Chapter 13
The world tilts beneath my feet. “You can what?”
His jaw flexes. “Shapeshift. I can shapeshift—and no one, not even my family, knows.”
My stomach knots. “You didn’t think this was essential for me to know, considering I now have the same abilities?”
Color drains from his face, and I realize with a cold jolt—he actually had not considered that.
“I…” He stumbles, and the sight almost unnerves me more than the confession. He never stumbles.
One step forward, his face pleading. “I’m so sorry, Metra.
I never even thought… I’ve been hiding this secret for so long.
I assumed it was rare, that it wouldn’t matter, that you wouldn’t…
” His voice fractures. I step back. The air between us sharpens.
“You assumed. But you didn’t trust me enough to tell me. Or even warn me?”
“That’s not what I—”
“How long?” My voice cuts like glass.
He exhales, steadying himself. “The first time I was eight, but regularly since I was about fourteen. I thought it clever—sneaking out, going places I wasn’t meant to go.”
My laugh is sharp and bitter. “And what is it exactly? Are you slinking about like a rat?”
“Hardly.” His lips twitch. “A raven.”
The word strikes like a blade. Memories flood—dark wings in the woods, a black raven in my fevered dreams, the feathers etched into the leather of my sheath.
“You.” My breath hitches. “You’ve been watching me. All this time. It was you in the woods. In my room that night.”
He doesn’t deny it. He doesn’t even flinch. He only steps closer, his eyes dark with something fierce, unapologetic.
“Yes,” he says, voice low, unwavering. “I watched you practice. I’ve never felt prouder than I did in that moment—watching you wield that blade. I had no reason to be with you that day, but somehow I couldn’t stand being separated from you. So I did the only thing I could: I watched as a raven.”
“And when you were ill…” His throat works.
“Every instinct in me screamed to stay by your side. I couldn’t breathe, wondering if you were alright.
I checked in daily, but Mother insisted I stay out so you could rest. So I shifted.
I sat by your bed unseen, and I would do it again.
When you opened your eyes and looked at me, I swear—no one had ever seen me the way you did in that moment. Not truly. I won’t apologize for that.”
My chest aches; my head spins. I stumble back, hurt and fury twined so tight I can’t untangle them, but the fury inside me snaps. I fling out my hand, and a pulse of magic bursts from me, slamming into his chest.
He staggers back two steps, boots scuffing in the snow. For the first time, I see his composure crack. Surprise flashes across his face—then something else. Pride. And underneath it, something darker, hungrier, that makes my breath catch even through the haze of rage. He liked it.
I don’t let myself think about it. My pulse is hammering, my skin buzzing from the raw power still humming in my veins. I don’t care what look is in his eyes. I turn away, swallowing the burn of betrayal.
“This changes everything,” I choke out, half-cry, half-accusation, and I storm toward the tent. He doesn’t follow.
Zillah has already taken my place by the fire, lounging with her boots crossed like she owns the night. Selene is just stepping out of her tent, arms folded against the cold, when Zillah glances up at me.
Her lips curve, slow and wickedly. “Well. Judging by that face, I expected you to come strutting out with your hair mussed and your lips swollen. Instead, you look like you’d rather murder someone.
For the record, I’ve always been told Veynars are excellent lovers, so what the hell went wrong in there? ”
Selene swats at her shoulder, appalled. “Zillah!” But Zillah only smirks and toasts me with her mug.
I don’t even slow down. I toss over my shoulder, voice sharp: “Wake me when it’s my turn.” Then I duck into the tent, drop to my bedroll, and yank the blanket up. Fury gnaws at me. My thoughts spiral.
The way he disappeared when we heard voices in the woods.
I thought he was reckless, that he’d give us away.
But no—he was planning to fly. The way he could patrol so far from his family’s estate without tiring.
Of course he could. He had wings. All those times, he just appeared in the forest as if from nowhere. He had already been there. Watching.
And then the memory sharpens—the raven on my windowsill during the fever. Silver-rimmed eyes staring into mine. I convinced myself it was a hallucination, fever-madness. But it wasn’t. It was him. Always him.
My fists clench in the blankets. How could he keep this from me?
Even if he didn’t want to reveal the secret outright, he should have at least asked—probed, watched for signs, something.
What if I had shifted without warning? Alone.
Afraid. What if something had happened, and I didn’t know what was happening to me?
No one to tell me what it meant, no one to guide me through it.
My anger seethes tighter, hotter. He left me in the dark. Trusted me with nothing.
Eventually, sleep drags me under, bitter and restless.
Dreams lurch and tangle—stone walls slick with shadow, the black smoke of rage curling around me, flashes of silver eyes and outstretched wings.
