Chapter 8 The Stranger
THE STRANGER
The stream ran clear and cold over pale stones, sunlight breaking on its surface like scattered coins. Caius had already kicked off his boots and rolled his trousers to his knees, wading in with a practiced ease, fishing spear balanced loosely in his hand as if it were an extension of his arm.
Caius and I were already half-gone, laughing as I plucked berries from the bramble and lobbed one at him for daring me to throw it farther.
He whooped and leapt for the river's edge, showing off as he always did—long limbs, careless grace, daring the current to take him.
We were restless, reckless—two sparks struck from the same flame.
Dani lingered behind us, methodical as ever.
He set down the basket, checked the line he'd brought, and tested the knot twice before letting it sink into the water.
Where Caius and I leapt without thinking, Dani paused.
Where we broke things, he mended them. He noticed the details we ignored, planned for consequences we never considered, and followed after to set right whatever chaos we left in our wake.
I didn't understand it then—not fully. I only knew that Caius and I burned fast and bright, and Dani was the weight that kept us from flying apart.
He carried what we shed without noticing—worry, foresight, responsibility—and bore it so easily it would take me years to see what he'd been doing for us all along.
I climbed to the brambles farther up the slope, where the wild raspberries grew thick and sweet. My skirts were hitched indecently high for the task, and I made no effort to hide it.
“Mind the thorns, Magda,” Caius called without looking back, his voice carrying easily over the water.
“I'm not afraid of a little blood,” I replied, plucking a berry and popping it into my mouth. “Besides, I thought you liked danger.”
That earned me a grin as he turned, sunlight flashing off his wet skin. “And are you dangerous, Magda?”
I laughed, the sound light and unguarded, and held up a berry between my fingers. “You're very confident for a man who hasn't caught a single fish yet.”
“Yes,” he said, wading closer to the bank, eyes never leaving me. “But I've caught your attention, haven't I?”
Dani cleared his throat softly, crouching to secure the line in the shallows. “If you two could stop talking long enough for one of us to catch something, that'd help. The fish don't like noise,” he said, not unkindly.
I watched the exchange with interest, then turned my attention back to Caius. I let my fingers brush my lips deliberately before dropping another berry into the basket. “If you catch something worthy,” I said, “I might reward you.”
His eyes darkened, a spark of challenge there. “Is that so?”
“I didn't say how,” I added sweetly.
He laughed and stepped back into the stream, renewed purpose in his movements. Within moments, he struck—quick, decisive—and lifted a wriggling fish from the water.
“Well,” he said, holding it up triumphantly. “Looks like fortune favors me today.”
I applauded him, slow and exaggerated. “Impressive. Very heroic.”
Dani finally glanced up, his expression tight. He took the fish from Caius without ceremony and dispatched it cleanly, then laid it in the basket.
“You're good at that,” I said to him, softer now.
He shrugged. “Someone has to be.”
The moment passed, the easy rhythm returning—water sliding over stone, leaves whispering overhead, Caius talking animatedly about nothing and everything at once.
I laughed when he splashed water toward the bank, scolded him halfheartedly, and felt the warmth of his attention like sunlight on my skin.
All the while, Dani stayed close but just beyond the circle—steady, silent, watching us with a flinty stillness. There were currents between us that had nothing to do with the river, and for reasons I didn't yet understand, I felt them tug.
I needed to start back before dusk, but I wanted to stop for apples first. After my farewells, I led my pony along the path toward the ridge, less than a quarter mile away.
I dropped the reins and let her graze while I reached into the branches, the apples cool and heavy as I set them into my basket.
A horse snorted behind me.
I turned, expecting Caius—his grin, his careless swagger—but the man on the horse was not Caius.
The orchard had gone unnaturally still. No birdsong, no rustle of leaves, not even the soft chew of my pony's grazing.
Just the stranger's gaze, fixed and unblinking.
At first, it was the animal that held my gaze—tall and graceful, with a coat unlike anything I'd ever seen.
It shimmered like pearl, luminous and uncanny, a shifting interplay of cream, rose, and silver-gray.
A soft metallic sheen clung to its flanks, catching the light with every restless step.
The horse held its head high, its profile straight and proud—regal in every movement.
