Chapter 5 #2
“Yes.” A note of excitement crept into his voice. “There are rituals I want to teach you—the ones you haven’t been ready for. Now seems as good a time as any.”
“Does it have something to do with that satchel you’re trying to hide from me—unsuccessfully, I might add?” I darted behind him and grabbed it from his hands. “Aha! What’s in here?”
He turned and snatched it back. “Give that here!” He spun on his heel, depositing it on the table before turning back to me.
I studied him, searching for the joke, but it wasn’t there. He was truly angry.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I was only joking.”
He lowered his gaze, and something in me shifted. “Elion…”
“Don’t mind the satchel. I will tell you in due time.
Back to the matter at hand. The most difficult elixirs are within reach for you now,” he said.
“You already know everything there is to know about the salves and tinctures. You could make them in your sleep.” His attention drifted briefly to the moon beyond the window, then returned to me.
“But I have discovered something. Something old and useful.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “What have you done this time?”
His mouth curved as pride etched across his features. “Get back to bed, and I’ll tell you tonight. I want you to learn it properly, before anyone else discovers it.”
I woke before I opened my eyes, aware of the light pressing faintly against my lids.
The first rays of sunlight slipped through the wooden shutters.
I’d gone to bed when Elion ordered it, but I was too charged with nerves to fall asleep.
I lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling and listening for his footsteps, waiting for the familiar creak of floorboards that never came. He was hiding something.
No sound had broken the silence, no sign that he intended to vanish into the night again.
I had twisted in the sheets as my nightmare replayed in fragments—the Praetor’s smile, the way Thanor had looked at me and proclaimed me his.
Eventually, exhaustion claimed me, and I drifted into a restless sleep.
Now fully awake, my body felt sluggish as I swung my legs over the side of the bed and sat for a moment. The familiar scent of dried herbs and baked eggs drifted toward me. I stretched and rose to prepare for the day.
I dressed as I always did when Elion and I worked: dark leather fitted close against my skin so nothing could tear while I moved.
I crossed the straps over my chest and waist, the buckles worn smooth by my hands.
A shoulder guard sat snug against one shoulder, trimmed with fur.
I laced tight bracers over my forearms and pulled on gloves that left my fingers free to sew wounds and apply salves when needed.
I opened the drawer beside my bed and peered into my Bondward satchel inside it.
Small pouches and glass vials filled it—oils, salts, and the cures we had made under the last full moon.
The satchel had once belonged to my mother—soft leather, darkened with age.
The seams stitched and restitched by hands that loved it.
Elion had altered it when I was old enough to carry it.
He strengthened the strap, widened the mouth, and added inner pockets for vials and folded cloth.
He even hid a compartment beneath the lining for the more valuable ingredients.
When I fastened it to my belt, its faint scent drifted up, and I inhaled deeply.
Mint and citrus oil. No matter how often I cleaned it, the smell never faded.
When my fingers closed around the strap, a familiar warmth settled in me. This was an inheritance of no title or coin, but proof that my mother had existed. That she’d held this same leather and meant, somehow, for her daughter to keep going.
Finally, I dragged my hair—a riot when left alone—into a high tie so it wouldn’t catch on leaves and branches in the Lornwild.
When I entered the main room, Elion was already awake.
The table was set with a small breakfast; bread, baked eggs, and a bit of cheese.
As he carried a bowl of berries toward the table, he looked steadier than he had in the doorway last night.
Still, there was a tightness at the corners of his mouth.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Well enough,” I lied, moving to sit across from him.
I tore the bread with my hands and forced myself to eat despite my excitement for the day.
“Are you going to tell me where you went last night? I know you well enough to know the cook’s apprentice wouldn’t have you so rattled. You can tell me, Elion.”
I reached across the table and placed my hand over his. He frowned before answering. “Yes, yes, all in due time, I promise. The satchel—I will bring it with me tonight and show you how it opens.” Then, changing the subject, he added, “I have been meaning to tell you. The Praetor. Decimus Muraena.”
My fingers paused, and I stopped eating.
“You should be careful with him,” he continued. “He’s not like the others you have managed to hold at a distance.”
