Chapter 14 #3
Lord Toren exhales sharply, frustration etched into the lines of his face. He straightens, shoulders squaring.
“Then we need more warriors.” His tone is firm, unmoving.
“If the Fire Clan will not abandon its people, prove it. Send reinforcements to protect our lands.” He gestures toward Thane, tension simmering beneath the surface.
“We hold the border, Warlord. But for how much longer? We need soldiers—now.”
Firelight flickers across his face, deepening the shadows beneath his eyes. He isn’t just making a demand. He is warning them.
Thane exhales slowly, setting his goblet down with a quiet clink against the table. The firelight catches on the silver clasps of his coat, casting shifting patterns of gold and shadow across his sleeves.
“You’ll have your soldiers,” he says. Firm. Final. “Jarek will see to it in the morning. And when you leave in a few days, those soldiers will go with you.”
A flicker of relief crosses Toren’s face—but he doesn’t relax. He watches Thane carefully, weighing the promise, measuring its worth.
Then, after a beat, he asks the question I suspect he has been waiting to ask all along. “Will any of them be dragon-bonded?”
Torchlight shifts, shadowing his face. He knows the answer matters.
Thane meets his gaze without hesitation. “Yes. We can send three.”
A beat of silence follows.
Three. Not many, but enough to make a difference. I don’t miss the way Toren exhales, slow and measured, before giving a small nod. A silent acceptance of terms.
Then his gaze shifts.
To me.
“And what of the Spiritborn?” He gestures toward me with a deliberate tilt of his hand. “When will we see you protecting the realm?”
The clink of silverware fades. His words settle—heavy. Inevitable. Like I already belong to the war.
Eight pairs of eyes are now all on me.
I grip the stem of my goblet, steadying my hand. I will not shift. I will not waver.
I glance at Valen. My mentor. My anchor. My friend.
His expression is neutral, but his silver-blue eyes hold something steady, something knowing. A silent reminder of what I now understand—this moment was always coming.
Then, I turn to Thane. Seated at my right, he holds his goblet near his lips, but he does not drink. His eyes meet mine, unwavering. Watching. Waiting. He gives nothing away—no reassurance, no command.
And in that stillness, I see it.
Belief.
He gives me space—to speak freely. For myself.
The Fire Clan may not rule my fate, but they are all waiting for my answer.
I shift my gaze to Lady Evelyne. She watches me, the firelight glinting in her eyes, but it does nothing to warm them. She’s waiting for me to stumble.
I won’t. I will not let these nobles look down on me or let them speak of me as if I am less—village girl or not.
I lift my chin and meet Toren’s gaze.
“Like all soldiers, I’m in training. I’m learning, growing—becoming the warrior this realm will need. And when the time comes,” I say, voice steady, gaze unwavering, “I will stand on the front lines.”
A beat of silence.
Torchlight flickers, shadows stretching across the table as murmured conversation fades into the background.
Toren watches me carefully, his expression unreadable at first. Then, he exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair. “Spoken like a true warrior,” he says at last, though whether it’s approval or just observation, I can’t tell.
Evelyne, seated beside him, raises her chin slightly, studying me. “Time will tell,” she murmurs, her tone smooth as silk. But something flickers behind her gaze—curiosity. Perhaps even intrigue.
Garrick, ever the one to break tension, lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, if nothing else, she’s got fire.” He lifts his goblet in a lazy salute in my direction before taking a long drink.
Jarek, near the table’s edge, nods once—considering. “It’s a good answer,” he says simply. When I look across the table towards him, there’s an approving glint in his eyes. I smile at Jarek and he gives me a quick, reassuring nod.
Captain Elaris remains silent, but his sharp gaze cuts to Thane, as if assessing his reaction.
Rian grins and raises his goblet from a few seats down. “To the Spiritborn,” he declares smoothly, voice carrying just enough amusement to take the edge off the moment. “May she burn our enemies to ash.”
Garrick shakes his head. “Careful, Rian. Keep talking like that, and she’ll start thinking you believe in prophecies.”
A few of the men chuckle, the tension around the table easing slightly.
Rian smirks, unfazed. “I don’t need to believe in prophecies to know when someone is worth betting on.” He tilts his goblet slightly in my direction.
I feel Valen’s steady presence beside me. I don’t need to look to know what he’s thinking. He has always encouraged me to speak my truth.
And I have.
Then . . . there’s Thane.
I angle my head toward him to find him still watching me. He has barely reacted at all.
But I see it.
