interlaced with animal forms, half erased by time. “These are shifter glyphs.”
“Older,” Kairen said. “Before the shifters had names. Before men decided they were myths.”
Adira crouched, tracing one symbol without touching it. “This one—mirror binding. Reflection turned inward. This temple must have been a place of balance between forms.”
He sounded faintly amused. “Not many court scholars could read that.”
“I’m not a court scholar.” She looked up at him. “You forget I was chosen for my knowledge.”
He met her gaze evenly. “Knowing too much gets people killed out here.”
“Then it’s fortunate I have a guide.”
Something flickered behind his eyes—resignation, perhaps, or reluctant acceptance—but he said nothing.
The ruins stirred as the day lengthened. Birds took flight, their calls strange and low-pitched as they echoed through stone. Adira moved carefully among the pillars, noting how the vines grew only along one wall, avoiding the carved altar. The air near it felt charged, humming softly in her bones.
When Adira pulled some hard bread and a hunk of cheese from her satchel, Kairen’s eyebrows went up in surprise. When she offered him some, along with a handful of dried nuts, he took it with a grunt of thanks, offering her the wineskin that hung at his belt.
She turned to him. “Do you think the Hollowwood remembers the past?”
After finishing his meal, he rose, crossing the floor with the quiet grace of someone used to stalking rather than walking. “Careful with words like that. Memory here has teeth.”
Adira studied him as he studied the altar. He moved like a scholar forced into a soldier’s body, every motion controlled. Even injured, he radiated leashed power. The cut on his shoulder had bled through his ruined tunic; the skin beneath was bruised purple-black.
“You’re still bleeding,” she said.
“I’ve survived worse.”
“Surviving is not the same as healing.”
Her tone made him glance at her again, wary. “You intend to lecture me?”
“Treat your wound,” she said simply. “Or I’ll do it myself.”
He snorted. “Do you order all your allies so easily?”
“I only order those who argue when they’re obviously in pain.”
Without waiting for permission, she rummaged through her satchel, producing a vial of cleansing salve and a strip of linen. When she approached, he caught her wrist—not hard, but firm enough to stop her.
“Touching me is… unwise,” he said quietly.
“I’ve treated worse injuries than a gash in the shoulder.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His eyes held hers, steel-blue and distant, and for a heartbeat she sensed something vast behind them—a power that was barely leashed beneath his skin. She swallowed hard and refused to flinch.
“Trust me to be wise enough to know my limits,” she said. “If you lose too much blood, neither of us leaves this forest alive.”
He hesitated, then released her wrist. “Fine.”
The wound was deeper than she expected. When she peeled away the torn fabric, the mark seeped black blood around the edges. She hid her gasp, and dabbed the salve on the wound, the scent of herbs sharp in the cold air.
He tensed, muscles coiling under her hands. “This is what tangling with Rindais is like,” he said stiffly. “Are you sure you still want to meet him?” he murmured.
“Stop trying to make me give up my duty,” she snapped. “I already told you it’s not happening.”
His frown turned harsh and he looked away.
Adira bit back a curse. Why was he being so difficult?
Whatever had happened between himself and Rindais, how could she be expected to weigh it against the needs of an Empire?
The Crown Prince surely had the best interests of his people at heart; there had to be a reason he had sent her here to meet the Magelord.
Besides, even if Rindais was untrustworthy, that didn’t mean the Crown Prince couldn’t use him for the good of Sunvaara.
This was bigger than just one mage who claimed he had been ill-treated.
A long silence followed.
After she’d bound the wound with fresh cloth, her fingers moved to the amulet at his wrist. It pulsed once under her touch, a living thing. “This device—does it hurt you?”
“I told you; it keeps me safe.” He met her eyes and smiled nastily. “It’s the only thing stopping me from eating you.”
“And if it fails?”
“Then you’ll finally see what I really am.”
She refused to drop her gaze. He was just trying to scare her. But the deadly seriousness in his eyes made her heart beat faster. She pushed down the fear. “You don’t scare me. I know you won’t hurt me.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You sound very sure for someone who met me five hours ago.”
“Observation,” she said. “You saved us, even though you didn’t have to. And your magic is still strong. Commanding a storm the way you did requires discipline, not madness.”
His breath caught as if her words had struck deeper than the wound. For a long moment they stayed like that—her fingers pressed to his wrist, his gaze locked on hers, the hum of the forest filling the silence.
Then he said softly, “You talk like a scholar but your words are sharp like a knife.”
Adira straightened. “A knife can be used to heal or to harm. Depends on who wields it.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You really are Sunvaaran. Everything’s a negotiation with you.”
“And everything’s a battle with you.”
They regarded each other across the small space; two reflections cast in different glass. The air between them felt charged again, though the storm had long passed.
~
They explored the ruins together once his shoulder was bound. Adira carried a torch; Kairen moved beside her, reading runes aloud in low tones that carried power even when he wasn’t infusing them with magic. The walls whispered in response—echoes of a language older than either of them.
In the inner chamber, they found a mosaic half-buried in moss: two figures, one human, one beast, joined by a mirror between them. Across the surface, faint lines of energy shimmered.
Adira knelt. “This symbol—it’s the same as the one near the entrance to this shifter shrine.”
Kairen grunted.
Later, as twilight began to creep back through the broken roof, they returned to the main chamber. Adira sat near the small fire they had built from old debris. Kairen leaned against a column, head tilted back, eyes half-closed. The air smelled faintly of smoke and rain.
“You still intend to deliver that letter?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“It’s my mission.”
“It’s a death sentence.”
“Possibly.”
He looked at her then, really looked, as if searching for the crack that would reveal why she stayed so composed. “Why follow orders you know are wrong?”
“Because the cost of disobedience is higher. My loyalty keeps peace between kingdoms.”
“And your conscience?”
She stared into the fire. “I learned long ago that conscience doesn’t keep borders intact.”
He studied her for a long moment. “You remind me of myself, before I learned better.”
“Then perhaps I should be wary.”
“Perhaps you should.” But there was no bite in his tone, only weariness.
The forest beyond the ruins began to sing as night fell—a low, resonant hum that made the air vibrate in their lungs. Adira rose and walked to the entrance, drawn to the sound. The trees shimmered faintly, each leaf reflecting light from the unseen moon.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
“It’s warning us,” Kairen replied quietly beside her. “The Hollowwood accepts few guests.”
“Then I'll give it reason to accept me.”
He smiled faintly; the first real smile she’d seen from him. “You say that as if you could negotiate with a forest.”
“I’ve negotiated with worse.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “You’re serious.”
“Always.”
The silence between them softened, edges no longer sharp but curious. The wind brushed past, stirring the torch flame. Adira met his gaze, and something unspoken passed there—recognition, fragile but real.
When he finally turned away, his voice was low. “Rest while you can, envoy. Tomorrow, we head deeper into the Hollowwood. Whatever waits beyond these ruins, it won’t bargain with us.”
Adira watched him disappear into shadow, the mirror glyph on the altar glinting faintly in the firelight. For the first time since she’d left Sunvaara, she did not feel entirely alone.