Chapter 13 The Haunting Silence
THE HAUNTING SILENCE
“They burn the earth for power, silence their women for pride, and call it order. But even the soil chokes on their footsteps.”
—ánya Volkóva of ávera, Mate to Vládan
Arnold
How the fucking son of a whore did that wench manage to escape the carriage? It was empty, and she had nothing on her. I kick at the dirt. It was supposed to be a simple thing. Grab the bitch, throw her at the vólkins’ territory, and be done with it. But no, she had to be a cunning little slut.
I searched every part of her, every curve. Her gown, her undergarments, even the strands of her hair, nothing was left unchecked. She had nothing on her, nothing but the fabric that clung to her body and a stupid handkerchief in her pocket.
“Arnold, calm down,” Gregor says, walking beside me as we follow alongside a stream, so we can make our way back to the carriage when I finally have my hands on this wench. “We’ll find her. She couldn’t have gone far.”
I glare at him, my temper barely in check. Snap. I freeze. My heart pounds in my chest. Just a twig, probably, but the echo through the forest feels too loud.
“Calm down? That bitch made a fool out of me! Do you have any idea what will happen if the knyaz finds out we took her past the village walls?”
Gregor shrugs. His ugly face grates on my nerves. “We still have time. Let’s focus on tracking her down.”
I take a deep breath. I need to rein in my anger, and we have to hurry.
Women aren’t allowed to leave the village.
If she’s found, I’ll claim she ran away after a night with me, and the shame alone will be enough to condemn her.
In Tárnov, a woman defiled before marriage is as good as dead.
No one would question it. And Noel can’t accuse me if she’s dead.
But still, what if she escapes? What if she speaks to someone before I can finish her off? Snap. Another twig, a rustle in the bushes. I jerk my head toward the sound, breath stuttering. But there’s nothing. Only shadows.
“Let’s move,” I mutter, trying to shake off the creeping sensation crawling up my spine.
My childhood in the rougher parts of Tárnov was hard.
Growing up, I had to fight for everything—respect, power, survival.
The military was supposed to be my escape, my chance to rise above the filth of common life.
And I did. I’m a commander now, feared and respected, and a man who doesn’t take kindly to being outsmarted by anyone.
I will never understand why they let Noel join.
After that day, everything changed. Now a woman in the army, and then what?
Talking back? Choosing her own path in life?
Who to marry? It’s madness enough that we have to send gifts to those whores before using them for the only thing they’re worth. Ridiculous.
She couldn’t have gone far. Despite her skills, she’s still just a woman, a thought that both angers and reassures me.
Gregor follows, and we move through the trees.
Noel has always been a thorn in my side.
Defiant, strong willed, and way too competent for her own good.
I underestimated her, and now she’s out here, somewhere, making me look like a fool.
Unless I make sure she’s dead. There is no way I’m letting her go so easily.
How did I get here? How did I let myself get dragged into this?
It all started with a letter.
It arrived like a whisper, a folded piece of paper in an envelope slipped into my quarters, unsigned and unmarked. I might have ignored it, dismissed it as a joke, but the words . . . They hooked me like barbed wire.
Noel doesn’t belong in the military. You’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you? She’s out of place, out of her depth. But soon enough, she’ll rise higher. And when she does, you’ll be left behind.
I crumpled up the letter the moment I finished reading it, but the words stuck. Whoever wrote it knew what I was thinking. They understood my frustration, the way Noel constantly overshadowed me. How could a woman be better than me at everything? She’s just a girl.
Recently, our troops were competing against each other, and of course, hers won.
Noel’s soldiers were stronger, better, and they fought well.
Too well. For some reason, whatever she does, she does perfectly.
She arrived at our base a few years ago, and since then, my life has been a nightmare.
Whenever I get the chance to show off, she steals my spotlight.
She always does everything better. No matter how hard I try, she wins.
She’s nothing but a woman, how can she be so strong?
It pains me. The thought of a woman being so good drives me insane.
Weeks passed before the second note arrived. This time, it felt more direct, like the writer had been watching me.
Imagine what it would be like without her. No more competition. No more endless defeats. The village would see you as the leader they need. Think about what could happen if she were gone.
That word, “gone,” echoed in my head for days. Gone. No more Noel. No more battles where I came second to her. No more sneering soldiers laughing behind my back because a woman outshined me. The idea festered like a poison, seeping into my every thought.
Soon, Noel. Soon, you’ll regret ever thinking you could escape me.
The third letter was the final push. By then, I was already obsessed with the idea of getting rid of her. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And the writer knew exactly how to make me act.
I know how to help you. Take her to the vólkins’ territory. She’ll never return. You’ll be free, and the village will never know. After all, you know what happens to women who defy the laws of Tárnov.
It was almost too easy. The letter suggested the idea, but it felt like my own. I could kidnap her. And so I did. But now she’s out here, playing with my mind.
Once I get my hands on her, I won’t even bother with the vólkins.
I’ll take my time, savor every moment of her suffering.
She’ll cry, she’ll beg, and I’ll relish her every tear.
I want to break her, to see the fire in her eyes extinguished, and when she’s nothing but a shattered, whimpering mess, I’ll make her endure it all over again.
I grin at that mouthwatering thought.
