Chapter Four
Kairen
The forest changed with the dawn.
Mist drifted low over the ground, curling up through the twisted roots.
Kairen moved first, scanning the edges of the ruins while Adira packed up her bedroll.
His every sense strained toward the periphery—the smell of damp soil, the faint trace of magic that lingered after spellwork, the quiet shuffle of something alive beyond sight.
The Hollowwood was watching them again. He could feel it.
He glanced back once. Adira was shaking out her cloak, brushing off dust and dew. There was an elegance to her precision, a rhythm that belonged more in marble corridors than in this feral place. Yet she didn’t flinch at the strangeness of the forest. The envoy carried her composure like armor.
When she straightened, she met his gaze. “If we leave now, we can reach the trade road by nightfall.”
He adjusted the strap of his pack. “Assuming the road hasn’t been booby trapped by Rindais.”
“Ever the optimist.”
“Realist,” he corrected. “Optimists end up as fertilizer.”
A wry smile touched her mouth. “You’d make an excellent diplomat.”
He snorted. “I’d rather wrestle lightning.”
~
They walked in silence for a time, the forest thickening around them. Light filtered through the canopy in fractured gold, and each shaft seemed to carry a thousand eyes.
Adira studied the sigils etched into a nearby trunk. “These markings, are they protective?”
“Once. Now they’re warnings.” Kairen traced one with a gloved hand. “Old shifter glyphs. They used to bind spirits to guard sacred ground. The magic’s thin now.”
“And we’re unwelcome.”
“Exactly.”
He pushed aside a low branch, holding it long enough for her to pass. She nodded in thanks. The simple civility unsettled him. He wasn’t used to being treated like something other than a weapon or a ghost.
By midday, the mist had been burned away by the sunshine. They stopped beside a stream that wound through the roots of a fallen tree, munching their way through the remnants of Adira’s bread and cheese.
After a mouthful of wine, Adira knelt to drink from cupped hands, frowning at the water’s faint metallic sheen.
“Something’s leeching into it,” she murmured. “Magic?”
“Yes.” He crouched beside her, dipping his fingers into the current. The chill bit deep, setting his teeth on edge. “This is Rindais’s work.”
He’d sensed it, felt the disturbance in the magic within him that made his blood burn in his veins. And now, here was the proof: Rindais was tampering with forbidden magic again.
Obviously, if Rindais had started his experiments again, he’d found some fool to sponsor him.
It was obvious, in hindsight. Kairen should’ve known that destroying his lab and burning his research notes wouldn’t be enough to stop a mage like Rindais. Ever since he’d discovered the existence of the Heartstones, Rindais had become obsessed with their powers.
And he was not the kind to stop.
Back when Kairen had been with him, Rindais had laughed about the king who’d wanted him to create a shifter army, chuckling that if he had the power of subservient shifters at his command, why would he deign to serve anyone else?
Likely the king had been promised a magical army that could subjugate his neighbors, and so he had poured all his resources into Rindais’s research, little knowing that the backstabbing mage meant to double cross him.
Kairen sighed. “Rindais has got access to forbidden magic. Ancient, celestial magic that governs and guides shifters.”
Adira’s eyes went wide. “Do shifters still exist? I thought they were only legend.”
“Rindais means to bring the legends to life,” Kairen said reluctantly. “Only, he means to make them serve him.”
Memories rose from the mists—a darkened lab. Men screaming in pain, begging for release. Binding sigils. Blood.
His claws lengthened as he fought the memories, and he could feel his fangs biting into his bottom lip as his agitation grew.
Was he making the right choice by telling Adira about Rindais? One careless word from the envoy and he would be on the dissecting block in a lab back in Sunvaara. He had no illusions that the power-hungry Crown Prince she served was any better than Rindais.
“Our reports say that he’s built a mage’s tower in Telluria,” Adira said slowly. “If a mage who doesn’t belong to any order has the resources to conduct research again, then it means he has found himself a patron.” She frowned. “He’s allied himself with the Kingdom of Telluria.”
“You’re walking into danger,” he said stiffly. “But you knew that already.”
