13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
The air became denser the further we went—fresh earth, damp moss, the metallic tang of running water close by.
The forest wasn’t silent by any means. But the natural sounds felt muffled, as though the trees themselves answered to his presence and wanted to acquiesce their god by blocking out inconvenient noise.
He never looked back. He didn’t need to. He knew I was there, bound not by force, but by the thread tying me to him. That smug certainty burned hotter than the smoldering flames scorching inside my chest.
I clenched my jaw and kept my stride even.
Though inside my mind, incessant thoughts spat sparks.
I hated the way the bond thrummed in my ribs like a drum, reminding me with every step that I wasn’t just Aurenya anymore.
I had yet another collar. Every scrap of freedom I’d clung to was slowly being strangled out of me.
At least I had my training gym. I couldn’t help but think that I would be making better use of my time training alone than following this god of chaos through the woods.
The very woods that seemingly only responded to him on an uncomfortably intimate level.
Because seriously, every time Tairngire so much as took a breath, the breeze blew through the leaves as if in reverence.
Our beloved god honors us with his presence, I swore I heard them whisper.
It was enough to make me go mad. I muttered expletives under my breath, not particularly caring whether any living thing heard me or not. But if he had, I wouldn’t know it.
Tairngire walked in front of me with a purposeful stride, humming some solemn sounding tune under his breath.
Finally, my tongue betrayed me. “Will you knock that off? It's depressing."
"That's a matter of perspective, Little Seer. To me, it's soothing."
I shot him a glare. "Where exactly are we going?”
He angled his head just enough that I caught the taunting curve of his mouth. “Someplace that will decide whether or not you’re worth all the trouble.”
The words hit like lightning through dry wood.
Trouble? I was the trouble? My duty had never needed him.
My Sight had never needed him. And yet here he was, dragging me further into the dark like I was nothing more than a reluctant shadow.
Even the foliage around us seemed to be judging me, as if I wasn’t worthy to stand in his midst.
I forced my breath steady. I would not give him the satisfaction of hearing it quicken. Not this time. I had never felt so unwelcome in the forest before.
He didn’t stop until the thickets and canopies cut out all the light and shadows pooled between the trunks.
I was so occupied with my conflicting feelings that I stopped watching my steps as closely.
My foot caught on a hidden root, pitching me forward, bringing back uninvited flashbacks from last night.
All this footwork I’d been practicing and still, it didn’t beat the clumsiness out of me—why would it? Nothing I did ever seemed to work out in my favor anyway these days.
“The trees won’t move just because you’re busy glaring at the back of my head,” he said, voice dripping with annoyance.
Heat rushed to my face. I straightened fast, biting back the urge to snap right then and there. I thought of the Shaman telling me to breathe in slowly and let it out slower when anger took hold. I practiced it now, though it didn’t do much to help.
We broke into a clearing where the canopy opened enough for light to strike the ground in shifting patches. His broad shoulders rolled back, and when he finally spoke, his tone was all business.
“You rely on Sight. Your divine gifts,” he practically spat that last word before continuing. “You rely on words in books. Whispers in temple halls where no blood has ever touched the holy ground. You think knowledge is the same as understanding.”
My jaw locked. “And you think insulting me is teaching.”
His eyes flashed bright green before dimming just as fast. “If you want to survive the forest, Little Seer, you’ll need to feel it, not simply glimpse it in a text. Your innate response is to repeat some priest’s sermon. But that will never be enough. The forest breathes. Do you?”
Heat flared in my chest. I hated how calm he sounded, how easily he cut down everything I’d ever been taught. As if I'd ever had a choice in the matter.
“You think I asked for this?” I hissed. “You think I wanted books and scrolls to be my whole life? To rot in chambers while others bled, fought and lived?”
My voice cracked through the quiet. Birds startled, their wings scattering. Tairngire watched them fly off, his gaze hard.
When his eyes found me again, they were stone cold and uncaring.
“No,” he said firmly. “But whether you want it or not, that particular burden is yours to carry. You may not be able to control your circumstances, but you can control how you react to them. So stop hiding behind your fury and listen.”
I sat there, stunned silent. Nobody had every been so direct with me before.
