Chapter 76 – Azaria
AZARIA
We’d ridden hard all day, pushing up against the edge of Dravareth’s wards. The land here felt stretched thin: bleak, cold, the kind of silence that pressed against your teeth. By the time we set camp, the sun was sinking fast, casting everything in steel-gray shadow.
The squad settled into their usual patterns. Reyna snapped her fingers, flame blooming under her palm, coaxing the campfire to life. Zephyr ribbed Kael about something; Lirael pulled water from the pack, hands steady. Kalias curled up beside me, all warm fur and quiet presence.
I should have felt settled. Grounded. But something was wrong.
For weeks, I’d worked hard not to notice Quin. Worked even harder not to feel the hole he left behind every time I walked into a room. But tonight, the emptiness was impossible to ignore. I heard every crackle of the fire, every boot on gravel, every quiet murmur between Thorne and Lyra.
But there was nothing else.
No chair scraping, no breath behind my shoulder. No offhand remark thrown over my head. The silence stretched thin, and I realized, for the first time in weeks, I missed it.
I stood abruptly, brushing dirt from my hands. Kalias looked up, head cocked, ears pricked. I walked a slow circle around the camp, senses straining. The wind smelled of old ash, distant rain, and something colder behind the wards. Nothing else.
Reyna called out softly, “Az, is everything all right?”
I didn’t answer. I kept walking, scanning the shadows beyond the firelight. My skin prickled, the old captain’s dread pooling cold in my gut.
How long had it been since I’d seen him? Thirty minutes? Longer?
“Kalias,” I said quietly, kneeling beside him, “stay here. Guard them. Don’t move until I come back.”
He whined low, but he stayed put. I took another lap, slower this time. Counted heads.
One. Two. Three.
Four, five, six.
Where was?—
My heart lurched.
Quin wasn’t here.
I felt it in my gut. He’d vanished, and no one had seen him go. He must have slipped away before we’d even set the wards, while everyone was focused on making camp.
Something twisted deep in my stomach. I ignored it.
Told myself it didn’t matter.
Told myself I didn’t care.
But my body betrayed me, because before I could think twice, I was already moving, tracking him through the woods.
The forest was quiet. Not the hush of nightfall, but something sharper, wrong. My grip on my sword tightened, the leather digging into my palm, grounding me. I followed his trail: slow, heavy footsteps, dragging and uneven, like he didn’t care where he ended up. Like he’d already given up.
Then I heard them: muffled laughs, cruel voices, the scrape of boots on dead leaves.
I found him slumped against a tree, head tilted back, blood running from his nose and ears. His hands twitched, fingers barely curling, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. I knew the look too well.
Suppression artifacts. Strong ones. It was the only way anyone could have taken Quinton Thornvale down like this.
My pulse hammered in my skull. Four men stood around him, laughing, one spinning a crude, ugly relic between his fingers.
They had no fucking idea what they’d just done.
I didn’t give them time to react. With a flick of my wrist, I triggered my force shield. The blast sent two of them flying and slammed them into the trees. The third spun, just in time to see my sword flash toward his throat.
I stopped inches from his skin, my stance steady, my eyes cold. “Step away from him,” I said, voice flat.
The one I’d cornered smirked. “I thought you were the magicless one.”
I pressed the blade closer, watching his confidence flicker. “You don’t need magic to kill someone.”
Behind me, Quin shifted. “Azaria,” his voice was rough and strained. “Leave.”
“Shut up, Thornvale.”
I didn’t take my eyes off the enemy, but I heard Quin let out a sound between a cough and a laugh.
“She’s got a blade,” one of the men grumbled, pushing himself off the ground.
“She’s got nothing,” another spat. “That’s the magicless bitch our lord wants dead.”
That was it. Whatever patience I had left snapped.
I didn’t need magic to be dangerous. The fools who took Quin down were about to learn that the hard way.
One was already on his knees, clutching his bleeding leg, while another struggled to lift his head from the dirt after I slammed him into the ground.
But the third—the one who dared to call me worthless—stood his ground, lips curling into a smirk. “You think some cheap tricks make you strong?” he sneered, rolling his shoulders as faint embers of his own magic flickered around his fingers. “You’re nothing without real power, Sylvenhart.”
