Chapter 29 What Cannot Be Forced
Soren
The gates of Ironfang stood open by the time Soren returned.
Torches burned along the walls despite the lingering daylight, and guards moved with the quiet urgency that always settled over the fortress when troubling news arrived before its Alpha.
Word had outrun him, as it usually did.
The moment he rode beneath the gatehouse arch, he saw it in the faces around him—expectation, concern, and far too many questions.
Stablehands hurried forward, a guard moved to take his horse, and someone called his name, but Soren barely heard any of it.
His mind remained somewhere between the sea cliffs of Silverwake and the folded letter tucked inside his cloak.
The bond was never yours to command.
The words did not belong to Leander, who had never said them, yet they lingered anyway, taking shape from everything that had been said—and everything that hadn't.
He had almost reached the inner courtyard when a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Soren."
Kael was already there, striding toward him with purpose, dust covering his boots and his cloak thrown hastily over one shoulder, as if he had not left the courtyard since word of Soren’s return had reached him.
"You finally returned."
Soren slowed, though only slightly.
"What is it?"
Kael’s jaw tightened. Normally, Soren would have demanded every detail before Kael even spoke, but now he looked as though he wanted the conversation over before it had begun.
"The council is assembled."
"I know."
"They’ve been waiting for hours."
"I know."
Kael stepped closer, lowering his voice.
"Garrek is already inside. The others too. We need to begin."
Soren’s gaze flickered past him toward the inner fortress, toward the eastern wing, and Kael noticed.
"You haven’t spoken to anyone yet."
"I know they’re waiting."
The answer came sharper than it should have, and Kael held his ground as something in his expression shifted, concern replacing urgency.
"You look terrible."
Soren almost laughed.
"I’ll survive," he said, though it sounded less convincing than he intended.
Kael studied him more closely now, not as a subordinate but as someone who knew him too well.
"What happened in Silverwake?"
Soren didn’t answer.
Instead, he said, "The healer."
Kael blinked.
"What?"
"Where is she?"
That was not the answer Kael had expected, not now, not when the council was waiting and decisions had to be made.
"Soren," Kael said carefully, "we don’t have time for this. The council—"
"They can wait."
The words landed harder than any command, and Kael stared at him.
"They’ve already waited half a day."
"They can wait longer."
"Soren—"
"Where?"
Silence stretched between them as Kael searched his face, trying to understand and decide whether to argue further.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
"She’s not in the courtyard," he said at last. "I saw her assistant earlier."
Soren didn’t wait for more. He turned and crossed the yard, his stride cutting through the lingering tension like a blade.
Near the eastern corridor, a young woman in healer’s robes was sorting bundles of dried herbs. She looked up as he approached, recognition flashing across her face, followed quickly by unease.
"Alpha."
"Where is she?"
The question came without greeting or preamble.
The assistant hesitated only a moment.
"In her chambers," she said. "She returned not long ago. She’s resting."
Soren held her gaze for a heartbeat longer, then nodded once and turned toward the healer’s quarters.
Kael watched him take several steps before speaking again.
"What happened in Silverwake?"
Soren stopped, though only for a moment, as the wind moved through the courtyard and voices echoed somewhere beyond the walls.
Then, without turning back, he answered quietly.
"I was asked a question."
Kael frowned.
"What question?"
Soren’s hand tightened briefly around the folded letter hidden beneath his cloak—a question nobody had bothered asking, one he should have asked months ago, perhaps years.
For a moment, he considered answering, but instead he continued walking.
"I’ll tell you when I have an answer."
And with that, he left his second standing in the courtyard while he headed toward the healer’s chambers.
For the first time in his life, Soren was delaying a war council that demanded his presence, and though the realization should have disturbed him, it felt overdue.
The healer's chambers smelled of dried herbs, smoke, and old parchment, while a small fire burned in the hearth despite the season, filling the room with a steady warmth that felt strangely disconnected from the cold stone beyond the walls.
Varda looked up from a table crowded with jars and bundles of winter roots as the door opened. Surprise flickered across her face before it shifted into concern.
"Alpha."
Soren closed the door behind him.
"You searched the archives."
The healer was silent for a moment.
"I did."
"Did you find anything?"
Something in his voice made her set aside the knife she had been using.
"Some things."
"Then tell me."
Behind him, Kael frowned.
Varda studied him for several seconds before gesturing toward a pair of chairs.
"Sit."
"I'd rather stand."
"Then I would rather wait."
Neither moved.
Eventually, with visible irritation, Soren sat while Varda settled opposite him and Kael remained near the door.
"The records disagree on almost everything," she said. "The surviving accounts are incomplete, and most were copied centuries after the original records were lost."
Soren's jaw tightened.
"That isn't an answer."
"No. It is the problem."
She leaned back slightly.
"But certain details appear repeatedly. The bond was never described as something carried by one person."
His gaze sharpened.
"What does that mean?"
"It means what it sounds like. The old stories speak of a bonded pair."
"The pair with two voices."
Varda nodded.
"Two voices. The stories describe the bond as something shared. One voice could call, and the other answered."
Something cold moved through Soren's chest.
"What if they didn't?"
The question came too quickly for comfort, and both Kael and the healer noticed.
After a brief silence, Varda answered.
"The stories claim the bond was completed through choice."
"And if there was no choice?"
The healer looked away briefly.
"I don't know."
The admission seemed to cost her something.
"I know what the stories say, and I know that none of the accounts describing separation ended well."
Kael pushed away from the wall.
"What does that mean?"
Neither of them looked at him.
Soren's eyes remained fixed on the healer.
"What happened to them?"
"I don't know. The accounts become vague."
"Convenient."
