Chapter 15
We arrive in Dryborn a couple hours later, riding at a slow pace. Rydian hops off a mile from town, wanting to walk. He’ll step out of the Veil, waiting until we’re far enough so that he’ll remain unnoticed, and Ivy will follow us out.
But Dryborn looks just as it sounds.
There’s no charm to it like Alvonia or Sylvanor. Just a town that’s simply caught in the middle of two beautiful locations, stranded on the flattest side of the mountain.
Finishing off a peach from my pack, I wipe my mouth, spotting Ren stretching his arms in the distance as we ride down the middle of the road. A small grin tugs at my lips as a glorious thought crosses my mind, knowing I’m about to ruin his brief moment of peace.
Chucking the peach, Ren’s pained grunt cuts through the air, hitting him so hard on the back of the head that it throws him forward. Enough to know that it must hurt.
He whirls around, directing his narrowed eyes at me when I catch his gaze, throwing him a small shrug. I casually point to Ezra—completely oblivious to what just happened.
Ren curses at Ezra, rubbing the back of his head.
“What?” Ezra furrows his brows, throwing me a glance over his shoulder. I chuckle and ride up to his side just as we make it past the town, taking all of five minutes to ride through it.
“What’s the plan for food tonight? We’re getting low on what we brought with us,” I say, needing something more substantial than fruit as we’re getting low on our supply.
“I’ll hunt. You and Ren can start a fire and tend to the horses. We’ll set up camp in about an hour before we enter the Twin Valley,” he says.
“I just pegged him with a peach, and now you’re pairing him with me?” I ask.
Ezra swivels toward me with a glare as if realizing that Ren’s outburst was because of me, then smirks a little. Teasing. “You can handle him. Just keep the hatred alive.”
“Fine, but if you come back to a dead brute, that’s on you.”
A cool breeze passes through, the weather already better than when we came in a few days ago. Autumn is just around the corner with how quickly it gets cold in the evening.
“Hi, Isa,” Ivy says, brushing the edges of my mind—softer and less invading than Rydian.
“How was your trip?” I ask.
“It was great. King Rydian has settled himself at one of the inns. I’ll follow you to the campsite and join Ezra as he hunts in case he sends word back to the king.”
“Thanks,” I say.
I know she feels like she needs to track Ezra after telling them he was placed in charge of this mission. She quickly leaves me to my thoughts as we continue down the trail in search of our stopping point.
Another hour passes when we finally find a place to camp, just outside the Twin Valley. I slide off Bjorn, stretching my legs.
Aching from the long trip, I groan in relief and turn to scratch him behind the ear. He lets out a low chuff—a happy sound. Ezra grabs his bow off Freya, handing her to Ren after a moment.
“I’m going to start the hunt since we only have a few hours left of daylight,” Ezra says, quickly making his departure between the trees, saying nothing more.
“I won’t see you for a while, so reach out if you need me. You should be able to communicate even if I am a few miles out,” Ivy says.
After unbuckling Bjorn’s saddle from underneath, I place it on a nearby tree, escorting him to the field where the stream meets the grass. Freya and Myst are released shortly after.
Ren stops beside me while I watch the horses graze the field, listening to the grass sway in the light breeze. The forest fills my senses, a mix of cedar and crisp water.
“Bjorn says he appreciates the apples you give him,” Ren says after a moment, his words barely brushing the air as if it’s the most normal thing to say.
I blink, sliding my eyes to him. “He said that?”
Amusement flits across his face before he masks it, fighting a small grin. Then he clears his throat. “Unfortunately.”
Is he joking with me, or did Bjorn actually say that? I attempt to push his shoulder at the insult when he catches my wrist, leaving me to glower at him with a small grin on my face. A challenge.
His gray eyes meet mine as he studies my face—only a few quiet seconds—before releasing me without another word. He just… lets me go. I stand frozen, watching him stride back to the campsite. His steps are soft but solid across the ground, broad shoulders swaying with each step.
The way he looked at me wasn’t like before—it was different. Perhaps he’s sick of arguing. Regardless, I’m exhausted from being on guard around him—holding my tongue more often than not. Maybe snapping at him in Sylvanor was what needed to happen between us.
After the horses are released, I stride across the forest in search of kindling, knowing the temperature will drop enough to chill our bones. My eyes graze the sky as the sun begins to set—an hour before setting completely behind the west side of the valley.
Dropping the wood to the ground, I notice that Ren has rounded up large boulders, placing them in a circle around the fire that’s not yet lit. Waiting on the sunset, I suppose.
“This should last us the night.” I wipe the sweat off my temple. “Has Ezra come back yet?”
“Not yet,” he grumbles quietly. “He should be back soon. I saw some rabbits out in the field earlier.”
The fire is lit with a quick flick of his wrist, and we sit in silence. It crackles—sharp pops and hisses as we settle in. Burning wood fills the area in a smoky haze, but I find it oddly comforting.
There’s something about being in the woods late at night, sitting around a large fire, that brings me peace. I dance a couple of orbs across my fingertips, hands tingling as they light up my face.