Real power.
I clicked my tongue, tossed my sword to my other hand, and flexed my fingers.
They always thought magic was the only thing that mattered.
Behind me, Quin’s breathing was ragged but steady.
I could feel his eyes on me, watching. “Azaria,” his voice was strained, but there was something else beneath it.
Not fear. Something darker. I didn’t let him finish.
I activated my swiftness artifact; the energy surged through my legs, making the world blur as I closed the distance. Bastard’s smirk faltered for half a second. That was all I needed.
The first man drew his blade, but he was slow. I smashed his hand aside, drove my elbow into his jaw, and brought him down with one clean sweep to the back of his knee. Ligaments tore. He screamed.
The second tried to run; I hooked his ankle, wrenched his foot sideways until something snapped, then slammed my heel into his ribs for good measure. He hit the ground, howling.
The third came at me wildly, swinging at my face. I ducked, caught his wrist, and plunged my dagger between the bones, twisting until he dropped the blade. Then I slashed deep across the back of his leg: hamstring gone, mobility gone. He collapsed, writhing in the dirt.
The last one tried to flank me, but I pivoted, sword in a perfect arc. I didn’t kill him, but sliced through his shoulder, straight through to the bone. His arm went dead, useless, blood pouring from the wound. Four bodies, all screaming, none able to run.
I straightened. Rolled my shoulders. Wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.
“You hurt what is mine,” I said, voice low and even, meant for all of them to hear. “You fucking pay for it.”
Behind me, Quin’s breath caught. I didn’t look back.
I crouched beside the first, sword pressed to his thigh. “Who sent you?”
He spat blood, defiant. “Fuck you, bitch.”
I drove my sword into his leg, splitting bone, the crunch vibrating up my arm. He howled, back arching off the ground.
“Wrong answer.” I didn’t raise my voice.
He screamed, cursing, sobbing. Useless. I opened his throat, let the blood spray wide, and moved to the next.
Behind me, I heard Quin shift against the tree. Not trying to stop me, but watching.
“Who sent you?”
The second tried bravado. “Bitch, you’re insane!”
I leaned in. “You haven’t seen the worst of it.” I purred. “Who sent you?”
He tried to spit at me. I took his left hand and sliced the webbing between his fingers. He shrieked like a gutted boar.
“Answer me,” I ordered, but he only wailed. I cut his throat with the same steady precision.
The third tried crawling away, dragging himself through the leaves. I kicked him onto his back and put my blade to his knee. “Who sent you?”
He whimpered, sobbing. “Stars, please?—“
I pressed the tip to his kneecap, then shoved, feeling the joint split. He shrieked until I silenced him like the others.
The last one tried to shrink back as I loomed over him. I grabbed him by the collar and hauled him upright. “Who sent you?”
“T-Torven! Torven sent us! P-please, I’ll tell you everything!”
His eyes darted to his butchered companions, then to me, wide and terrified.
“Eyes on me. What were your orders?”
“We-we were t-to… we were given names.”
“What names?”
He swallowed, stammering. “Yours. Thornvale. The shifter. The assassin.”
Me. Quin. Kalias. Dain.
“I’m listening.”
“He gave us the tools—the artifacts. We were told to hunt any of you down and kill you.”
“Anything else?”
“No, that’s all, I swear! P-please let me go! I won’t tell a soul, I beg you!”
“No, you won’t.” I drove my sword through his throat, feeling the hot rush of blood wash over my hands.
By the end, the clearing was quiet, save for Quin’s ragged breathing, and the wet, pulsing silence only blood can buy. I wiped my blade on the grass and straightened.
The violence blurred at the edges, the cold focus dulling to a low hum. Blood still hung sharp in the air; adrenaline still burned in my veins, but the fight was done. My body didn’t believe it. Muscles were still taut, my fingers still twitching.
A faint rustle of leaves. I spun, sword up, half-feral, and stopped.
Quin stood there, blood all over his face, dripping from his nose and ears. He was pale, his breaths ragged, but his eyes were clear and locked on me.
“Hey,” he rasped. He reached out, hands settling on my arms. “I’m all right.”
