Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
The aches of the previous day’s labors tear at my body. Muscles protest as if to chastise me, echoing Vale’s words. I have pushed too hard.
Vale. Heat still lingers on my lips from his kiss, the storm in his grip burning brighter than the squall itself.
The bed is empty once more. Sunlight spills through the shutters, high enough to tell me my body has wrestled for every bit of rest it could claim.
My shawl lies crumpled on the floor; I gather it as my bare feet touch worn wood.
I no longer feel so vulnerable in my shift as I did the night before, slipping into bed beside him.
The world feels washed clean, the calm after the storm leaving me raw and renewed all at once—and despite the tangle of emotions within me, I find myself eager for the day that waits with him.
I dress not for protection, my usual armor of linen and leather, but with a quiet anticipation—ready for the simple closeness the day might bring. The solitude I once cherished now seems pale in comparison.
Boots laced, I step into the main room, eager to find him. The hearth is cold and empty. The table where we share our meals—bare. No sign of him anywhere in the cottage. My gaze falls to the door… and the space beside it, where Bracken’s saddle is usually kept.
A pit yawns open inside me, sharp and hollow. Breath flees my chest as if the very air has been stolen.
Gone?
The kiss, the fire we surrendered to—has it driven him away? He swore he would not leave until he was whole, and he is far from it still. Would he truly go without a word?
The door feels unbearably heavy as I pull it open.
Relief strikes so hard it leaves me weak. There he stands, Bracken already tacked, his hand smoothing the leather. A peaceful smile lights his face—until his eyes catch mine. Concern replaces it instantly, and he moves toward me before I can draw breath.
“What’s wrong?” His voice pours over me, urgent.
“I thought—” The words break, foolish on my tongue. “I thought you had left.”
I have long since taught myself not to care when others push me aside; their absence a wound I learned to ignore. But this… this I cannot bear. The thought of him gone hollows me in a way I have no defense against.
His arms wrap around me, not with the heat of storm-driven passion, but with something gentler. This is no consuming fire. This is a steady flame, holding.
“Now, now, little flame,” he murmurs, easing back just enough to catch my gaze. His chestnut eyes shine with quiet promise. “I would never do that to you. I couldn’t.” Relief washes over me, and I fear I may get swept away.
His thumb brushes lightly along my cheek, grounding me.
“Come with me,” he says quietly. “Just for a while.”
Only then does he open the saddlebag, revealing simple provisions tucked within, a blanket rolled and bound in place. His careful thought—the tenderness of it—steadies the wild fear that gripped me moments before.
Astride Bracken, we ride only a short distance from the cottage before the glade welcomes us with open invitation.
I wrap my arms around him, steady in his movements, hovering just enough to spare the places where pain still lingers—even as every part of me longs to hold him tightly and never let go.
The heat radiating from his body warms me more than sunlight or flame ever could.
These past days with him—his smile, his laugh that rumbles like low thunder and stirs an answering echo in my chest—I cherish beyond measure.
And yet, as his strength returns, so too does the bittersweet truth: soon he will depart.
Resigned to savor any moment I can, I rest my head against his shoulder, draped in one of the old cloaks we found tucked away in the cottage.
The glade comes quickly by horseback, his steed’s saddlebags heavy not with armor or arms but with a simple picnic.
Cheese and fruit from the cottage’s stores—simple sustenance transformed into something gentler by the way he insists we go.
I see it for what it is: half a test of his strength, half a gift of reprieve.
He tries to hide the way he braces when he dismounts, and I take care with my own weight as he helps me down.
I insist on setting out the blanket. Beneath the canopy we savor the moment.
Away from the cottage, his lingering hurts seem more apparent, but so too does the miracle of how far he has come: from bleeding on the floor on the brink of death to now wincing only slightly at certain movements.
“Let’s take a walk,” I offer softly. The walls of the cottage have grown too small to contain us.
We move through the woods, across terrain I have explored and called my own since the day I arrived.
Here the air is vast, freeing. He offers his hand to steady me over the rougher ground, yet I feel the faint tremor in his grip, the way his fingers linger as though the contact is as much for him as for me.
In his deeper breaths I see it still—the hand that presses his side against the sting in his ribs and the weight he leans on me more than pride will allow.
I do not call attention to it despite my concern.
Perhaps the closeness is worth the cost to us both.
We spend hours there: the glade, the woods, even the stream. Among these trees, the world beyond feels like myth.
“What are you smiling at, little flame?” he asks, amused.
I inhale slowly, the crisp spring air awakening my lungs with each breath.“That I wish I could stay in this moment forever,” I admit, eyes closing as though I can lock it away inside myself. When I look up, his smile threatens to undo me entirely.
