Chapter 10 A Place Denied
A Place Denied
Auryn drifted back into her body on wings of peace and joy.
Morning light spilled in soft beams through the edges of the tent flap, catching on the silken folds of her shawl where it lay draped across the side of the bed.
She hadn’t moved in a while—hadn’t needed to.
Kailorien’s warmth lingered beside her through the night, even when he had shifted away.
He sat with his back to her, silent, bare from the waist up, lacing a leather bracer over his forearm with practiced precision. His breath was steady. Focused. Distant. She watched him but didn’t speak, having learned not to chase his silences.
A chill hovered—cruel in contrast to the memory of his lips, the weight of his hands splayed over her breasts, the way his voice had broken when he whispered her name against the pulse in her neck. It had been real. It had meant something.
So why did it feel like he was slipping away?
Unwilling to let him go, she reached out and touched his arm. His back straightened. Stiffened. He turned, smoothing his hand over her shoulder. His fingers lingered, uncertain how much pressure they dared give.
“Another bad dream?” His brow furrowed with concern.
“Only a feeling,” she murmured. “Kailorien—”
She faltered. Was the night before a new truth between them? Or had it been only a moment—just a dream after all?
She tried again, but he leaned in before she could form the question. His mouth hovered above hers—close, so close—but not enough to bridge the gulf yawning between them. A force of nature churned in the ocean of his eyes: a god fighting a man for control.
He sighed as he bent down farther, pressing her to her back.
His lips traced her jaw. Her ear. Her throat.
Each kiss was tender yet wholly unyielding in its claiming.
His hand slid the shoulder strap of her shift aside, lips brushing over the curve of her breast with a gentle sigh. Right over her heart.
“Kail…” she gasped.
“I must go, starlight,” he whispered, breath warm against her skin. “I’ll be in the clearing. There is another company arriving today.”
Auryn’s fingers curled into his hair, desperate to keep him. “To fight what’s coming.”
He nuzzled the hollow between her breasts, inhaling her as though bracing himself for war. He pressed another kiss to her heart, then drew back. “You haven’t looked well, Auryn. Sleep if you need to. Rest.”
The tether between them slackened, subtle but undeniable, his withdrawal dimming some inner flame. She wanted to protest—but the retreating clink of armor, and the whisper of canvas cut her off. The tent flap fell shut behind him, silence answering all she’d left unsaid.
Auryn looked up from her reading in the mess tent when high-pitched blaring horns bellowed outside.
Then came the shaking. The ground quaked with the stomping of warhorses and the grinding of wagon wheels.
The hoofbeats pounded the mud, in sync like war drums, heavy enough to rattle the bones of the camp.
Conversations died. Soldiers straightened. Even the breeze settled, nature itself waiting to see what would crest over the nearby hill.
The Riven Blades were coming.
For several days now, whispers had circled in camp about this company of all female warriors traveling the continent and achieving legendary feats.
Saving rift-torn cities from ruin, finding ancient lost treasure, starting—and ending—rebellions, dethroning unworthy rulers, and slaying some of the world’s most dangerous monsters.
It was said that their commander—the Lioness—was a woman of heroic blood, heir to an entire bloodline of famous warriors.
The Blades were en route to meet up with The Kelvasari, exchanging knowledge, experience, strategies, and supplies as the Cycle of Dark wrapped its oppressive pall over the Emerald Moores. Howls of varkhounds surrounded them after dusk, and tension grew thick in the camp.
Auryn stepped out of the tent, clutching her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The sunlight caught the silver thread woven into its edges, painting her in flickering light. She paused at the edge of the rise, just high enough to see the clearing below.
And there they were.
The Riven Blades—fifty strong, mounted and gleaming, every one of them marked with the gray-and-gold sigil of the Lioness herself. Their armor wasn’t polished for show; it was battle-worn, scarred, and covered in runes pulsing with high tier magic. They rode in rows—disciplined, feral, unstoppable.
At their head—
A woman with hair woven into a glorious warrior’s mane, the series of swaying braids draped over her shoulders. They whipped behind her in coils of gold and bronze. She sat straight and sure, her grin a challenge carved of lightning and war.
Thessia.
The Lioness of the Southern Wastes. The Breaker of Bastions.
The woman who had once held a mountain pass alone for three days with a shattered leg and no shield.
She rode a beast born of shadow and ferocity—not a horse, but lean and long-limbed.
