Chapter 11 Darkening Skies
Darkening Skies
The camp had quieted under the soft hush of twilight. The cold edge of the coming night crept low along the ground as mages re-applied wards, Menders visited the sick, and cooks and forgers of the Anvil Wing toiled their craft. All the while, distant howling pierced the air in bursts.
Some men stopped to look.
Others had grown used to it over the last weeks.
Auryn learned more about the creatures as time passed.
Just like the attack the night before, the howls came from varkhounds, monsters borne of the rifts that could not tolerate sunlight. Most appeared when rifts opened. Others wandered the land, remnants of old rifts left untended, drifting until they gathered in packs to find their next prey.
Auryn wandered alone between the rows of supply crates and covered carts, her shawl gathered over one shoulder, the other loose and trailing like a whisper.
She moved without urgency, fingers drifting over the wooden frames of weapon racks, touching hilts and hafts with something gentler than curiosity.
Thessia found her there—silent, barefoot, her hair unbound, her focus locked on a worn sword with a chipped rune near the hilt.
“You’re far from the fires,” the Lioness said. No jest in her voice this time, just observation.
Auryn didn’t look up. “So are you.”
A small pause.
Thessia crossed her arms loosely over her chest. “You don’t strike me as a warrior. And yet here you are…inspecting weapons like they whisper secrets.”
Auryn brushed her fingertips along a dented axe. “Some of these remember hands that are long gone.”
Thessia tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “The way you speak is strange.”
“To you, perhaps.” Auryn turned finally, meeting her gaze. “To me, it is the way I am.”
A moment of stillness passed between them. The flicker of torches caught in Thessia’s braids. She scanned Auryn’s face like she was trying to determine if she was a seer or a fool—or maybe both.
“Who are you?” she asked, voice lower now. “Where are you from?”
Auryn turned back to the rack, hands folding in front of her like she was answering a question older than time.
“If I knew, I would answer those things. All I understand is that I am myself. Auryn.”
Thessia frowned, her lips pursing. “He’s different around you,” she said after a moment. “Not just quieter. It’s something else. Like he’s holding something back.”
Auryn nodded, gaze drifting. “He carries too much. So sometimes…I carry a little for him.”
“How long have you been with the Shadeslayer?”
“His name,” Auryn explained, “is Kailorien.”
Thessia frowned. “I’ve fought beside that man in two wars. Stood with him on a bridge built from corpses. Held a shield at his back when we thought the sun would never rise again. And I’ve never heard that name.”
“Then you fought beside his shadow,” Auryn reasoned.
“If that’s his true name, then you’ve just shared something no one should without permission,” Thessia warned.
Auryn’s hands stilled mid-motion. “You will not use it against him.”
Thessia’s hands settled on her hips. “Hope, threat, or prediction?”
“Truth,” Auryn answered.
Thessia exhaled slowly through her nose. Not in anger. In something that might’ve been—if one squinted—respect.
“You speak like a priestess,” she murmured.
Auryn shook her head. “I do not pray. It is foolish to ask something from a force you’ve never met. Harder still if you don’t know what it is you need.”
“And yet they call you Sokar,” Thessia said.
“Because they saw me do something they do not understand. So, they label me with something that makes their fear easier to bear.”
Thessia studied her.
“You don’t talk like someone who’s feared,” she said finally. “More like someone resigned to it.”
Auryn tilted her head. “Perhaps I am. It is easier to survive their fear than their worship. At least fear does not require pretense.”
Thessia let out a slow breath. “Shit.”
Auryn blinked. “Is something wrong?”
Thessia huffed a soft laugh. “No. You just…make me feel like I’ve been swinging a sword at shadows while someone else has been charting the shape of the world.”
“I do not mean to make anyone feel less.”
“You don’t,” Thessia said, voice quieter now. “You make me feel…seen.”
She paused. Then stepped closer, leaned one arm on the weapon rack beside them, her grin returning—low and warm.
“You look like you’re made of moonlight,” she said. “But I can hear the flame in your voice.”
“The moon is fierce, in its own way,” Auryn replied, meeting her gaze without hesitation.
Thessia reached forward—not quite touching her cheek, but catching a few strands of Auryn’s silver-streaked hair between her fingers. Her full lips curved into a sure grin, smooth voice lowering.
“You’ll ride with me tomorrow, moonbeam. Any objections?”
Auryn tilted her head thoughtfully. “I usually ride Astenos. He doesn’t like it if I try to ride the other horses.”
Thessia blinked. Then laughed.
“Of course you ride that thing.”
She brought Auryn’s hair to her lips, not kissing it, but close.
