CHAPTER THREE
My encounter with Talon at the Shrine yesterday had only unsettled me further.
Safety, for the unbound, was simply another word for surrender. It meant bending to the law, silencing instinct, or binding oneself in haste to avoid scrutiny.
None of those paths felt survivable.
The scent of fresh bread and simmering spiced apples drifted from the kitchen, as my parents spoke in lowered voices over the table. Their conversation was circling endlessly around remedies, introductions and distant acquaintances who might know a suitable match.
I tuned them out, because nothing they could do or say will have me turn against my beliefs. Against the life I wanted for myself.
I still had time.
By midday, the air had grown strangely heavy for late autumn, thick and unmoving beneath a pale sky. As the season turned, foraging the higher peaks became a gamble; the air grew thin and the frost more aggressive. I had a moon cycle, perhaps two, before the cold claimed the harvest entirely.
Today was one of my final chances to gather enough berries and moss to keep food on our table.
While Lyra was a scholar, content within the quiet walls of our teaching house, I had always preferred to get my hands dirty.
It was a choice my parents never understood, let alone agreed with—but in the biting mountain air, I felt more like myself than I ever did in the city.
“I am heading to the South Ridge,” I said as I secured the straps of my leather foraging pack.
My father’s head lifted sharply from the notices spread before him.
“The South Ridge?” His voice tightened. “That is too close to Blackthorn Pass. Patrols sweep that area without pause.”
“It is where the high-country moss grows best,” I stated. “The lower slopes are too damp this season. We will need it for winter.”
Lyra stepped forward, concern etched across her face. “Let Theron accompany you.”
“No,” I said. “Thank you, but I need the quiet.”
Their eyes lingered on me, following me to the door.
I kept my head down as I navigated the familiar streets of the city, passing the imposing stone pillars of the Royal Archives and the Thrynn River.
I veered left, leaving the paved streets behind as the path dissolved into the dirt of the foothills.
The South Ridge rose in low, rocky hills that marked the gradual shift between the fertile valleys of Haelen and the harsher terrain that guarded Umbral’s domain.
It sat a mountain range higher than the Thrynn Peaks—steep, rocky, and entirely uninviting to a forager.
The climb demanded breath and balance in equal measure, but I welcomed the burn. It forced my thoughts into the rhythm of my boots and kept me focused on the incline rather than the ticking clock in my head.
The hill eventually flattened into a narrow plateau, and I stopped to catch my breath, my gaze drawn upward to the towering obsidian peaks of the Umbral. They loomed over the ridge, pointed and jagged against the sky.
This was the closest point to the border—a place where a single wrong step or a poorly placed foot could carry you into territory you could never leave.
I stepped over a fallen branch, picking my way toward a cluster of stacked rocks near the edge.
There, thriving in the cool dampness where the light struggled to reach, was the silver-green moss. It was dense and lush, a small miracle in such a harsh place.
Kneeling, I began to gather it, my fingers moving gently as to not separate the bunch.
It was worth more in larger masses.
The sun beat down on the back of my neck, yet it did little to stop the trail of goose flesh that rose in the wake of the wind.
Shaking out my numbing fingers, I transferred the moss into a clean dish and wiped my damp hands on my foraging rug. I had spotted a cluster of mushrooms further down, and I could not risk cross-contaminating the harvest.
As I began to stand, the sharp crack of a branch beneath a heavy foot froze the air in my lungs.
My eyes darted to the sun, my heart sinking as I noted the angle of the light. I was out later than I should have been.
This was the hour the Veythar patrolled the region.
I lifted my head slowly, catching sight of two figures stepping through the treeline.
Their cloaks were lighter and less ornate than Talon’s, their movements sharper—less contained. Where he felt like a controlled storm, they felt like fracture.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a fleeting second, a growl of frustration catching in my throat.
Why was I thinking of him?
The taller of the two guards inclined his head, his gaze sweeping over my foraging gear.
“An unbound,” he smirked. “And nearly at her limit, by the look of those trembling hands.”