A large feline with green eyes, dark brown fur, and claws meant for rending flesh.
As she reached the camp, she dismounted in one fluid motion and stalked straight toward the Resh’Agar. Auryn’s heart gave a strange little lurch in her chest. Resh stood waiting, arms crossed over his chest, expression carved in stillness.
Thessia’s grin widened.
“Well, look at you. Still brooding like a mountain before a snowstorm.”
Resh didn’t blink. “And you, still riding a demon.”
A beat.
Thessia’s smile widened. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
They clasped forearms—hard and fast. A warrior’s shake. A sound like steel meeting steel. Auryn’s breath stilled as Thessia leaned in with the ease of a woman who feared nothing, brushing a kiss to Kailorien’s cheek. Resh didn’t react. He didn’t smile or pull away. But he let it happen.
“Miss me, Shadeslayer?”
His expression didn’t shift. “Thess, you’re still a nuisance.”
“Am I sharing your tent this time, or have you sworn off women over the last six years?”
“This isn’t a social visit, Lioness.” He crossed his arms. “We have dealings to discuss.”
Thessia’s smirk widened, eyes blazing. "I negotiate better when I've blown off some steam.”
Some of the men chuckled. A few looked around, as if searching for Auryn. For the one they called Sokar.
Before she could stop herself, Auryn scooted back into the tent. Her heart was pounding, and she touched her hand to her chest. Confused. Uncertain.
What is the matter with me? Why does it feel like…it’s hard to breathe?
She closed her eyes and analyzed her feelings. Excitement in spotting Kailorien. Anticipation of bringing him and others bowls of soup. Some of the men were recovering from an illness and could use a hand, especially those who asked her for blessings sometimes.
I told them I can’t bless anything, but they seem comforted when I listen to their troubles.
She hesitated. Odd. Was the presence of the Lioness somehow acting like a wall between Auryn and the camp? That simply wouldn’t do.
I am myself, and none can tell me not to be.
She took a deep breath, summoned several food bowls to her side with her magic, and stepped outside once more.
Thessia stood nearly as tall as Resh, her muscles coiled like they’d been forged in iron and steel. Her braids glowed with sunset fire. Her laugh made the men ease and grin, and her very presence bent the space around her. She was incredible. Charismatic. Fearless.
A goddess of war, if such things existed. Much like Kailorien’s tales of the female Glider warriors.
Auryn looked down at her own hands—weak from her last use of magic.
He wouldn’t hold back with her. Wouldn’t pull away, thinking he might break her. Is his hesitation with me inevitable, then? Because one of his hands spans my whole belly? Because he thinks our bodies could not be compatible?
Resh spoke with Thessia at length while Auryn forced her gaze to the men and distributed bowls to those needing extra nourishment. They thanked her. Looked at her like she was a star in the night sky. Yet, their words weren’t enough to lift the heaviness on her chest.
Up ahead, Thessia laughed. Loud, mighty, yet melodic.
Auryn tried to keep her gaze on the ground.
She saw a seedling for a plant she recognized.
Something that, once blooming, was beautiful and added a rich flavor even to broth made of lacking ingredients.
Distracted, she reached for it with her magic, pulling on the thread of its life memories, coaxing it into bloom.
The seedling unfurled into an azure flower with five bright petals.
She leaned down, picked it, and let it float atop the soup she planned to give to Kailorien.
When she reached the firepit, she didn’t look at Thessia at all.
Only at him.
His eyes found hers, and for the briefest moment, his shadow danced, contradicting his apathetic mask.
She extended the bowl toward him with both hands. “Your runes,” she murmured, “they sometimes take your appetite. But you should eat. The Darkness comes.”
Resh took the bowl from her hands. His fingers brushed hers—barely a touch, but enough to set her pulse racing again.
The weight in his gaze tethered her, held her in place like a thread drawn taut between them.
The heat of his palm scorched where it met her knuckles, even as he pulled the bowl back and glanced down at the flower floating on its surface.
“Auryn,” he said, voice low.
Her heart skipped. “Yes?”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say more, but a familiar chuckle cut through the moment.
Thessia.
“Well, well,” the Lioness said, arching one finely shaped brow. “So, this is the one they call Sokar. That’s something holy in your black pit, isn’t it Shadeslayer?”
Auryn glanced at her, blinking. From this distance, she saw that Thessia’s eyes were violet. Intense. Raw. Like a war cry too loud for ears.