“You can ride beside me too. As long as I can see the wind tussle this unbound starlight, I have no complaints.”
Auryn didn’t answer. She yawned instead.
Thessia nudged her shoulder. “Let me take you back to your tent.”
“I can walk myself,” Auryn protested.
“Your choice,” Thessia said, standing, “but I’ll still escort you. You’re barefoot. Hardly dressed.”
With a flick of her shoulders, she shrugged off her thick fur-lined cloak and threw it over Auryn’s form.
She didn’t object. It was quite warm and smelled of strength and safety.
The weight of it was novel. So unlike his.
Kailorien wrapped her to shield her from the world.
Thessia, to help her walk it. Each a kind of shelter.
“I don’t want to go back yet.”
“You’re clearly tired, moonbeam.”
“Being tired is better than facing the silence. It’s heavier than it should be lately. Painful.”
Thessia didn’t pry, but she did nod. “He’s a complicated man.”
“No,” Auryn said, shaking her head. “Just far too gentle.”
At this, Thessia burst into a helpless laugh. “What did you—? The Shadeslayer? Gentle?”
“He hesitates,” Auryn replied, staring into the night. “As if he thinks his hands will break me.”
Thessia fell quiet. Then, after a long moment: “I can’t speak to it. I’ve only seen his fury. Or his back.”
Auryn was quiet for a time, eyes tracking the jagged horizon of the Spine. “You pressed your lips to his cheek. It seemed like a greeting,” Auryn paused. “But it made my chest hurt.”
Thessia didn’t laugh again. She watched Auryn for a moment.
“I’ve done that with a dozen men. Maybe more. A few women too.” Her voice wasn’t flippant, but honest. “War kisses, I call them. To remember you’re still alive.”
Auryn mulled this over. “Kissing,” she said, tasting the word. “Yes. It might have that effect.”
She touched her lips, then glanced at Thessia. “Here too? Is there something special about kissing here?”
“There can be,” she said at length. “Depends who’s doing it. And why.”
Thessia smirked when Auryn said nothing for a minute. “So, he hasn’t crossed that line yet.”
Auryn considered the question. “Is there a line to be crossed?”
The Lioness’s grin widened. “Seeking pleasure to take the edge off isn’t the same as letting someone in.”
Auryn wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, hesitating for a moment before asking, “Did he cross it with you?”
Thessia looked like she was about to laugh again, but when she saw Auryn was completely serious, she stopped herself. “The Shadeslayer doesn’t let anyone in. Not to his bed or to his heart.”
A beat.
“I hear the warriors talk. They say he finds pleasure often with women.”
“And does that trouble you?”
“No.” She sighed. “You asked me once if I was his. I’m not. But sometimes, I…” She trailed off, and Thessia didn’t interrupt. Waiting. “Sometimes, I think I’d like for him to never look away from me.”
Thessia’s violet eyes turned stormy. “You’re very honest,” she admitted. “It’s bizarre.”
“Is it wrong to speak truth?”
“No, just…a lost art form, I think.”
Auryn smiled then reached for one of Thessia’s braids. The one with the violet ribbon. “Will you teach me how to braid like this?”
The Lioness looked away, and Auryn couldn’t miss the slight flush on her cheekbones as she grumbled, “Maybe one day.”
After hours of adjustments, the wards around the camp were functional. Kailorien adjusted the last sigil stone at the threshold, its glyph pulsing in answer to his touch. The tent was warm. Still. For now.
Outside, the camp crackled with movement—shifting formations, Blades murmuring instructions, scouts returning in staggered bursts. The air carried the telltale charge of a battlefield waiting for its Commander’s horn. The weight of it settled in the marrow of his ribs.
He hadn’t seen Auryn since midday, when she’d gone off with Thessia to walk the eastern ridge and, as she put it, “stretch the starlight out of her bones.”
A soft rustle broke the hush.
He turned just as the tent flap lifted.
Thessia stepped through, arms full—not with weapons, but with a dozing bundle of limbs and tousled silver hair.
“She wouldn’t leave the ridge,” Thessia said with a half-smile, careful not to jostle her. “Said she wanted to see the stars blink first. Then fell asleep against my shoulder like a damn hatchling.”
Kailorien crossed the space without a word, his arms sliding around Auryn with practiced ease. She was so small like this—barely a breath against his chest. Her scent, her warmth, the softness of her sigh as she settled into him…it pulled something loose in him.
Auryn stirred, brow twitching, nose scrunching as she adjusted to the shift in warmth and scent. She made a small, unintelligible sound, then her hand emerged from the folds of fabric—fluttering upward, slow and searching.
Thessia blinked. “What is she…?”