A flicker of something in his expression. Not surprise. Not quite approval. Something quieter—silent confidence. As if he expected nothing less from me.
The dinner draws to a close, conversation fading into a lull as the nobles rise first, their movements practiced, purposeful. Lord Toren and Lady Evelyne offer brief farewells before slipping from the hall.
The room exhales.
Rian, Jarek, Garrick, and Captain Elaris remain, their conversation loosening as they open another bottle of wine.
Valen pushes back his chair with a sigh, rubbing his face. “I’m an old man, and it’s past my bedtime.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Goodnight, Valen.”
As I turn back to the table, his hand rests briefly on my arm. When I glance up, his expression is light, but his eyes hold something steadier.
“You did well tonight.” His voice is soft, but the weight of his words settles deep.
Then his tone dips—dry, but not unkind. “And I’m sorry to say, there will be more of this soon.
” He squeezes my arm once, a silent reassurance.
“But I know you can handle yourself. And you’re not alone in any of this. ”
And then, he’s gone, disappearing into the dimly lit corridors, leaving me with the echo of his words.
A quiet moment lingers at the table. The clink of goblets, the low murmur of conversation, the occasional chuckle from the men.
Then, Thane glances my way. “Would you care to take a walk?” His tone is even, but there is a forced casualness in it. Like the question isn’t just about fresh air.
The torchlight cuts sharp angles across his face.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
Thane rises, pushes back his chair. Without a word to the others, we leave the hall behind.
The stone pathways are quiet, the night air thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming wildflowers. Overhead, the sky is vast and clear, deep indigo flecked with stars. The torches along the outer walls flicker against the breeze, casting wavering beams of light across the ground.
Thane walks beside me, his hands linked behind his back. I cross my arms, letting the silence stretch. Not uncomfortable, just full of things unsaid.
I think about the dinner—the way the nobles watched, measured. Testing. Assessing. Waiting for me to falter.
Thane was right. They formed opinions whether I wanted them to or not.
Thane’s voice breaks the quiet. “You held your own tonight.”
Not a compliment. Just an observation.
I let out a slow breath. “I wasn’t sure what to expect.” I glance at him. “But I see it now—how they watch, how they weigh everything. Every word. Every action.”
Thane nods. “They were looking for weakness.”
“Did they find any?”
He looks at me then, eyes holding mine in the dim torchlight. “No.”
A beat.
I look forward, slippers scuffing softly across the stone. “Lord Toren expects me to fight. They all do.”
Thane doesn’t answer right away. Then—“You will. But not yet.” No dismissal. Just certainty.
My eyes narrow, looking at the darkened edges of the courtyard where the torchlight doesn’t reach.
“Do you think the attacks are different?” I ask. “That something worse is coming?”
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “Yes.”
His certainty sends a slow ripple of unease through me. The Shadow Forces have always been ruthless—but scattered. Opportunistic. Not a coordinated army. Not like this.
I swallow, my arms tightening against my chest. “Are they looking for something?” A breath. “Or someone?” I stop. “Like in my village.”
He slows, then stops just ahead. Turns. The torchlight catches in his eyes, unreadable in the dim glow.
I press on. “They weren’t raiding just to raid. They were looking for me. We know that now.” My throat feels tight, but I force the words out. “What if they still are?”
Thane watches me, silent. Weighing. Then he says, “It’s possible.”
The breath I’ve been holding slowly escapes, but I’m not sure if his words make me feel better or worse.
“That means more people are getting hurt.” My voice is quieter now, but steady. “Losing what they value. Dying . . . because of me.”
“No.” His voice is steady, firm. “Because of them. Because of the Shadow Forces.”
I shake my head, my arms tightening around myself. “If they’re looking for me, if I’m the reason the attacks are growing worse—”
“Then that’s not on you.” His words cut through mine, soft but absolute. “You didn’t ask for this, Amara.” His eyes hold mine, unwavering. “But you can decide what to do with it.”
The wind shifts, carrying faint sounds from the courtyard behind us.
The weight of everything I’ve been holding presses hard against my ribs, but I keep my chin lifted. I shake my head, frustration tightening in my chest.
“Then I should fight. Now.” I pull my arms tighter around me. “Why wait? More people will get hurt.”
Thane exhales—slow. Measured. “Because you’re not ready.”
I bristle. “That didn’t stop them from coming for me before.”
His gaze sharpens. “And if you had fought then, would you have survived?”
I lift my chin. “I did fight. And I survived.”