Saorla would ask me questions that challenged my mindset, but she never blatantly called me out in that way.
The High Priestess would give me her judgmental stares, and Brannach would simply use his cane to assert his dominance if anyone dared to question his authority.
Because gods forbid anyone question the Elders.
Perhaps Tairngire was right. I couldn't control my circumstances, but I could try and redirect my emotions toward something productive.
The bond tugged at my chest, steady as a drumbeat. Despite myself, I drew in the pine-soaked air and felt its weight close in around me.
I closed my eyes, reached with my Sight, and felt threads unfurl through bark, soil, stone.
A low chuckle cut across the clearing. “Still leaning on that, are you?” His voice was a razor, ready to cut through my already too thin patience.
I felt the fury ignite once more, curling fast in my gut and rising toward my throat. I wanted to lash out. Instead, I let the breath go slow. I unclenched my fists at my sides.
You can control how you react.
For the first time, I said it out loud. My voice quiet but certain. “I don’t know how to feel without my Sight.”
The forest hushed. When I opened my eyes, his lazy expression was gone. Only green fire remained in its wake, steady and intent on my face. Something flickered there—softening the hard expression that always held his jaw tight.
The Awakener didn’t look like an amused god anymore.
He looked like someone who might understand my struggles, even if he hated that he did.
There was something eerily mortal in that look.
Most gods did ascend from them, after all.
So maybe it made sense. But if Tairngire had been mortal once that side of him was long lost now.
His eyes never left mine as he stepped closer. The weight of him pressing down on me was enough to clear my head of all thoughts. My heart rate started to quicken.
“You want to feel?” His voice held a hint of danger in it. “Then you must touch.”
The words hit like a cataclysm. My pulse stumbled. I stepped back, shaking my head in shock that he would even suggest such a thing. “I can’t. I’m not allowed to. If I touch a divine, a vision could take me.”
He didn’t stop, didn’t so much as flinch. He closed the space until only leather and pine filled my lungs.
And then, his hand, rough and hot, caught my chin and tilted it upward, pulling my gaze into the emerald fire of his.
“I don't care.”
Three words. That’s all they were. Simple. But they struck. For a heartbeat I froze, caught in emerald eyes that brushed past every wall I’d built, past duty and anger, down to the Weave itself.
Silence spun around us for what seems like an eternity. I could feel the bond practically throb around us, syncing our heartbeats.
I jerked back violently, breath catching like kindling before flame. He touched me. Horror and fury collided in my chest. “You can’t just—you broke the rules! I could have—”
He laughed, dark and humorless.
“Rules?” The left side of his mouth tilted upward, slow and unnervingly sly. “Little Seer, rules were never made for me.”
He didn’t move. Neither did I. Heat radiated between us with every breath I took. My fingers shook as I looked up at him. The expression on his face was intense. And for a moment, I thought I'd seen a flash of another time, another moment when he was looking at me just like that…
“I don’t want to touch you,” I rasped, forcing the words past the thickness in my throat. Hiding my reaction behind defiance.
For a heartbeat, I swore I could feel his emotions. Something wild, untamed. But it was gone just as fast as it came. My stomach flipped, and I wanted to douse my traitorously reactive body in oil and set fire to it.
But then he tilted his head, smirk returning like a blade sliding from its sheath, and the anger resurfaced anew.
“Didn’t mean me,” his voice dipped lower, curling around my ear. “I meant the roots. The trees. The ground beneath your feet. You want to feel? Then feel them.”
His gaze lingered, burning before he finally stepped back. The air cooled but the flames in my chest didn’t.
I scoffed, arms folding tight. “You gods always act like the realms are yours alone to understand. As if us pathetic mortals should be grateful for the crumbs you drop.”
He waved a hand carelessly. “Go on, keep that ignorant tongue of yours wagging, you might just choke on it. And that would be entertaining for me. So by all means, continue with your slander.”
Heat climbed my throat—half-fury, half from the way his voice curved around certain syllables like both jest and threat.
“All I’ve ever had are words and scraps and shadows,” I shot back. “If I sound ungrateful, maybe it’s because I’m sick of being told I don’t know enough by those who hoard what they claim I was never meant to see.”
He raised a brow. "Are you finished?"