The shorter one did not speak. He simply drew a curved blade from his belt. The weapon was a void in the sunlight, absorbing the afternoon glow rather than reflecting it.
My body reacted before reason could catch up.
I ran.
The incline stole my breath almost immediately, gravel skidding beneath my boots as I scrambled higher along the ridge. My lungs burned, a fierce clawing at my chest, but it was nothing compared to the sound of feet pounding behind me
They gained ground with terrifying ease, the gap between us closing with alarming speed.
A narrow stone crevice cut through the ridge ahead—a split in the rock barely wide enough for a single person. I lunged into it, my fingers scraping the stone as I pressed my back against the cold wall and forced myself to breathe.
To my left, the mountain fell away into a sheer drop of thorned undergrowth. To my right, the rock wall offered no grip. I was trapped in the mouth of the pass.
Their shadows lengthened against the stone entrance as they stalked closer.
“Stand down,” one ordered. “You have crossed into restricted territory.”
Only then did I glance at the ground and realize how far I had run. The soil beneath my boots had shifted, the dirt turning the color of bruised plums, the vibrant moss of Haelen replaced by stunted, grey lichen.
I had crossed the threshold. I was in the Umbral.
“I will not go with you,” I shouted.
I dropped to my knees, my fingers scrabbling against the dark earth until they closed around a handful of loose stones.
The guards were silhouetted in the narrow opening of the crevice, blocking my only exit.
I did not even look; I simply hurled the rocks through the gap, my eyes squeezed shut as I prayed—pleaded—that at least one would find its mark.
The dull crack of stone hitting leather snapped through the air, followed by a sharp intake of breath.
A growl bounced off the rock walls before the stocky man’s face appeared in the opening. He snarled, prowling into the narrow passage with his blade leveled, but the taller one halted him with a flat palm to his shoulder.
“Resistance at the threshold,” he murmured. “Foolish.”
The shadows around him thickened subtly, drawn inward like breath before a strike. I edged sideways, shimmying deeper into the crevice until my heel found empty air at the far end of the ledge.
There was no space left to retreat.
Biting down on my bottom lip, I turned to the opening and saw the taller guard shimmying into the space.
I needed to move.
I pivoted, hooking my fingers into a cluster of twisted roots anchored in the rock face, and swung myself around the outer corner of the ledge.
I vaulted past the sheer drop, landing hard but sprinting toward the sparse cover of low brush on the Umbral side.
I could not outrun them—but I could force them to follow me into the thicket.
A gnarled root caught beneath the taller Veythar’s stride, snagging his pursuit for a heartbeat. It was all the opening I had. I scooped a handful of damp soil from beneath a fern and flung it blindly backward.
The distraction lasted no more than a blink.
He recovered with inhuman speed, charging through the debris. The impact drove me into the trunk of an ancient oak with crushing force, the bark biting into my spine. Air left my lungs in a violent rush, and stars scattered across my vision as the world tilted.
Before I could find my footing, his gloved hand seized the front of my tunic, the fabric bunching beneath my chin as he lifted me clean from the ground.
The collar pressed against my throat, tightening until my ears began to ring. My boots scraped uselessly against the rough bark, my legs dangling as his grip turned into a vice. There was no hesitation in his gaze—no flicker of recognition that I was a woman, or a daughter, or even a person.
I leaned in and bit down hard, the metallic taste of leather and iron flooding my mouth as I tore at his glove. He roared, his head jerking back, and I drove my knee upward with every ounce of my remaining strength.
His hold only tightened in response, his fingers digging into my windpipe. Black crept inward at the edges of my sight, the thrum of my own blood rushing to fill my ears until it was the only sound left.
Then, the pressure vanished.
I collapsed forward, my knees hitting the loam as I dragged in air that tore at my lungs like shards of glass.
I struggled to understand the sudden silence, my vision swimming.
The two Veythar were no longer standing. They lay convulsing upon the earth, their bodies wracked by an unseen force that pinned them to the soil as if the gravity of the world had suddenly doubled.
Standing over them was Talon.
He had not drawn a weapon, yet devastation lay at his feet.
