Chapter 39 #2
He was already moving, teeth gritted in pain as he heaved himself up. I caught his arm, steadied him—just long enough to hear the whistle of an arrow.
“Shit—go!”
I leapt up behind Caelen, grabbing his shoulder for balance as the horse lunged forward. Hooves pounded the forest floor like thunder, branches tearing past in a blur of green and shadow.
“Couldn’t have been quiet, huh?” I drawled, breath short.
“Want me to throw you off this damn horse?” Caelen snapped.
I smirked, ducking as a low branch whipped overhead. “Try it. I’ll take the reins with me.”
He muttered something creative under his breath and kicked the mare faster.
Behind us, I could hear Slade pushing hard—too hard. His mount was fast, but not fast enough. And the bastard was injured. Again.
“Left!” Caelen barked. “There’s a stream ahead—we can lose them in the water.”
I twisted in the saddle, catching a glimpse of red cloaks closing in.
“Make it fast,” I said. “They’re gaining.”
A growling sound behind me stilled my heart in my chest.
I turned, barely—
Shit.
Wolves.
Not wild ones. Shifter-kind. Bigger, faster, smarter. Five of them at least, flanking the soldiers—tongues lolling, teeth bared, eyes gleaming with bloodlust.
“Fuck!” I yelled. “We’ve got shifters!”
Slade cursed somewhere behind us. Caelen glanced back—just long enough to assess, not long enough to panic.
“How close?” he barked.
“Close enough to tear out your spine if you slow down!”
One of them leapt, claws flashing as it surged from the underbrush. It clipped a tree trunk, snarling, and dropped to all fours again—still chasing.
“They’re driving us toward something,” I said through clenched teeth. “This isn’t a hunt. It’s a funnel.”
Caelen grunted. “Then we break the damn funnel.”
He jerked the reins hard, veering left. I nearly lost my grip as the horse banked, hooves skidding in the loose dirt. Behind us, howls split the air.
Slade caught up on our flank, pale and sweating. “Tell me there’s a plan,” he growled.
“Ride like hell,” I said. “And don’t stop for anything.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out the steel rings I’d salvaged from the cliff—cold, dense, sharp-edged.
“Slade!” I shouted, hurling them back.
He caught one mid-air with a flick of his hand—his power snapping to life like a flare in the dark. The look on his face—
Gods, the relief.
Within seconds, metal hovered around him like a storm. Then—
Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.
He fired, smooth and fast. A low yelp behind us confirmed a hit. Then another.
Three left.
“Can you blast them with your fire?” Caelen shouted over the wind.
“Not without spooking the horse.”
“Godsdammit.” A pause—then, “Okay, Slade! Follow me!”
Without warning, Caelen twisted off the main path, cutting sharp into thicker woods. Branches slapped at my face as we tore through undergrowth.
Slade followed—no hesitation. His mare crashed through the brush behind us, metal still orbiting him in tight, deadly spirals.
“Where the hell are you taking us?” I demanded.
“There’s a ravine up ahead!” Caelen called back. “Shallow enough to cross—steep enough they can’t follow without slowing!”
“That’s a big maybe,” I snapped.
“Then pray fast.”
A snarl to our left—one of the wolves was gaining.
Slade turned in the saddle, loosed a ring like a blade, and clipped the beast across the muzzle. Blood sprayed. It fell back, shrieking—but didn’t stop.
They were relentless.
Caelen spurred the mare harder. “I can see it! Hold tight!”
The trees broke suddenly, the world tilting downward.
Ahead of us—stone and air. The ravine.
It wasn’t deep enough to kill. Probably. But it was steep, jagged and slick with moss and shadow.
Caelen didn’t slow.
“Are you insane?” I shouted.
He didn’t answer. Just gave the horse one last kick and leaned forward.
We flew.
For a split second, all I heard was wind—rushing past my ears, tearing at my clothes. The mare landed hard on the opposite slope, stumbled, then righted herself with a lurch that jarred my teeth.
“Go!” Caelen barked. “Ride!”
Behind us, Slade was already coming.
He leaned forward—silent, focused—and his horse leapt, hooves barely clearing the edge.
It landed rough. Slade grunted but stayed up. Rings spun around him like a shield, ready for the wolves still chasing.
Only three now. The others had dropped off—or bled out.
The third wolf hit the ravine’s edge and paused, pacing. It wouldn’t jump. Not unless forced.
The fourth wasn’t so cautious. It lunged—and misjudged the distance.
It crashed into the far wall, scrabbled for purchase, then fell with a sickening crunch into the rocks below.
Caelen exhaled. “That’s one way to deal with it.” The last wolf howled from the ledge. Watching. Waiting. But it didn’t jump.
