Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
The night cuts sharper now, every breath a sting in my chest as we tear through the woods. Bracken’s hooves strike the earth like war drums, urgency in every pounding stride.
I clutch Vale tighter. He does not flinch.
Does not falter. The warmth of him anchors me even as memory betrays me: the kiss, the glade, my hope and surrender, and then the memory of blood.
His body broken, life nearly stolen. Fear grips me once more, fleeing from unseen danger that might yet finish what it has begun.
How cruel the swing of it all. Just this morning I rose with my heart in my throat, fearing Vale had vanished into the forest without a word—only to find him waiting beside Bracken for a day he had quietly planned.
Fear gave way to wonder, and wonder to joy, as sunlight carried us into the glade, where every hour felt spun from a dream.
I thought I had found a place I ached to keep forever—his laughter in the clearing, his hand in mine, and the lingering heat of that first kiss sealing it all into memory.
But dreams are fragile things. They shattered with the cottage door forced wide, with tracks carved by feet that were not ours.
Vale’s voice, taut with a fear he tried to hide, urging me to gather what I could.
His words from the night before echo in my mind—“I could not bear it if anything happened to you.” Fierce ire giving way to unyielding passion.
“You undo me…” We seem to unravel something in each other.
And now, whisked into the night, I cannot help but wonder what form of ruin awaits: the surrender of my heart or the threat that had nearly taken his life.
The same hands that have held me with such gentleness only hours before now guide his steed with unspoken urgency.
Vale’s jaw hardens, his touch leaving me only to rest upon the sword, as though instinct alone carries him.
I fix on the echo of Bracken’s stride, begging it to drown out my own thoughts.
By the time we slow, I am weary beyond measure—the strain of my unrelenting hold on him and the battle within my own heart both taking their toll.
Vast walls of stone rise on either side as we pass into the hidden fissure.
“These paths are too narrow, too perilous for any who do not know them well.” His words crack the hush, awakening an alertness deep within me. His hand finds mine, and I cling to him as if the ground itself might give way.
“The journey from here will be arduous and slow,” he says, voice low and steady. “But trust me, Mira—now we are safe.”
The chasm winds deeper and deeper until stone presses in from every side, the mountain itself seeming to swallow us whole.
At times the air grows so close I fear the weight above will collapse, burying us where no one will ever find our bones.
At others, the path spits us out onto a ledge no wider than a blade’s edge, the abyss yawning beneath.
When my gaze dares to drop, vertigo tugs me downward, and only Vale’s voice—low, steady—anchors me.
His hand brushes mine, grounding me until I force my eyes back to the narrow way ahead.
Diametric instincts continue to riot within me.
The icy night chill bites at me in sharp contrast to the soothing warmth of my body pressed so tightly against his.
The guttural turmoil of leaving the home I’d built these past months stands in stark contrast to the deep knowing that I feel even more at home so long as he is near.
I am beyond shaken. We ride into the unknown, my entire world collapsing in utter disarray, but the alternative—being left behind—is far too dreadful to consider.
We ride on in silence, Bracken’s stride measured against the unyielding stone. I feel Vale sag in the saddle for a moment, his hand gripping at his side. He adjusts, sitting tall, resolve and stubbornness pushing him through the pain.
We make a turn, and Vale shifts in the saddle, pushing back his cloak.
The movement pulls fabric aside, and for a breath I glimpse something I do not understand—a sigil burned faintly into leather, sharp lines catching what little light there is.
By the time I blink, his cloak has fallen back into place, as if nothing has been revealed at all.
A harbinger to the mysteries awaiting in the dark.
Twilight bleeds across the jagged cliffs, shadow giving way to pale gold.
Night’s frigid hold does nothing to ease in its presence.
Dawn rises like a cautious welcome, soft light spilling into the crags as though guiding us to some hidden threshold.
No banners fly, no horns call. Only the worn mouth of a passage greets us, secretive and unadorned.
We are within its hold before I notice the flicker of torchlight deeper in the stone.
Bracken slows, his hooves striking sparks against the path, and Vale draws him to a halt.