“You will explain,” Talon said calmly, “why you engaged an unbound beyond your sanctioned perimeter.”
The taller Veythar choked, his face turning a bruised purple as a black, wispy form wrapped tightly around his throat.
“She… she crossed the border,” he gasped, clawing at the empty air around his throat. “Master… the law…”
“The law is mine,” Talon hissed.
He brought his boot down on the man’s wrist. The wet crunch of breaking bone echoed through the clearing, followed by a stifled wail. Talon leaned in closer, his shadow stretching over the guard.
“If you ever touch her again, I will not send you to the Thrynn Chambers. I will unmake you piece by agonizing piece, stripping the marrow from your bones until there is nothing left for the crows to find. Do I make myself clear?”
The guard could only nod frantically, tears of pain tracking through the dirt on his face.
I watched the display, my hands still stinging from the struggle.
I did not even blink. I knew I should have been sickened—that any sane person in Haelen would have been halfway down the mountain by now—but as I looked at the dark arc of his silhouette, the fear simply did not come.
Talon turned his gaze to the shorter Veythar, who was trembling so violently his armor rattled. With a flick of his wrist, the man was hauled upward by a thread of smoke, his boots dangling inches above the loam.
“Stand when I speak to you,” Talon commanded.
“Sir,” he croaked, a bead of sweat carving a path down his temple. “We believed—”
“You believed incorrectly,” Talon spat. “You will withdraw. Now.”
He released the pressure, dropping the man. The guard’s legs buckled, his knees hitting the dirt with a hollow thud.
“Get up!” Talon roared, and even I stopped breathing at the command.
They scrambled to their feet, offering a shaking bow before disappearing into the treeline.
I watched the treeline where they had vanished, my mind spinning. He had broken the bone of his own kin—men who were technically doing exactly what they were trained to do. I had crossed the border. By every law in Haelen, they were within their rights to seize me.
Yet Talon had dismantled them as if they were nothing more than a nuisance.
He turned to me.
“You should not be here,” he deadpanned. “Not alone, and not this close to the border.”
“I was gathering moss,” I managed, voice raw. “I did not expect—”
“You should have.”
It snagged on the reddening handprints I could feel blooming across my throat, and I saw his jaw lock so tight the bone seemed ready to snap. His eyes dropped lower, tracking the scratches on my chest where the tunic had been snagged, then down to my hands.
My palms were slick with a mixture of dirt and deep, crimson smears from where I had clawed at the guard’s glove.
“You are aware of the patrols in this area,” he said. “You visit this pass weekly but never this late.”
I frowned. “You have been watching me?”
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped to my chin, his pupils blowing wide until his eyes were nothing but twin pits of ink.
I felt the warmth there—a stray smear of crimson—and reached up to wipe the side of my face with the back of my hand. My skin came away stained with a wet red.
“It is not mine,” I whispered
“Good,” he grumbled.
He took a large step forward, invading my space until the scent of ozone and smoke overwhelmed the smell of the forest.
“You test my patience,” he said softly. “Three days remain, and already they dare to ignore my boundaries to reach you.”
“You seemed to know everything about me, Talon,” I started, lifting my chin despite the ache in my neck. “So you must be aware that I will not be caged. Not by the council and not by fear.”
His hand came up, his fingers drifting so gently across the mark on my throat, I almost thought I was imagining it.
“I intend to protect you,” he murmured, his finger moving to my jawline. “And I will not allow anyone get in the way of that. Not even my own kin.”
I let out a shaky breath, finally finding my voice through the haze of his presence.
“Step away from me, Talon.”
He drew his hand away, leaving a cold ache behind.
“I will see you at the Lumina at first light, little flame.”
The Lumina.
Yesterday’s visit had been a mere formality to ensure my name remained on the registry, but tomorrow was the trial.
It was the Great Hall of Haelen where the council sat in judgment seventy-two hours before solstice, forced to play the part of the merciful protector while I was made to justify why I remained unbound.
They would watch from their high stone chairs, pretending to care about my reasons, while the clock ticked down to the moment they could finally cast me out.
“Perfect,” I bit out.