Chapter 33
Elara had to force down the last two vials of Stonebrew just to make it to Mordenhall on her feet.
The journey back had been unsettlingly quiet.
But beneath the silence, under the layers of early morning thick with sleep and the hush that followed too many drinks, there was a hum, an odd, steady pull.
The streets were nearly empty now—most who had been out drinking had stumbled back to wherever they belonged.
Even the troublemakers had tucked themselves away.
Only a few stray Legionnaires remained, forcing Elara and the Hunter to veer off course every now and then.
But that wasn’t what lingered in her mind. It was him. The restraint in his stride, the way he walked beside her stiff and unreadable, as if something had been folded inward and locked away. Whatever he wasn’t saying worked at her nerves despite the peace of the empty streets.
The sky was blushing with the first hues of dawn, pale ribbons of light chasing away the stars. The chill in the air cut to the bone, but deeper still, something warmer, and far more unsettling twisted in her gut.
Pity.
She hated it. Hated that she could feel such a thing for him, of all people. He was a mystery wrapped in steel, a fortress she had no desire to breach, yet the cracks were beginning to show.
The way he spoke of the stones on his ring... She had thought it would be something to boast about, a mark of his standing, a symbol that commanded respect. But the darkness in his voice, the tension in his shoulders—it didn't sound like an honor. It sounded like a curse.
“In this world, everyone is bound to someone, willingly or not.”
At the time, she’d thought it strange, even cynical, for someone like Osin’s Hunter to say such a thing. But now, after everything she had seen… she wasn’t so sure anymore.
As they moved through the thick brush along the far wall of Mordenhall, Elara felt something strange.
At first, she thought it was just her own exhaustion, the ache in her limbs, the tightness in her chest. But the longer they walked, the clearer it became—it wasn’t just her.
Every step they took, every breath the Hunter drew—she could sense the way his muscles strained beneath his skin, the way his steps faltered ever so slightly as he pushed open the hidden door, leading them into the narrow, dimly lit staff corridors of the castle.
He was hurting. Not bad, not injured in the way that would leave a mark—but sore.
A bone-deep exhaustion she wondered if he could feel coming off her too.
“What?” His voice snapped, rough and cold, and it startled her.
Elara quickly looked away, heat rising to her cheeks. She hadn’t meant to stare. But the question was already there, pressing at her lips. She couldn’t stop herself from asking. “Are you hurt?”
She glanced back at him and found him standing rigid. He didn’t meet her eyes right away, his gaze flicking down the hall as if searching for something, anything, to avoid the question. Then, after a long, uncomfortable beat, his dark eyes cut back to hers.
“I trained hard the other day,” he said, voice flat. “Pushed myself until I couldn’t move.”
Elara’s lips pulled back in a tight line, her chest squeezing as his words settled into her mind like a lead weight.
The heat came next, slow at first, then raging, a wildfire roaring through her veins, setting her skin alight.
All this time, she’d thought it was just her body breaking down, pushing its limits.
But it wasn’t just her. It was him, too?
Her mind raced, questions hammering against her skull.
Had his training kept her from regaining her strength?
Had it made her weaker, left her exposed in Osin’s game?
Worse still… had he known? Done it on purpose?
The thought crackled, igniting the fury that surged up so violently she could barely breathe.
"You drove yourself into the ground, training until you couldn't move, while I quite literally couldn’t move," Elara snapped, her voice trembling.
"And you knew—knew it would affect me. While I lay for days in that damned infirmary, choking on potions, barely able to breathe under the constant watch of your leering comrades, you're telling me it was your training that slowed my healing? "
The Hunter's eyes narrowed. "You died, Hallowed.
Or did you forget?" He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, his gaze burning with fury.
"You died. And I felt every second of it—the pain, the cold, the emptiness.
You did not suffer alone. I pushed myself until my body broke, just to drown it out. "
Elara’s chin lifted. "And in doing so, you kept me from recovering. You made me vulnerable."
A bitter scoff escaped his lips. "You’re so fucking selfish. I'd almost forgotten."
Forgotten. Like he'd known her. Her heart stuttered. She had been right all along. There were more memories missing. Memories with him. But that didn’t douse the fire roaring inside her. If anything, it fueled it.