"No."
The response was immediate.
"It worries me."
For a moment nobody spoke.
Then Soren asked the question he had actually come for.
"Is the mark getting worse?"
Varda closed her eyes briefly before answering.
"Yes."
Kael went still while Soren merely nodded, as though hearing confirmation of something he had already suspected.
"How much worse?"
"The bleeding is happening more often," she said. "The episodes are stronger, and whatever is happening is not slowing."
Soren looked away.
"Can you stop it?"
"No."
"Can you treat it?"
"No."
The answers came quietly and without hesitation.
"Then tell me what you think is happening."
Varda was silent for several seconds before speaking.
"I think the bond is trying to do what it was meant to do."
The pressure beneath his ribs tightened.
"And because it cannot..."
She stopped, visibly searching for words.
"...I think it may be turning against itself."
The fire crackled softly in the corner.
Kael looked between them.
"May?"
The healer nodded.
"May. I cannot prove it. I have never seen this before."
Her gaze drifted briefly toward Soren's chest.
"I hope I am wrong."
That frightened him more than certainty would have.
Kael took a step forward.
"Could it kill him?"
The healer did not answer immediately.
When she finally looked toward him, her expression had grown noticeably older.
"I don't know."
The silence that followed was answer enough.
"But if what I suspect is true... then yes."
Nobody spoke.
Even the fire seemed distant.
At last Varda turned back toward Soren.
"I warned you."
There was no accusation in her voice, only exhaustion.
"I know."
"You ignored me."
"I know."
"You kept trying to force something you did not understand."
For a long moment Soren said nothing.
Then he nodded once.
"Yes."
The admission settled heavily between them.
The healer watched him quietly.
"What are you going to do now?"
Soren looked toward the window, toward the darkening sky beyond Ironfang's walls, toward the war waiting for him, toward the woman who was no longer here, and toward the choice he could no longer make for her.
Finally he answered.
"Nothing."
The healer looked surprised.
Soren rose to his feet.
"If she returns, it must be because she chose to."
The old woman held his gaze for a long moment before slowly nodding.
The corridor outside the healer's chambers felt colder than before, and the door closed behind them with a dull thud.
For several moments neither man spoke as Soren started toward the council wing, with Kael following—not because he had been invited, but because he wasn't finished.
The silence stretched through one corridor and then another while servants stepped aside as they passed and guards straightened, yet nobody interrupted them.
Finally Kael said, "How long?"
Soren kept walking. "For what?"
Kael stopped, and Soren took several more steps before realizing he was no longer beside him. When he turned, Kael was standing in the middle of the corridor, his face pale—not with fear, but with anger.
"What do you mean, for what?" The question echoed softly off the stone walls.
Soren looked at him for a moment, then said, "She doesn't know."
"Don't." The word came immediately, sharp and uncharacteristically so, and for a second both men seemed surprised by it.
Kael took a breath, then another, trying and failing to regain his usual composure. "Don't do that. Soren—" He stopped himself, then started again. "The healer just told me the bond is killing you."
A servant appeared at the far end of the corridor, but one look at their faces was enough to send him retreating in the opposite direction, unnoticed by either of them.
"The healer told us she doesn't know enough to make predictions."
Kael stared at him, then laughed once without humor. "That is your answer?"
"It is the truth."
"The truth?" Kael took several steps toward him. "The truth is that you've looked like death for weeks."
Soren said nothing.
"The truth is that you're barely sleeping."
Still nothing.
"The truth is that you nearly collapsed after the council meeting three days ago."
Silence.
"And now a healer just told me she's never seen anything like this and might not be able to stop it."
The corridor fell silent as Kael's jaw tightened. "What in the hells am I supposed to do with that?"
For the first time, Soren looked away—not because he had an answer, but because he didn't, and the realization irritated him more than it should have.
"I don't know."
The honesty seemed to hit Kael harder than any lie could have, because Soren always knew—or at least pretended to.
For a long moment neither spoke, and then Kael asked quietly, "Are you dying?"
The words settled heavily between them, simple, direct, and impossible to misunderstand.
Soren looked at him—the man who had fought beside him for years, who had followed him into storms, winters, and battles neither of them should have survived, and who was now waiting for an answer.
"Everyone dies."
Kael closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again. "That's not what I asked."
The corridor seemed smaller suddenly, the air heavier, as Soren held his gaze and, for the first time since returning to Ironfang, stopped trying to avoid the question.
"I don't know."
Kael's expression shifted—not relief, not fear, but something worse, because he believed him. Soren truly didn't know, and the uncertainty itself was the answer.
Silence stretched between them until Kael finally asked, "Does Garrek know?"
"No."
"The council?"
"No."
"Anyone?"
"No."
Kael exhaled slowly, then nodded once as though reaching a decision. "Then they don't hear it from me."
Soren studied him. "Kael—"
"No." This time the interruption was calm, steady, and deliberate. "If you're going to be an idiot, that's your right as Alpha."
A faint shadow of amusement flickered across Soren's face despite everything, though it vanished almost immediately.
"But if there's even a chance that healer is right," Kael continued, "then I'm staying close enough to make sure you don't get yourself killed before Vargan gets the opportunity."
For a moment neither man spoke, and then Soren nodded once—not as Alpha, but as a friend. It was the closest thing to gratitude Kael was likely to get, and somehow that was enough.
"Now," Kael said, turning toward the council chamber, "let's go tell a room full of angry elders that they've been waiting half a day because their Alpha decided to interrogate a healer about ancient legends."
A corner of Soren's mouth twitched, the expression disappearing before it could become a smile, but it was there—and after everything that had just been said, Kael counted it as a victory.