Pain creases his face when he swings down, the strain he has hidden on the ride now breaking through. He turns at once, eyes searching me.
“Are you alright?” His words are hushed, but they carry more weight than the walls that hem us in.
“I’m whole,” I whisper, though my body trembles with weariness.
He reaches for me, steadying as I slide from the saddle. The stone beneath is solid, yet the ground still feels uncertain after so many perilous hours.
Then—footsteps. The sound carries through the passage, soft but deliberate. Vale turns toward it, his hand falling to the sword at his side and his body shielding my own, shoulders coiled between vigilance and exhaustion.
A voice breaks the hush, bright with relief.
“Thank the gods you have returned!” It carries both laughter and release, echoing off the stone.
Still a pace ahead, Vale clasps forearms with the man who steps into the torchlight, the sound of their greeting as fierce as it is familiar.
“When we could not find you in the woods, I feared the worst,” the man says, his tone turning solemn. “We waited while we could, while our wounds demanded it. But when we returned and you had not…”
“The worst was closer than I care to admit.” Vale’s voice roughens, weight in every syllable. “I would not be standing here if not for the aid I received.”
He shifts, stepping aside, and the torchlight falls over me.
I steady myself under the scrutiny of a stout ginger-haired man, his beard long and wild, his eyes keen as they sweep me head to toe.
“Odrin, this is Mira,” Vale says. “She saved me.”
The man’s gaze softens from suspicion into wonder. “It would seem we have much to discuss,” he says slowly, turning his eyes back to Vale.
“Indeed we do, old friend.” There is welcome in Vale’s tone, enough that I release a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “But first, let us settle. It has been a long road.”
The corridors are hushed but not still. Servants move like shadows, carrying linens, kindling, and murmured orders.
Eyes widen when they catch sight of me—a mortal woman and stranger trailing at Vale’s side—but no one speaks above a whisper.
A message passes with a flick of fingers, and somewhere beyond the next arch, I hear a name carried low: Soria.
Odrin falls into step beside Vale as we pass deeper into the stone halls, his eyes narrowing as he watches the way Vale’s shoulders carry.
“You mask it well,” he murmurs, low enough that only Vale—and perhaps I, straining to keep close—can hear. “But never have I seen you move with such weight. Not in all the centuries we’ve fought side by side.”
Vale’s jaw tightens. “It was a close thing. Closer than I will ever admit before council. But not now, not here.”
“Aye.” Odrin’s hand brushes the hilt at his side, a gesture as much habit as vow. “Then let me say this: the healer should be your first concern, not politics. You’ll face your council soon enough.”
Vale’s gaze flicks to me, the set of his mouth softening only slightly. “And Mira,” he says, his voice pitched for Odrin as much as for me. “Her safety is no less my priority.”
The ginger-bearded man gives a sharp nod, though curiosity lingers in the glance he turns my way. “She will be well tended to. I’ll see to it.”
They walk in silence for a few breaths, the torchlight painting their faces in stark relief. At last Odrin adds, almost grudging but with deep loyalty, “If the blade cut you so deeply, Vale, then it was meant for more than blood. There is purpose behind this strike.”
Vale’s answer is a low growl. “I know.”
The sound sends a chill racing down my spine, though I can scarcely keep my eyes open. The echo of Bracken’s stride still pulses through me, exhaustion tugging harder with every step.
Odrin falls behind as the winding stairs reach a wide passageway.
Vale takes my hand in his and leads the way.
At last, the door opens onto a chamber tended with quiet care: fire coaxed to life, curtains drawn against dawn, and a coverlet of pale silk folded back upon the bed.
Feminine touches linger in the space, as if it had been readied for someone long absent yet never forgotten.
Vale guides me across the threshold and toward the bed. “You are safe. I will return to you soon. For now, rest my flame.”
The moment my hand brushes the coverlet, the strength bleeds from me. I sink into the bed, exhaustion claiming me whole.
The last thing I feel is the weight of his gaze lingering at the door before duty pulls him away.