And its eyes…they were blue. Strikingly, impossibly blue.
This was no ordinary animal. This was a horse fit for a king.
The man, dressed in a fine jacket, black wool with colorful embroidery on the collar and cuffs, held the reins tightly in hands adorned with rings—bands of gold and silver set with colorful stones that caught the sunlight and glinted like the horse's coat.
I stood, transfixed.
And then the rider, a stranger to me, spoke. Not aloud, his lips still pressed together in a tight line, but he spoke to me all the same. His voice threaded low, into my mind itself.
“You're fascinated, aren't you, young girl? A little fearful I think, but more fascinated.” His voice was low—smooth as silk, yet threaded with condescension, like he was playing a game.
There was something intimate in the way he spoke, as though he knew me.
But I had never seen him before in my life.
I wasn't sure what he was. The fine clothing, the heavy jewels, the horse alone marked him as impossibly rich—but it was more than that.
A sorcerer, a shifter, perhaps even a god from the old world.
Whatever he was, he was power—undeniable, unearthly, absolute.
His face was striking—sharp planes and cheekbones that caught the sun and threw it back at me like a glare.
His skin wasn't the ruddy brown of a life lived in the sun but a burnished walnut, smooth and dark.
There was something about him that pulled at me, a force.
But it was his eyes that bound me. Impossibly black, bottomless.
They drank in the light, drank in me, drank in everything.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. Some small voice inside me whispered to run—to turn and flee toward Caius and Dani, toward safety. But I couldn't move. Something held me. I felt it—like a tether from him, invisible and unbreakable, snaking straight into my thoughts.
His words entered my mind again, not a figment of my imagination, but real.
“Do you think those young men will protect you?” he asked, his voice curling around me, slithering like a snake.
“The golden one—you yearn for him, don't you?
But you wonder…worry…about what the villagers say.
That you're too far beneath him. That no matter how beautiful you are…
and no matter how sweet his words…that you'll never truly matter to him.”
A gasp slipped from me, shattering the mask of indifference I clung to.
How could he know what I'd just been thinking?
It was as if he were inside me, prying open every hidden thought, every secret fear I'd tried to bury.
And then the dread I'd kept pressed to the edges of my mind broke loose—hot, piercing, and undeniable.
Panic. At last, I felt it. And it told me the truth. I was in danger.
I reached deep, clawing through the fear to find the fire beneath—the rage that lived just under my skin, curled in my bones. The hellcat Buna always said I was. And when I found her, I let her rise.
I screamed. Not a cry of terror—but of fury.
A raw, defiant sound that tore from my throat like it had teeth.
If this man meant to hurt me, I wouldn't go down quietly.
I would not be easy prey. And the moment the scream left my lips, something broke.
His grip on my mind fractured—shattered—and I was free.
In the distance, two voices answered, carried by the wind.
“Magda! Where are you?” Dani's voice, rough with alarm. Then another, farther off—Caius.
Relief warred with dread. I was unprepared. Whatever this man was, I had no weapons for him. No training. No shield but rage.
He gathered his reins, eyes flicking toward the sound of approaching voices. He wasn't retreating in fear—I could sense that much. It was inconvenience that sent him off, not threat.
He nudged his horse forward a few paces, then turned back to me, his dark eyes glittering.”I hope we will meet again, Magda.” This time he spoke aloud.
And then he was gone—his mount galloping away, vanishing into the trees, in the opposite direction of Caius and Dani. Moments later they came charging up into the clearing on their horses.
I was breathless at what had just happened.
“A man on a horse was here. I've never seen him before.
But he read my mind—I felt it—I know that sounds crazy.
He's some sort of solomonari, or…or a maleficius,” using the words my people had to describe a demon or a malicious entity. “He has dark magic, I know it.”
“What did he look like?” Caius asked, his eyes narrowing. I could see the wheels turning in his mind, fitting pieces into place.
“Well-dressed. Salt-and-pepper hair, shorn close.” The words tumbled out in a landslide of panicked explanation.
“The darkest skin I've ever seen, eyes darker still.
He wore many rings. But his horse—I've never seen anything like it. Cream-colored, with a sheen like polished metal…and eyes like yours, Caius.”