We walk deeper into the forest. The trees seem to close in around us, denser than I remember. A strange hush hangs over the woods, the usual sounds of birds and animals oddly absent. I glance at Gregor and catch a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
“Don’t tell me you’re spooked by the stories,” I say, my own voice almost trembling.
Gregor smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “The vólkins aren’t roaming here, Arnold. You’ve said it yourself.”
But something is off. I can’t shake the feeling that we’re being watched. My fingers tighten around the hilt of my sword as we continue forward, the silence scraping at the edges of my sanity. Snap.
I whirl around, eyes scanning the area. For a split second, I see her. Noel. A flash of her dark hair disappearing between the tree trunks.
“There!” My voice cracks, and I break into a run, heart hammering as I crash through the bushes. She’s there, just ahead, slipping through the trees like a ghost.
“Arnold!” Gregor shouts behind me, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I have to catch her. My boots pound against the ground, my breath coming in sharp inhales as I chase after her.
But then— She’s gone.
I skid to a halt, chest heaving. I look around frantically. No footprints, no broken branches, no sign of her at all. The trees are silent. My pulse thunders in my ears.
“Arnold, you’re losing it,” Gregor says when he catches up to me. He’s panting, sweat beading on his forehead. “There’s no one here.”
I open my mouth to retort, but something stops me, a low, distant whisper, like someone calling my name. Arnold. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I grip my sword tighter.
“You hear that?” I ask, voice low.
Gregor shakes his head. “Hear what?”
I turn back to the trees, eyes narrowing. The sound is gone, swallowed by the terrifying silence of the forest. But I swear I heard it, my name. It was my fucking name!
“Let’s go,” I mumble. We push forward again, farther into the heart of the forest.
It’s my first time so deep in the wild. We mostly trained at the base or in the woods around Tárnov.
We never went this far, not even during the most intense trainings.
The trees here seem new to me. Taller, darker, with twisted roots that rise from the earth like skeletal hands.
The atmosphere grows heavier with every step.
Dusk slowly falls, silencing the familiar sounds, the breeze, rustling leaves, birds perched on branches.
All of it is replaced by a weird quiet, making me sweat.
It feels as if something lurking within the thicket is watching me.
Every shadow seems to move as we do, every branch snaps under something unseen.
The farther we go, the more unsettling it becomes.
The ground grows rough, tangled with roots and moss, as if the forest is resisting us, urging us to turn back.
I need to see her dead.
I should be more confident. I’ve led countless expeditions, navigated dangerous terrain, and fought battles that most men wouldn’t survive. Yet this place . . . It’s different. The forest here feels alive with malice, like it’s watching us, watching me, waiting.
Sweat drips down my forehead to my mouth, slipping between my gritted teeth.
A few steps later, something catches my eye—massive claw marks slashed viciously into the trees.
I stop to inspect them. They’re not just big, they’re brutal, like something tore through the trunk with great force.
I trace my fingers along the jagged grooves, feeling the depth.
Shit. Whatever did this wasn’t just marking territory, it was showing off its strength. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“What in the . . . ?” I murmur.
Gregor steps close, his eyes widening as he takes in the markings. “I don’t like this, Arnold.”
Fear flickers in his voice, and I feel it too. The stories of the vólkins, beasts lurking in the shadows, waiting to rip any man who dares to enter their territory to pieces, start to feel a little too real.
This cannot be right, we’re still far from ávera.
“We don’t have time for this,” I snap, trying to shake off the creeping dread. But as we move on, the markings become more frequent, etched into almost every tree we pass.
Snap. Within seconds, the air around us changes. It grows thicker, choking. I catch sight of a figure ahead, Noel, standing by a stream, her back turned to us.
There you are.
My lips curl into a grin as I signal Gregor to move quietly. The idiot stays close behind me, panting like a dog. Noel looks down into the water, unaware. I can practically feel her silky skin in my grip already.
But . . . something’s wrong.
Her hair sways, but there’s no wind. It moves unnaturally, almost like smoke curling in the air. I stop.
“What the . . . ?” I whisper, then shake my head. Noel. It’s Noel. It has to be her.
But as I step closer, the hair shifts again, and I notice . . . it isn’t hair. It’s moving too fluidly, too unnaturally. My heart pounds harder.
“Noel?” I call out, my voice faltering. She doesn’t turn. Doesn’t move.
Something in me screams to stop, but I take another step. And another. I curl and uncurl my hands, my fingers trembling despite myself.
She turns.
And everything inside me sinks.
It’s not Noel. It’s not even human. Her face . . . too smooth, too perfect. Eyes glowing with an ethereal light. I can’t breathe. I can’t—
From the shadows, more figures emerge, slipping through the trees too lightly, as if floating. Women, their eyes gleaming, their bodies shimmering like water under the moonlight. We’re surrounded. Trapped.
“You are not welcome here,” one of them says, her voice echoing in my head, vibrating through my bones.
My legs refuse to move. I try to reach for my sword, but it’s like my arms are made of stone, frozen in place by their gaze. Beside me, Gregor stumbles, his face pale with fear.
“What . . . what do we do?” Gregor’s voice shakes, his knuckles white as he grips his blade.
I grit my teeth, struggling to breathe. “We need to go . . . get out of here. Now.”
But the women close in, their beauty hiding the danger beneath. My skin crawls. And for the first time in years, I feel true fear.