“You godsdamn crazy sonofabitch,” I panted, still clutching his shoulder. My breath came in ragged gasps, heart hammering like a war drum. “I swear, if we’d died, I’d have haunted you.”
Caelen didn’t even look back—just kept the mare moving at a slower pace now, the terrain less brutal but no less shadowed.
“I had the best riding tutors in the world,” he muttered between breaths. “I started when I was three. Dressage, cross-country, obstacle training. I know how to ride.”
He paused. Swallowed.
“…Still didn’t think that would work.”
I huffed a laugh. “Neither did your damn horse.”
Behind us, Slade groaned. “Next time, warn me before we do something suicidal.”
“You’re welcome,” Caelen snapped.
We rode in silence for a beat—just the rustle of leaves, the laboured breathing of our horses, and the echo of that last wolf’s howl, still ringing faintly in the distance.
“Think they’ll follow?” I asked.
“Not tonight,” Slade said, voice low. “Not after that fall.”
Still, none of us truly relaxed.
We couldn’t.
Not yet.
**
We rode for hours, the adrenaline long since burned off, replaced by grit and bone-deep exhaustion. At the top of a rise, we finally slowed—three shadows on a ridge overlooking the valley below.
Velmere.
It sprawled beneath us in fractured motion—chaotic, loud, alive. People swarmed the docks, hauling crates and climbing onto boats. Children cried. Soldiers shouted. From here, it looked less like an evacuation and more like an exodus.
“Is that—” Caelen began, stepping forward.
I followed his gaze.
And there—clearly, unmistakably—was an armada. Dozens of sleek sailboats lined the harbour, their sails marked with the black-gold crest of Shadowmere. Royal. Fast. Meant for war.
And standing right in the heart of it, at the edge of the wharf—
Syrena.
Flanked by Jasper, her cloak whipped by the wind, her silver circlet glinting beneath the overcast sky.
“What the hell is the queen doing here?” Caelen muttered.
Slade sat straighter, ignoring his wound for once. “This isn’t just a supply run. They’re staging something.”
“They wouldn’t leave Shadowmere Castle unless something had changed,” I said, pulse rising.
“Or unless something went wrong,” Slade added grimly.
My gut twisted.
We raced down to the docks. Soldiers, seeing our approach, moved quickly to clear a path. Syrena turned at the motion—and tensed the moment she saw us.
Jasper stepped forward, blocking our way instinctively.
“Phoenix. Slade. Caelen,” he said carefully. “Good to see you.”
“What are you doing here, Your Majesty?” I asked, breath tight. “You were supposed to stay in Shadowmere. It’s not safe out here.”
Jasper tried to step between us again, but Syrena placed a gentle hand on his arm and eased him aside.
The cold blame in her eyes was clear.
“I received a message from Duskfall about my daughter.” She said, her voice cold as ice. “From King Ivan.”
“Ivan?” I asked.
“He has Elira—or at least Vael does. Ivan claims he wishes to talk.”
No one spoke.
The sea crashed against the docks behind us, indifferent to the weight of her words.
Syrena reached into her cloak and withdrew a sealed letter. The wax was black. The crest stamped into it—
Shadowmere’s sunburst.
But warped.
Twisted.
“He wrote as if it were a courtesy,” she said tightly. “As if he were doing us a favour. He claims Elira is unharmed. That she’s being… protected.” Her voice curled around the word like it burned her throat.
“And you believe him?” Caelen asked sharply.
“No,” Syrena snapped. “But I can’t risk assuming he’s lying, either.”
“Your Majesty—”
“You let her go.” Her voice cut sharp, eyes locking onto mine. “You didn’t protect her.”
She took a step closer, her voice rising—not with rage, but with something far more dangerous.
“You promised me,” she said, voice cracking. “You promised—”
She looked away before the words could finish hollowing her out.
Jasper stepped in, silent, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t push him off.
She didn’t have the strength to.
“We will get her back,” Slade said, stepping forward, his voice steady.
I didn’t say anything.
Because she was right.
“Let us come with you,” Caelen added, tone gentler now. “Let us help.”
Syrena turned to him, eyes still rimmed with fury and something softer beneath. “How much help can you be?” she asked, voice clipped.
“We screwed up, Your Highness,” Caelen said. “We thought—” He stopped himself. Shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what we thought. I own this. We all do.”
He took a step closer. “But please. Let us try to fix it.”
Syrena stared at us, her grief forging steel in her gaze.
No longer just a mother.
A queen.
“Fine,” she said coldly. “But if she dies—”
She swept her eyes across each of us, one by one.
“I will hold every single one of you responsible. Is that clear?”
The wind off the sea felt colder somehow.
We nodded.
Because there was nothing else we could say.