I kept my gaze on the table. “Are you afraid of him? I must admit, it felt as if he didn’t care whether I wanted him or not.”
“I despise him,” he replied immediately, his jaw flexing. “And I would tell him as much if the world were fair.”
I scoffed. “It isn’t.”
“We will make sure he doesn’t lay eyes on you again.
That is easily done if you remain in the Traders Quarter.
And if you do meet him again, you must remember what rank he holds.
A Praetor is not some overfed lord playing at power beneath the Aedile’s roof.
He answers only to the Imperator himself.
He commands the legionnaires. He won’t accept your refusal. ”
A chill ran through me. My mind flashed to our neighbor’s daughter, iron-pierced and shaking. She’d been hauled away as a “gift” because she dropped a platter. He was right—Decimus wouldn’t shy away from force.
I set my bread down with a careful hand. “So what do I do when I am forced to enter the Ludaryn? I will be displayed at the gatherings. I won’t be able to avoid him then.”
“You will survive, as you always have. I know you, Tina. You will find a way to stay ahead of him.”
His attention shifted briefly to my satchel. “And you will make yourself indispensable in other ways. Your magic is unchallenged. Once you begin working under Marcus, the elite will be forced to recognize your talent. The Praetor won’t be able to get his hands on you if a warrior claims you.”
We ate in silence after that. I didn’t want to be claimed. Thank the goddess I had four more years to remain independent.
When we were done eating, we gathered what we needed with the methodical rhythm of habit. Elion packed the mortar and pestle and sealed the small jars with wax. I checked my vials twice and strapped on my boots.
Before we left, he handed me my dagger. It had been my father’s.
Its hilt was worn where his palm had held it, the pommel shaped into an intricate weave of interwoven tree branches.
I ran a thumb over the silver lunathorn caps etched deep into the steel.
I took it without comment and slid it into the strap against my thigh.
After he fastened his satchel, he pulled me into a brief embrace and assured me I was ready for tonight. I squared my shoulders and followed him outside.
We trekked through the city, leaving the inner quarters behind before passing through the outer gates. The training grounds lay to our left where the path branched, sand giving way to twisted roots beneath our feet. The Lornwild stretched ahead of us.
By the time we reached its edge, dusk had fallen and the sky was bruised with violet. The city lanterns flickered awake behind us as I glanced over my shoulder. Anticipation settled low within me. I felt most in my element at night—especially in the Lornwild.
The air changed as we approached. It grew cooler, and we drew our cloaks around us. The scent of the trees was damp, laced with wild sap. The narrow path opened before us, and we stepped onto it, entering the wild.
The paths never looked the same twice. The wild swallowed all sound. If you didn’t know the way, you were lost within moments.
I peered up, trying to gauge the time, but neither the moon nor the sun was visible.
Elion lit a torch and handed one to me as we pressed deeper.
The trees were so tall and the branches so thick that I could barely see ahead.
Luminous mushrooms clustered at the bases of ancient trunks, their caps glowing in soft purples and cold blues that made the shadows seem deeper than they should be.
Everywhere around us vines hung like curtains.
The path before us split and split again—too many choices. One wrong turn might lead back to the city at best. At worst, it would drive you deeper into the wild until panic set in and you ran, dying somewhere no one would ever find you.
But we Bondwards knew the secret of the Lornwild.
You had to follow the fireflies. They would guide you, if you knew how to read them.
Ancient magic ensured that only Bondwards could find the shrine hidden deep within the forest. If you were one of us, the small flies with their lighted bodies would show you the way.
Among the Bondwards, there was a saying: the paths changed every day, but the flies would never lead you astray.
Elion took my arm to steady me as we climbed over a fallen tree. I held the torch high, careful not to set anything alight.
We turned left where a cluster of mushrooms grew in the shape of a crescent moon. The drifting lights guided us right, where bark lay scarred like a claw mark. We descended a slope where the violet glow dimmed and the air grew colder.
The flies disappeared all around us, rising gently back into the dark, and we watched in silence. The wild always humbled me. Its magic felt comforting in contrast to its danger.