She shoved him hard, her palms slamming into his chest, but he didn’t budge, didn’t so much as flinch. “I’m selfish? You didn’t even tell me what was happening between us! You left me stumbling in the dark!”
“I didn’t know for certain.”
“You had an idea!”
He shook his head, jaw clenched so tight she thought he’d crack a tooth.
“You’re right. I had my suspicions after I felt you die.
And I acted. Who do you think told the healer you were hurt?
Who dragged your lifeless body back?” His breath was hot, nearly brushing her face as he leaned in. “I did. If it weren’t for me—"
“What?” Elara spat. “If it weren’t for you, what? I’d finally have some gods-damned peace? Well, thanks for that.”
The Hunter’s eyes darkened, something dangerous flashing in them. His lips curled, a bitter smile that didn’t reach his eyes as he took a step back, fingers raking through his hair. He opened his mouth, like he was ready to lash out, but then stopped, swallowing the words.
“I never asked you to save me.”
The Hunter stilled, and she felt it—felt the way his breath caught between his ribs, how his heart stuttered, then restarted.
There was a storm brewing inside him, emotions tangled, pulling him in two directions.
But it was true—she had never asked him to help her.
Not after touching the stones, not all those years ago.
He drew in a sharp breath, chest rising like he was preparing for a blow. “You remember?”
Elara’s stomach flipped. “Of course I remember,” she whispered. Her fingers drifted, almost of their own accord, to the scar etched into her skin, brushing over its jagged line.
"Minva solk harn."
His gaze followed, tracing the line of her scar like a caress before sliding up her throat, inch by inch, until it lingered on her lips.
Elara’s breath hitched, her chest lifting as she fought to steady the sudden rush in her veins.
His eyes climbed higher and locked onto hers, amber flaring bright enough to swallow the dark.
“Why?” The word came out rough, barely more than a rasp. “Why save me at all? If I’d died, you’d have one less problem to deal with. No seal, no Draoth Cara. You could’ve gone back to…”
But she didn’t finish. What would he go back to? No title. No family, from what she’d heard. The one relative she knew of lived in squalor and seemed to loathe him for it. What did he even have besides the name Hunter?
He stood there, barely moving, but Elara felt every ragged breath he took, as if it were her own. “You think I would have spared you back then, only to let you die now?” He shook his head. “That’s not how this ends.”
Her chest locked tight around the words.
“You weren’t supposed to die that night. So no, Hallowed, death doesn’t get to take you. I claimed you first.”
The first light of dawn bled through the windows, painting the room in a soft, pale glow when they finally made it back.
Tristan's snores filled the air like the rumble of a beast. He was a mess of limbs, one arm slung over his face, the other dangling off the bed, completely at ease despite everything. The guards at the door had mysteriously vanished, though whether it was Tristan’s doing or the Hunter’s, Elara didn’t have the strength to care.
The moment she stepped inside, her vision blurred, and her legs nearly buckled beneath her.
The Stonebrew’s effects were gone. The fleeting strength it had given her drained to nothing.
She swayed but pushed forward, each step a struggle, until she reached the armchair by the hearth and collapsed into it.
The Hunter made to leave, but Elara stopped him.
“We’re not done, Hunter.”
He paused, turning just enough for her to see the side of his face. “You're running on fumes. Get some rest. You’ll hear from me soon enough.”
“And if I don’t?”
He turned fully then. “Then, by all means, feel free to injure yourself again just to get my attention. The second I feel a paper cut, I’ll know it’s your doing.”
Elara scowled, but he didn’t wait for a reply. The door clicked softly shut behind him, and Tristan's snoring came to an abrupt halt. She glanced over, catching sight of him stretching out, long and lazy, before his gaze found hers, and a slow, wicked smile curved his lips.
“Fun night?”
Elara rolled her eyes, leaning back in the chair. “A thrill, to be sure.”
Tristan snorted and swung his legs over the side of the bed, bare feet padding against the cold stone.
He stretched once, crossed to the chair opposite her, and dropped into it with a quiet thud.
His gaze flicked over her—tangled hair, exhaustion etched into her features, the faint tremor in her hands.
“More of a horror, maybe?”
Despite herself, Elara laughed—a breathy, unexpected burst that startled her. Gods, she was so tired it was starting to mess with her head. “How do you know the Hunter?”