“I have no choice,” she declared. “It is my duty.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Despite what you think, statecraft is no place for delicate sensibilities. If it serves my country, I don’t mind getting my hands dirty by dealing with a disgraced mage.”
“But are you sure you’re really serving your country?” he snapped. “Or just your prince?”
He didn’t wait for her response, moving on without looking back. He knew she would follow.
Kairen knew all about misplaced loyalty.
When he’d first manifested his talent for magic, his parents had been so proud.
They’d scraped together every penny they’d had to send him to the neighboring village, where Rindais had been staying as an honored guest; the town mage.
Kairen had thought he would learn how to use his magic to help common folk like his parents and his townsfolk, he’d been so eager to become Rindais’s apprentice.
It had taken him years to realize what Rindais was truly like. And by then it had been far too late for too many people.
What would it take for Adira to break free of her loyalty to her prince?
What would be her breaking point?
They followed the stream until the trees opened onto a shallow clearing. The ground was littered with old campfire rings, ashes long cold. Kairen felt the shift in the air before he saw it: the faint hum of warding, the metallic scent of iron and enchantment.
“Stop,” he said sharply.
Adira froze mid-step. “What is it?”
“Traps.” He knelt, brushing aside moss to reveal a faint sigil etched into the dirt. Ward lines emblazoned with the crest of the Empire of Sunvaara.
Her brow furrowed. “That’s impossible. These are military-grade wards. The border outposts were abandoned years ago.”
“Apparently someone forgot to tell your prince.” He stood, scanning the treeline. “This was set recently. Days ago. Maybe only hours.”
She moved closer, studying the lines. “It’s coded in diplomatic cipher.”
His head tilted. “Meaning?”
“It’s not a ward. It’s a message.”
Before he could stop her, she drew a small stylus from her belt and touched the outer rune. The sigil flared gold, then dimmed, leaving words burned into the earth in a Sunvaaran script. He couldn’t recognize the language, he knew they spoke several in the Empire.
Adira read aloud, her voice halting. “‘By decree of the Crown Prince, tribute to be delivered to Magelord Rindais. Five bodies per full moon.’”
She went still. The color drained from her face. “Tribute,” she whispered. “Does that mean—?”
Kairen’s jaw clenched. “Your prince is feeding Rindais people for his experiments.”
She shook her head as if to deny it, but the words lay there, smoking and undeniable. “No. No. The Crown Prince seeks alliance, not atrocity.”
“Tell yourself that if it helps you sleep.”
Her eyes flashed. “You think I condone this?”
“I think you serve him.”
The silence between them sharpened, brittle as glass.
Adira stepped back from the sigil, arms folding tight. “There could be another explanation. A forgery, a rival faction—”
“Hope makes for poor logic,” he cut in. “I’ve seen what Rindais does with his ‘tribute.’ You want to call it alliance? Fine. It’s still murder.”
Her composure fractured for the first time, a flicker of anguish cutting through the diplomat’s mask. “If this is true—”
“It is.”
She drew a steadying breath. “Then I need proof. Not accusations.”
He studied her, trying to reconcile the steel in her posture with the faint tremor in her voice. “You plan to confront your prince?”
“I plan to survive long enough to make sure my country knows the truth.”
Kairen almost admired her audacity. “That’s going to get you killed.”
“It’ll be worth it,” she said evenly.
The wind shifted again. Kairen’s instincts screamed a warning. “Down,” he snapped, grabbing her arm and dragging her behind a fallen log just as an arrow hissed through the air where her head had been.
Shouts followed—men’s voices, armored boots pounding the ground. The clearing erupted with movement: half a dozen Sunvaaran soldiers.
“They’re here to rescue me,” she said, trying to tug away from his grasp. She made to stand up, but he pushed her down again as another arrow whistled past her head.
Kairen swore under his breath. “Your people have an interesting definition of rescue.”
“It must be a mistake,” Adira said tightly.
He squinted, noting the faint shimmer of magic on their bows and blades. “They’re infused with magic. Controlled.”
Her eyes widened. “Controlled? By whom?”