Ren leans forward on his knees, a stone dagger firm in his grip as he carves into a block of wood.
A gentle reminder that he couldn’t be the Siphon since he’s a Stone Shaper.
He’s quite skilled at creating his own weapons, never leaving without the knives he’s created.
They perfectly fit into his palm as he scrapes the sharp edge against the softness of the wood.
“What are you carving?” I ask, wondering why I even bother in the first place. He looks up, then lowers his brows, returning to his task, as if trying to ignore me.
“Myst,” he mumbles after a few breaths. I continue to watch in silence for a few minutes as he makes the intricate slices, shavings falling to the ground. “We used to be friendly with each other, you know,” he says.
A flicker of surprise crosses my face, orbs suddenly fluttering out over his mumbled words. Perhaps that’s why he looked at me the way he did in the field.
Then I scoff, recalling my life and how we were raised. Nothing but weapons for King Elion—we were anything but friendly.
“We’ve never been friendly. You’ve always acted like I was a giant inconvenience to be around,” I say with a scowl.
His eyes flick up with a confusing pinch to his brows, like he doesn’t believe that. At any other point in my life, I might have liked him for his quick wit, but Ren’s loyalty to the crown leaves me to believe I couldn’t trust him. Even if I wanted to.
Yet I find myself hesitating on the thought, if only for a moment. After discovering my memories have been siphoned over the last few years, it forces me to question everything now. And I hate that.
I quickly recall Rydian’s memories of how I called for Ren at the orphanage—like we were familiar. Perhaps we were at some point, and I just don’t remember. That thought alone is infuriating.
After walking to grab Bjorn’s saddle, I place it near the fire, unpacking my quilt. I’m careful not to say anything outright as I prod for more information, wanting to see if he lets anything slip.
“Friendly or friends?” I ask finally, airing out my quilt. “You’ve hated me from the moment we started to train. Just because you were forced to train me doesn’t mean you know me.”
He glances up, catching my gaze as the fire flicks between us, then glances to the right, watching the stream ahead. Shadows dance across his face as the sun sets behind the mountain, casting dark shadows amongst the forest.
I sit, sip from my canteen, and think of what words to say next as the orbs dance on my fingertips again.
“You’re moody,” he says into his carving—an attempt at a subject change. Interesting.
“Going back to the castle makes me moody… I feel like something is missing.” I mutter the words even though it’s risky, like I can’t help myself.
“You know, I used to imagine my life in a small town when I was younger. A place where I left all of this behind and just lived somewhere quiet. Maybe in a forest somewhere.” Yet what I say is true.
I used to lie awake at night, dreaming of a small cabin in the woods to call my own.
A place of escape where I could be free of the king’s obligation, only killing out of necessity.
And although I’m great at becoming a weapon, I wish my life had more meaning.
Orbs play on my fingertips, and I roll them from finger to finger when my wrist suddenly begins to ache.
A groan of frustration leaves me as I thumb the inside of my wrist, the orbs fluttering out with the movement.
Ren straightens as if uncomfortable, adjusting his feet before crossing them at the ankles. Perhaps I shouldn’t have said anything. He cautiously looks over his shoulder, then goes back to carving, ignoring me completely.
After another few minutes of silence, I find myself near the stream, tossing in rocks to pass the time.
The stars stare back at me when movement to the right catches my attention, and I find Ren walking the horses back to the campsite.
I quietly follow, overhearing his mumbled words to Bjorn as he grips the reins.
“No… I don’t know,” Ren says quietly against the wind, barely audible even for my ears. “Can’t interfere, you know that… maybe one day… no, I don’t wear it… how do you know that?”
My brows pinch in confusion just as a twig snaps beneath my boot, forcing me to freeze.
Ren suddenly whips his head around, eyeing me from a few feet away before he huffs in frustration, then walks toward the fire.
He quickly ties them off, sitting at the boulder he was occupying a few minutes ago while I stand across from him.
A sudden unease washes over me. Questions rest on the tip of my tongue. I’m suddenly curious what his conversation with Bjorn was about when leaves rustle behind him.
Within a second, I’m palming the dagger that was secured to my thigh when Ezra enters from the shadows, holding three rabbits by their back feet. Blood coats their faces, the only evidence of a quick kill.
My shoulders relax when Ivy gently grazes my mind but doesn’t speak for the remainder of the night.
We spend the rest of the evening preparing our meal, making quiet conversation.
Ren throws me a few questionable glances throughout the night, but I ignore them, passing them off as curiosity about our conversation from earlier.
Now I turn over, resting my head on Bjorn’s saddle with the quilt on my lap, thinking back on our previous conversation. I suddenly get the feeling that I’m missing vital information if Ren might have liked me at one point.
My thumb rubs the inside of my wrist as it begins to ache again, whirling thoughts preventing me from sleep. Stars shine down at me through the swaying branches, the light breeze brushing my cheeks. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m missing more memories than we initially suspected.
And I’m determined to get them back.