His hand lifts, roughened palm brushing against my cheek with a care that feels almost reverent.
I melt at the warmth of his touch. It stills every restless thought inside me.
He bends just enough to press a kiss to my forehead, lingering there, as though the act alone might bind the moment in truth.
“You make it hard to wish for anything else,” he says softly.
His hand lingers at my cheek even after his lips leave my brow, as though reluctant to let go.
My breath catches, sharp and sweet. Instead of retreating, I slip my arm through his, no longer for his steadiness but for my own choosing.
The nearness is an admission in itself—that I want to be held just as much as he wants to hold me. For that breath, I let myself belong.
By the stream he bends briefly, wetting his palm and raking it back through his dark hair, his hand lingering at his neck as the cooling water refreshes him.
Sunlight streams through the canopy, catching every sharp angle of his face.
A bead of water slides down his temple, glinting, and I think of the storm—the way rain clung to him, the way his mouth claimed mine.
Heat rises sharply in my chest at the memory, a reminder of how close I came to surrendering.
I swallow hard, willing my thoughts back into calm, but the echo of it follows me as surely as his nearness.
A closeness I have fought so hard against now softens into easy comfort.
We move in stride, no longer fighting the grazing of hands or accidental touches.
We allow ourselves to abide by the gravity that seems to keep us tethered.
I am done warring with myself. I never thought I would have someone in my life worth caring for. If all I may have with him are fleeting days of closeness, then I will cherish them.
Neither of us wishes for the day to end. We take our time returning to the glade, and instead of riding back, we stroll arm in arm, leading the horse behind us at an easy pace. I feel as though I walk in a dream, one I never wish to wake from.
But returning to the cottage, the dream shatters.
The door hangs crooked, its iron latch splintered. Bootprints press into the soil where none should be. Vale shields my body as we approach. Inside, soot drifts across the stones of the hearth, as though unseen hands have stirred it to test how long it has been cold.
My breath catches. “Vale—”
He steadies himself against the wall, eyes narrowing. “They’ve been here. Mira, if the men who attacked me are still searching, it’s not safe here. We can’t linger.”
“You can barely stand,” I whisper. “You said yourself it wasn’t safe to make the journey before your strength returned.” Beneath my words lies more: hesitation at leaving the only place I have ever known true peace.
“The risk of leaving,” he says, voice low but firm, “is far less than the risk of anything happening to you. These woods are no longer safe. I had hoped the attack on my men was an isolated strike. But if they are here, if they are searching…” He straightens as best he can, gaze steady and resolute.
“You are no longer safe here. I beg you, come with me. Tonight.”
My hesitation breaks.
I lead him to the chest at the foot of the bed, opening it with trembling hands. I cast aside its contents until I find what lies hidden. Wrapped in cloth, waiting. I unfurl the bundle and reveal a mighty sword, its steel dulled with age but its edge still sharp.
For a fleeting moment, I think of Eryndor—of the quiet generosity that guided me here. His gift brought Vale and me together, and even now it serves its purpose: an old friend reaching across time to aid another once more.
Vale’s breath catches. He takes it with reverence, his thumb brushing the hilt. “All these years… he kept it.”
He straightens, fastening the worn belt at his side. The weight drags at his wounded frame, but no longer is it merely a blade—it is a piece of his past restored.
“We have no time to waste,” he says, voice steady despite his pallor. “Gather what you must. I’ll stand guard at the door.” The sword glints at his side, a relic become weapon again. “We ride at once. Whatever waits in those woods, we’ll outpace it together.”
I came into this place with little more than the clothes on my back. I fill a satchel with only what matters: herbs and provisions, a few precious texts whose margins brim with wisdom, and the empty journal I have begun scrawling in.
It is there, beside the untouched volumes, that I see the talisman once more. Its pull is louder now, insistent. When once I left it untouched, too sacred to claim, something now urges me not to leave it behind.
Not as clear as the memory of Eryndor when I reach for the sword, but a force unto itself—a voice I do not resist, one I yield to without question.
I slip it over my neck and tuck it beneath my cloak, close to my heart. A whispered prayer of protection escapes my lips.
At the threshold Vale stands guard, and I nod that I am ready. He stokes the fire, kindling flames that send smoke curling into the night. “If they are near, the fire may lure them back,” he murmurs. “It will buy us time.”
With that, we are off. No longer an easy stride beneath the sun, but an urgent gallop into the dark. Into a future full of unknowns.
I look back only once. My hand finds the pendant at my breast, and the calm that spreads through me whispers what my heart most needs: I have made the right choice.