Sometimes he is beside me in the caves. Sometimes he is the smoke. Sometimes I can’t tell which is worse.
When I wake, dawn is pale at the edges of the tent. Selene’s gentle face appears at the flap. “We’ll need to leave soon,” she whispers.
It’s only then that I realize no one woke me for a second watch. And Lowan’s bedroll beside mine lies undisturbed. He never came back.
The days blur together. Too quiet. Too safe.
Selene walks at the head of our little group, her presence smoothing the path before us as if danger itself bends away from her. No creatures lunge from the trees. No shadows stir where they shouldn’t. It is precisely why she came—and exactly why every step feels like a penance.
Sometimes I ride with Lowan because there’s no choice. Other times, Zillah hops up with Selene, and Lowan takes her horse, leaving me to practice. I’m grateful for the space, but the silence between us rides heavier than a full pack.
My shield stays locked in place. Second nature now. They wrap around me like a bubble, shutting him out, holding me together. We speak only when necessary—how far to the next stream, when to break, when to change watch. The clipped words scrape raw. He doesn’t try for more. Not anymore.
Zillah, of course, can’t resist poking at the edges.
“Gods above, you two make such cheerful travel partners,” she drawls one afternoon, swinging her legs idly from her saddle.
I grit my teeth and say nothing. Selene’s gaze flicks to me—soft, pitying, like she sees something I don’t want seen.
It makes my anger curdle sharply. I don’t need her pity. I don’t want anyone’s.
At night, we trade watches without words.
I crawl into the tent during his shift; he returns to exchange places.
We are never inside together. It’s as though the canvas itself has drawn a line down the middle, and neither of us dares to cross.
But I still see him. Slipping into the woods when he thinks no one notices.
I know what he’s doing now—wings against the night, circling above us like a shadow.
The knowledge burns in me. I want to shout it, drag his secret into the firelight for all of them to see.
But it isn’t mine to tell. So I choke on it.
Instead, I war with myself. Why say all those things to me—that he can’t stand to be apart, that I was the first to truly see him—only to keep this locked away?
What does it mean that he would bare his heart but not his truth?
I pull my blanket tighter, as if it can shield me from that question. But it follows me through every mile, every silence, every beat of wings I can almost hear.
We are almost there.
Selene says it casually as we pack up camp, but her words ring heavy: “We’re about two days out from the fortress grounds of Myrradon. The forest will be watched from here on, patrolled. We must be careful.”
A fortress. Not a palace of marble and song, but a dark silhouette of power rising from stone.
My stomach twists. When I glance up, Lowan is suddenly in front of me, holding out my sword.
His eyes meet mine. It’s the first time in days.
A hundred unsaid things pass between us—warnings, apologies, regrets, longing.
The weight of the blade settles in my palm, and the moment shatters.
We ride in silence, every hoofbeat drumming the tension higher. Then Selene stiffens, raising her hand. “Dismount,” she whispers.
We obey without question. She motions for us to spread out, each of us turning to cover a different angle.
I grip the hilt of my sword, my shield tight as iron.
But I push out too, reaching, searching.
And I feel it. A ripple of magic brushes against mine—alien, probing.
My breath catches. Something bursts from the trees.
A blur of fur and muscle, fast and furious, barrels straight for me.
Instinct takes over. I roll hard, pulling the dagger free. It sings through the air, thwacking into a tree trunk as the beast dodges at the last second. I scramble to my feet, sword drawn now, spinning, every nerve stretched taut. It’s close—I can feel it—slipping between branches, circling.
And then something unsettles me—the way it moves. Not wild, not reckless. Trained. Every feint and sidestep counters mine with uncanny precision, as if it already knows my rhythm. Knows the way I plant my feet, the way I pivot my wrist, the way Lowan taught me.
A shiver of unease ripples through me. Whoever—whatever—this creature is, it fights like someone who’s sparred with him before.
It lunges again. I throw out a surge of magic, a pulse that knocks it sideways mid-leap.
Before I can think, I’m already moving, vaulting forward with my sword poised to strike.
“Stop!” Lowan’s voice cuts through the air, sharp, commanding.
I freeze, blade hovering—because in that heartbeat, something changes. A flicker of light—not blinding, but rippling. The beast is gone. And in its place, sprawled on the forest floor, lies a woman.
She is breathtaking—wild gold eyes in a face framed by loose waves of sunlit hair, her body sleek and lithe, every line dangerous and beautiful. She leans back on one arm, throat bared where my blade could have pierced, her chest rising and falling as if she’s just run for miles.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Lowan is already running toward us, voice breaking with something I’ve never heard in him before.
“Remli.”