Chapter 15 Elowen
ELOWEN
The knocking begins shortly after sunrise. It is not the hesitant tapping of someone seeking medicine or advice, but a heavy, deliberate pounding that echoes through the small cottage with the unmistakable authority of people who believe they have the right to demand answers.
I was expecting them long before the sky began to pale, leaving only the restless awareness of the bond humming quietly beneath my ribs. Threxian stands near the window when the knocking begins, his attention already fixed on the path leading toward the door.
Through the thin glass I can see them. Villagers. Too many of them.
Lanterns and tools glint faintly in the early morning light as a crowd gathers in the yard outside my cottage.
Their expressions carry the tense determination of people who have spent the night feeding each other's fear until it hardens into something that resembles courage. Or something that resembles anger.
Behind me, Threxian’s presence shifts.
“Stay here,” he says quietly.
“That would make things worse.”
His yellow gaze turns toward me.
“Allowing them near you may make things worse.”
“They’re already near me.”
The pounding comes again.
“Elowen Virel!” a voice calls through the door.
I recognize it immediately. Ravik. My stomach tightens. I take a deep breath, steadying myself the way Threxian taught me. The bond responds instantly, settling into a calmer rhythm beneath my sternum. No fear. No terror. Just breath.
I move toward the door before Threxian can object again. If he steps outside beside me, this stops being suspicion and becomes certainty. They will not hear a single word I say after that.
His hand closes briefly around my wrist.
“Elowen.”
The quiet warning in his voice carries more weight than any raised tone.
“They are angry.”
“I know.”
“They are afraid.”
“I know that too.”
His gaze searches my face carefully.
“You do not have to face them alone.”
“I’m not,” I say softly. “But if they see you clearly, fear will do the talking for them.”
For a moment he does not release my wrist. His thumb brushes lightly against the inside of it, where my pulse still beats faster than I would like.
Every instinct he possesses urges him to stand between me and the growing crowd outside, to answer their suspicion with the kind of force demons have never been shy about using.
His jaw tightens slightly. He knows I am right.
“Stay out of sight,” I add quietly. “Watch if you must. Just… don’t intervene unless I ask.”
The golden glow in his eyes darkens for a moment, a silent battle passing behind them. Then he exhales slowly and releases my wrist.
“I will remain unseen,” he says. “But I will not be far.”
“I know.”
“And if they harm you—”
“They won’t,” I interrupt gently.
He makes a face, something between frustration and reluctant respect.
“Very well, princess,” he says softly. “Show them how formidable you truly are.”
The bond warms faintly. I open the door. The crowd falls silent immediately.
Dozens of eyes turn toward me, some wary, others openly hostile. The path leading from my cottage toward the marsh is crowded with villagers holding lanterns and tools, their shoulders tense as though expecting something to explode at any moment.
Ravik stands at the front of the group. His expression is hard.
“About time,” he mutters.
“What do you want?” I ask evenly.
A murmur ripples through the crowd before someone steps forward from behind him. Matron Yselle. Of course.
She carries herself with the calm confidence of someone who has already decided how this conversation will end.
“Elowen Virel,” she says, her voice measured and clear. “The council requires your presence.”
“For what purpose?”
Her gaze sharpens slightly.
“To answer for the disturbances that have plagued this village.”
Behind her, villagers shift uneasily.
“You mean the fires,” I say.
“Yes.”
“And the infernal markings that have appeared on certain homes,” she continues, her eyes flicking briefly toward the square.
The sigils. So they noticed those as well. Of course they noticed them.
Threxian had never pretended subtlety was one of his defining qualities. The infernal markings had appeared overnight on the doors of the loudest voices calling for my punishment, glowing faintly with warning before fading into the grain of the wood like scars left behind by fire.
I had not asked him to do it. But I had understood immediately why he did.
Those symbols were not threats meant to terrify the innocent. They were lines drawn quietly, meant for the handful of men whose fear had begun to turn toward cruelty. Warnings. Protections.
Even now, standing in the doorway with half the village watching me, I know exactly where he is. Close enough to intervene.
Close enough to burn the entire square to ash if someone crosses the wrong line.
“Your presence,” she continues carefully, “has coincided rather remarkably with these events.”
A few villagers nod grimly.
“You are accusing me of something,” I say.
“I am asking you to explain something,” she replies smoothly.
Another voice speaks up from the crowd.
“Everyone knows what it is.”
The words come from a young man near the back.
“A demon.”
Murmurs spread quickly.
“She made a pact.”
“That’s why the fires started.”
“Witchcraft.”
My thoughts race for an explanation that would not sound like madness to people who already believe the worst. How could I possibly describe him to them?
If I say the word demon, their fear will explode into something uncontrollable before I can finish a second sentence. They will imagine monsters from old sermons and cautionary tales, creatures summoned through blood and dark bargains.
They will imagine something evil. But the being who has stood beside me these past days is nothing like the monster they expect. He has saved me more times than I can count.
He steadies my breathing when fear threatens to swallow me. He listens when I ask him to stop. He restrains power capable of leveling this village simply because I asked him to try.
And somehow, impossibly, I trust him. The realization settles quietly in my chest. Not despite what he is. Because of what he has shown me.
I feel the bond stir. Fear threatens to rise. I force it down immediately. Breathe.
“No,” I say quietly.
Matron Yselle tilts her head slightly.
“Then perhaps you would like to explain why hell flames continue to appear whenever you are nearby.”
Before I can answer, another figure steps forward. Sister Amelithe. Her gray robes move gently in the morning breeze as she places herself between me and the matron.
“That accusation requires proof,” she says calmly.
Yselle’s expression tightens.
“The fires are proof.”
“Coincidence is not proof.”
“Three fires in three days is no coincidence.”
The crowd shifts again. Their attention moves between the two women like spectators watching a quiet battle unfold.
“Then let us examine facts rather than fear,” Amelithe replies. “Has anyone witnessed Elowen setting these fires?”
Silence answers her.
“No,” someone mutters.
“But the timing—”
“Timing proves nothing,” she says firmly.
A voice from the back of the crowd shouts suddenly.
“Then let her prove she’s innocent!”
The demand ripples outward.
“Yes!”
“If she’s not a witch—”
“Prove it!”
The pressure of their attention tightens around me like a vice. Dozens of eyes, waiting and judging.
The bond pulses beneath my ribs. I will not let fear answer them with fire. Not today. Not when Threxian stands somewhere behind me watching this unfold.
If I lose control now… I know exactly what will happen.
A sharp splatter strikes my shoulder. For a moment I do not understand what it is. Then I look down. Mud. Someone in the crowd laughs harshly. Another clump strikes the ground near my feet.
“Witch!”
The word echoes across the yard. My heart jumps in my chest. Fear surges dangerously close to the surface. But I close my eyes briefly. Breathe.
The lifeline trembles. But no flames come. When I open my eyes again, the villagers are still watching and waiting.
Anger rises in my chest, sharp and immediate. But anger is not the same as fear. That distinction matters more than anything right now.
My hands curl slowly at my sides as I fight the urge to wipe the mud from my shoulder. They are waiting for proof that their fear is justified.
Instead, I breathe. The bond trembles faintly beneath my ribs, not with panic but with contained energy, like a storm held carefully behind glass.
I can feel Threxian somewhere behind me, unseen but watchful. The awareness of him presses gently against the edge of my thoughts.
Please don’t interfere, I think silently. I can handle this.
So I lift my head, meet the eyes of the villagers staring at me, and remain perfectly still.
No fire answers them. And the cottage behind me remains untouched by fire. Control is not just protecting me. It is protecting them. From him. From us.