“Who do you think?”
He rose before she could protest. He snapped the binding sigil from his wrist, and his magic responded.
His fangs lengthened and his beast howled, wanting blood.
The storm answered his call instantly—lightning curling along his fingertips, wind shrieking to life.
The first bolt struck the nearest soldier squarely, knocking him flat.
The others faltered, momentarily blinded.
Adira ducked beside him, drawing her dagger more out of defiance than use. “Try not to kill them!”
“I’m trying to keep you alive!” he growled. “Sorry if that inconveniences you!”
“We need them alive! We have to learn who’s behind this!”
He snarled but obeyed, modulating the next burst of magic to stun instead of destroy. The air sizzled; the soldiers dropped, twitching as the enchantments burned out of them. One stumbled forward, swinging a blade at Kairen’s side.
Adira moved faster than he expected—stepping in, slashing the back of the man’s hand with surgical precision. His magic followed, landing wherever she struck, and the soldier collapsed, sword clattering to the dirt.
When the last one fell, silence rushed in again. Only the wind remained, sighing through the clearing.
Adira knelt beside a fallen guard, checking for breath. “Alive,” she said. “But whatever was controlling them is gone.”
Kairen took a quick breath, then another, willing himself back into his human form. He clasped the binding sigil tight in his fist, and a moment later, he felt like himself again. With a huff, he wiped sweat and rain from his brow. “You shouldn’t have exposed yourself like that.”
“You shouldn’t have underestimated me.”
He stared at her, chest heaving, and then laughed—a raw, unexpected sound. “Point taken.”
She met his gaze, breathing hard. “Satisfied?”
“Impressed,” he admitted. “And mildly concerned.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m starting to like you, and that never ends well.”
They dragged the unconscious soldiers to the side of the clearing. Adira found a scroll among their packs, nearly unreadable due to water damage—a ledger stamped with two seals—one belonging to Crown Prince Sekhar, and the other to Rindais.
Each line listed numbers beside villages. Tribute counts.
Her hands shook as she closed the parchment. “He’s trading lives for power.”
“Welcome to the truth, envoy.”
Her eyes shimmered. “He’s the future of my kingdom. I believed in him.”
“Then stop believing. Start fighting.”
She looked up sharply. “With you?”
He shrugged. “You’re good at talking. I’m good at breaking things. Seems efficient.”
A breath of laughter escaped her despite herself. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re reckless.” His expression softened. “But you didn’t run from the truth. That’s something.”
She sniffed. “I can’t run away from this.”
They left the clearing as dusk bled through the canopy, the sky streaked with violet. Neither spoke for a while. The revelation hung between them, heavy and electric.
At last Adira said quietly, “If I abandon my mission to meet Rindais and carry this back instead, I’ll be executed for dereliction of duty.”
“Then don’t go back.”
“I swore an oath to my country.”
“Then break it.”
She glanced at him, startled. “You think everything’s that simple?”
“Doing the right thing is simple.”
The path narrowed between them, forcing them close. His arm brushed hers, a spark jumping between their bodies like static.
They didn’t look at each other, but neither moved away.
By the time they reached the edge of a low ridge, night had fallen fully. Below, the forest glowed faintly with phosphorescent mist—the Hollowwood’s inner heart. Far beyond that shimmer, the faint outline of a tower speared the horizon.
Adira followed his gaze. “Rindais.”
Kairen nodded once. “His new stronghold.”
“So close.”
“Too close.”
“I still have to take the prince’s letter to him.”
“Still?” Kairen shook his head. “Was this not enough proof for you to abandon your mission?”
She said nothing, her expression conflicted. He turned to her, the last light catching the glimmer of her dark eyes. “Then before we meet Rindais head on, you must see what he is capable of. And then we must rest. Regroup. Decide whether we want to die tomorrow or the next day.”
Adira’s smile was faint but real. “Pragmatic as ever.”
“Don’t mistake it for courage.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
Their eyes met—her poise against his cynicism, reason against ruin. And for the first time, he felt the line between them blur into something dangerously addictive.