I stared at him, heart pounding.
“I’m all right,” he said again, softer.
That did it. I shoved him. Hard.
He hit the ground with a groan, cursing under his breath. You’re not supposed to push the wounded around, but gods, I couldn’t help it.
“You’re a fucking idiot, Thornvale!”
He looked up at me, dazed and bloody, and grinned. The idiot.
I sucked in a deep breath. The sharpness of the night air burned its way down my throat, clearing my head. I took another. And another. Each one peeled away a little more of the rage, forcing my body to obey me again.
Then I reached down and hauled him up, gritting my teeth as I did. He was far too heavy for me to lift on my own, so I attuned to my strength artifact, feeling the surge in my muscles.
I slid my arm under his shoulders, bracing his weight against me. He stiffened. Pulled back slightly.
“Let’s get back,” I said, my voice brooking no argument. “You’re hurt, and you can barely stand.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t listen.
Typical.
Stubborn.
Fucking.
Thornvale.
“I’ll be fine,” he rasped, voice rough as gravel. “I can walk on my own.”
I tightened my grip on his arm. “You can barely stand,” I repeated, steel in my voice as I curled my arm tighter and pressed his weight into me. He was shaking—he was shaking, and he still wouldn’t let me help him.
“Az, I can?—“
“Quin, please.” His name came out softer than I intended.
The silence held for a long breath. Two.
Something shifted in his face.
His body finally sagged against mine, resistance melting as he leaned into me. The warmth of him pressed solid into my side, grounding me. His breath hitched as I tightened my grip around his waist, but he didn’t fight me anymore.
Good.
I started walking, guiding him step by step.
By the time we reached camp, Quin was barely conscious. His weight slumped hard against mine, his breath shallow against my shoulder. I didn’t feel the strain—my artifact carried most of it—but I felt the heat of him, the lingering tremors running through his body.
He fought me the entire way back. Stubborn, prideful idiot.
We crossed into the firelight. Dain and Elias were on their feet in an instant, eyes snapping first to Quin, then to me—bloodstained, shaking, dragging Quin behind me.
“What the fuck happened?” Dain demanded, already striding toward us.
I didn’t answer. Not yet. I let them take Quin first.
Elias stepped in without hesitation, lifting Quin’s weight from my shoulders. Dain caught his other side, and together they supported him, moving with that silent coordination that comes from too many battles fought together.
“He got ambushed,” I said, following as they carried him toward his tent. “They had suppression relics. Blocked his blood magic.”
Nobody moved at first.
Then Lyra scrambled for the tonic, Lirael overturned the packs searching for bandages, Zephyr cursing under his breath. Reyna fetched water. I stood back, watching them work, hands bloodied and useless at my sides. They laid him down, Quin pale as ash, still twitching from the aftershocks.
Elias turned to me. “Are you all right?” His voice was quiet, measured—the steadiness I’d come to rely on without ever saying so.
“I’m fine. A bit winded.”
Elias studied me, as if he could see every raw edge I tried to hide. Then, quietly, “And them? Whoever they were?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Dead.”
Elias nodded, like he’d expected nothing less. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Rest. He’ll be fine.”
“Kalias, can you help him, please?” I asked softly.
The wolf huffed, then padded over to join the others, pressing close to Quin.
I stood back and let them tend to him. Watched the squad move around him—Lyra dabbing at the blood on his face, Elias checking his pulse, Kalias’s warmth pressed to his side.
He was alive. He was here. Because I’d found him in time.
But I almost hadn’t. Two weeks of silence, two weeks of pushing him to the edges of every room, every patrol, every conversation—and he’d slipped away tonight without a sound, and no one had noticed. Not even me.
If I’d been paying attention. If I hadn’t spent every waking moment pretending he didn’t exist. If the bracelet hadn’t muted the one thread that might have told me something was wrong?—
I looked down at my hands. His blood. Their blood. All of it on me.
I turned toward my own tent, the night air sharp and cold in my lungs. Not because I wanted distance, or I was shutting him out. Because I’d built the silence that nearly killed him, and I didn’t know how to sit beside him and pretend I hadn’t.