Chapter 15 #4
I watch him for a long moment, then turn my gaze back to the horizon. The wind shifts, warm and heavy with the approaching rain. The silence between us stretches—not empty, but full of all the things neither of us say.
I glance from the capital’s distant lights back to Thane. “What did you see out there? Did you find the scouting party?”
Thane exhales slowly, the sound barely more than a breath, his fingers still idly tapping against the stone. He’s quiet long enough that I think he won’t answer.
Then—softly:
“We found what was left of them.”
A chill runs through me. “Dead?”
Thane gives me a tight nod. “Slaughtered. Ripped into pieces. Body parts and innards spread about.” His jaw tightens, the moonlight casting sharp shadows across his face. “We were too late.”
The weight in his voice settles deep in my chest, heavy and cold. I grip the wall, my fingers pressing against the rough stone. “Who did it?”
His eyes flick to mine, grave. “We don’t know yet. But whatever it was . . . it wasn’t human.”
My voice comes out softer than I expect, like speaking any louder would pierce the fragile stillness of this moment. “What do you mean?”
Thane doesn’t answer right away. He shifts his weight, his fingers curling briefly against the stone before relaxing again.
“It wasn’t clean,” he finally says, his voice low. “Raiders kill for profit. For supplies. This . . . this was different.”
Goosebumps appear on my bare arms. “Different how?”
He exhales, glancing toward the horizon as if the words are easier to say to the night than to me. “The bodies were left out in the open. Torn apart. Almost like they wanted them to be found.”
My chest tightens. “Like a warning.”
Thane nods, slowly. “Or a message.”
The wind shifts—warm, but restless. The storm is coming. But there’s something else riding the air. Something I can’t name, but feel.
A charge. A whisper just beyond reach.
It settles over me like it clings to Thane’s shoulders—in the quiet tension of his stance. He’s too still, like he’s waiting for something unseen to move.
I swallow, my voice barely above a whisper. “Shadow Forces?”
Thane’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at me. His gaze stays fixed on the horizon, where the world fades into darkness.
“Maybe.” His voice is low, hard. “But if it was them, they’re getting bolder.”
Another chill snakes through me, despite the warmth of the night.
The Shadow Forces were always a distant threat. Something whispered in war councils and old stories. Yes, they attacked my village. But they were looking for me.
This . . . feels different.
“You don’t sound convinced.”
Thane exhales sharply, his fingers flexing against the stone wall. “Because I’m not.”
He finally turns to look at me, and for the first time, I see it—the thing he isn’t saying. Worry.
“Shadow Forces destroy everything. But this—this felt deliberate. Precise.” He shakes his head. “Like someone wanted to make a statement.”
Before the silence stretches too far, I speak—quiet, but certain.
“I’m sorry you lost those warriors.”
Thane’s reaction is immediate, but not what I expect. He doesn’t speak. Just exhales, head bowed, like the weight of leading the realm has finally reached him. For all his strength—for all his control—I see it now: the exhaustion. The burden he carries alone.
My heart squeezes.
He doesn’t respond—just stands there, wind stirring the strands of his dark hair. The moonlight sharpens his features, casting deep shadows along the sharp cut of his jaw, the high angles of his cheekbones. He looks like he’s carved from stone. But not unbreakable.
Thane lifts his hands, rubbing his face—slow, weary.
When he drops them back to the wall, he glances at me—just once—before turning back to the land beyond the walls.
His voice is quiet, rough at the edges. “So many men and women.” He exhales, shaking his head. “We’ve lost so many good people.”
Thane’s fingers tighten against the stone. His jaw clenches. “So many families left without husbands. Wives. Daughters. Sons. So many parentless children.”
His grip shifts—tight, then looser. His voice drops, but the raw edge remains. “What’s the point of all this power . . . when so many still die?”
He shakes his head, exhaling sharply.
“What’s the point of the armies, the dragons, all this training—” His voice catches. Just briefly. Then he presses on. “The darkness just keeps coming.”
His words hang between us, heavy and unanswerable.
I watch him, the moonlight sharpening the tension in his jaw, the weight in his eyes. He’s spent his life fighting. Leading. Carrying the burden of the realm.
And no matter how strong he is, how much he gives—the losses never stop.
The war never ends.
The wind shifts around us, carrying his words into the night, scattering them like embers in the dark. I don’t know what to say. What could I say? There is no comfort for loss like this. No words that can fill the empty spaces war leaves behind.
Standing beside Thane, the weight of his words settling between us, I see it. How petty I’d been. The irritation, the stubborn pride, the sharp-edged remarks I had clung to so fiercely . . . they feel insignificant now.
Small.
I was caught in my own emotions, my own frustration—while he faced the worst of this war. While I sulked, he carried the grief of the dead.
Shame prickles at the edges of my thoughts, but I don’t let it take hold. This moment isn’t about me. So I say nothing. I stay beside him, letting the silence stretch—not to fill it, but to share it.
This, I can do.
I will do.
The wind carries the distant sound of rustling trees, waves lapping against the riverbanks far below. Somewhere in the dark, a dragon cries out—low and mournful.
Its voice stretches across the valley like an echo of something ancient and unbroken.
Could it be Xaroth sharing the grief Thane feels?
Thane watches the lands below as if searching for something that isn’t there. His gaze is distant, unreadable, but his presence is steady.
For a while, we just exist in the same space. Breathing the same air. Sharing the quiet neither of us dares to break.
I study him—the sharp lines of his face, half-lit by moonlight. The way his eyes seem to hold more than he ever says.
Gods, he’s beautiful.
Moonlight softens him—silver caught in his hair, shadows sharpening every edge of his face. There’s so much strength in him. So much presence.
And yet—tonight, he looks tired.
My gaze drifts down to his hand, just inches away from mine now. I inch my fingers closer, breath held tight. A whisper of space lingers between us, a moment stretching on the edge of something fragile. He doesn’t move away.
Emboldened, I close the distance—resting my hand over his, my fingers brushing rough, calloused skin.
He glances down, his face giving nothing away.
A heartbeat.
Then another.
And then, slowly, he turns his hand over, his fingers threading through mine.
His throat bobs.
We stand in silence. The night stretches endlessly around us, the sky a sea of stars, the land below vast. From up here, it feels like I can see the whole realm—the shadows of distant mountains, the dark ribbons of winding rivers, the flickering lights of villages far beyond these walls.
And yet all I can feel is the hammer of my heart and the warmth of his palm. The world is infinite. But right now, this—this moment, this quiet, this touch—is everything.
Thane exhales, then—reluctantly—lets go of my hand. “You should rest,” he murmurs.
Yes—another long day of training, magics, study. And it is late.
Still, I linger. Just a moment longer, unwilling to break the space between us.
“Goodnight, Thane.”
His gaze lingers. A pause—heavy with something unspoken.
Then—”Goodnight, Amara.”
I turn, stepping toward the tower door. The warmth of the night wraps around me, only adding to the lingering heat beneath my skin—the way I still feel him where he touched me.