Chapter Sixteen
Therion rides at the front, his posture straight and alert. Every movement of his horse is calculated and efficient. His sharp eyes dart to every sound or shadow that could signify danger, his focus unwavering.
Ronyn and Seren, sandwiched between us, are an entirely different story.
They seem to inhabit a world of their own, their hushed conversation peppered with muffled snickers and not-so-subtle glances in our direction.
Whatever they’re whispering about, it’s enough to make Seren bury her face in her hands, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.
Ronyn’s voice carries just enough for me to catch snippets—teasing, exaggerated, and undoubtedly ridiculous. His dramatic gestures only make Seren laugh harder, her face flushed with joy.
Despite myself, I feel a smile tug at the corners of my lips.
Ronyn is relentless in his role as her self-appointed big brother, and it’s impossible to miss how fiercely protective he is of her.
He’s always been this way—brash and irreverent on the surface, but with a heart that beats for the people he loves.
“Honestly, how do you put up with him?” Kael murmurs from behind me, his voice laced with quiet amusement.
“Ronyn? He’s harmless,” I reply, my voice softer than intended. “He just wants to make Seren smile. It’s... his thing.”
Kael hums thoughtfully. “His thing?”
I glance over at Ronyn, who is now pretending to mimic Therion’s stoic demeanor, puffing out his chest and narrowing his eyes in what he probably thinks is an intimidating glare. Seren giggles uncontrollably, nearly sliding off their horse in the process.
“Yeah,” I say, shaking my head. “He’s always been like this. A clown, sure, but he’s also the one who shields her from the harsh realities of life in the slums or takes the heat when things go wrong. He’s... family to her. To us.”
Kael is silent for a moment, his gaze following mine. “Family,” he echoes, his tone softer now, contemplative.
Ahead of us, Ronyn has clearly decided to double down on his antics. He reaches over and plucks a leaf from a passing branch, placing it atop his head like a crown. “I dub thee, Lady Seren of the Hollow!” he declares, his voice mockingly regal.
Seren swats at him, her laughter unrestrained. “You’re ridiculous, Ronyn!”
“And yet, I’m your favorite,” he quips, his grin wide and shameless.
Seren rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. Instead, she leans slightly toward him, her earlier nervousness about the journey momentarily forgotten.
It’s a small moment, but it feels significant—a pocket of warmth in the midst of the unknown.
Kael’s voice draws me back. “You’re awfully quiet,” he murmurs, low enough that the others can’t hear.
“Maybe I just enjoy the silence,” I reply, though the edge in my tone doesn’t land as sharply as I’d like.
His chuckle is soft, almost amused. “Somehow, I doubt that. You don’t strike me as the type of woman to stay silent unless you’ve got something on your mind.”
I tense, and his grip on the reins adjusts, his hands steady but not intrusive. “I’m thinking about the temple,” I say quickly, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“Hmm,” he hums, unconvinced. “The temple, or the cuff you just traded?”
The words hit harder than they should. I stiffen, and Kael must sense it because his tone softens slightly. “It’s not easy, letting go of something like that.”
“It’s just a piece of silver,” I lie.
“Is it?” he presses gently. “Because the way you hesitated... it seemed like it was more than that.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. The lump in my throat is too big, and the weight of his words too heavy. My silence, apparently, is answer enough.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Kael says after a moment. His voice is quieter now, almost reluctant. “I would’ve given a sword if we couldn’t find another trade.”
I turn slightly, angling my head so I can glance back at him. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes—a mix of guilt and gratitude that I wasn’t expecting.
“It’s done,” I say, more for myself than for him. “And we needed the horses.”
His gaze lingers on me for a beat longer before he nods, the conversation dropping as quickly as it began.
Ahead of us, Ronyn lets out a loud laugh, and Seren swats at him playfully, her cheeks flushed with either embarrassment or joy—or both. The sound cuts through the tension between Kael and me, and for a fleeting moment, I envy their ease.
“Does he ever stop?” Kael mutters, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Not if he’s awake,” I reply drily. For the first time since we mounted the horse, I let myself smile.
Kael notices. I can feel it in the subtle shift of his posture, the faint loosening of his grip on the reins. It’s as if my smile disarms him, even if just for a fleeting moment.
We ride in a silence that feels almost companionable, though I’m wildly aware of every slight movement of his hands.
His left hand holds the reins loosely, while his right arm brackets my waist, his palm resting low and steady at my hip.
The weight of it is steady, grounding, and maddeningly distracting.
Sometimes I think I feel his fingers brushing gently, almost imperceptibly, in small circles. My breath hitches, and I glance down quickly, only to find his hand still, resting where it has been since we started. My cheeks burn with a flush I’m grateful he can’t see.
But when his hand shifts slightly, pressing against my lower stomach as the horse adjusts its stride, I startle out of my thoughts. It hits me like cold water—how much space he’s taken up in my mind, how he’s crept beneath my skin. I force myself to focus on my surroundings.
Kael shifts subtly behind me. Just enough to remind me he's still watching the world through a warrior’s lens. Still watching me.
The forest around us grows darker, denser, the towering trees forming an oppressive shelter between us and the sky above.
Their gnarled branches twist like bony hands clawing at the sky, blotting out the light.
A damp, heavy mist clings to the forest floor, curling around the horses’ hooves and muffling the sound of their steps.
The air smells of damp earth and decaying leaves.
Then, suddenly, the atmosphere shifts.
The easy rhythm of hoofbeats falters as the eerie stillness takes hold. The distant calls of birds and the rustle of unseen creatures vanish, swallowed by an unnatural quiet that presses against my ears.
Therion reins in his horse sharply, his movements fluid and precise. His hand drifts to the haft of his axe, his voice low and commanding. “Listen.”
Ronyn’s playful grin is gone in an instant, replaced by the sharp focus of a hunter. His bow is already in his hands, an arrow nocked and ready. “Something’s watching us.”
My chest tightens, the sound of my own pulse suddenly deafening in the silence. Kael leans closer, his voice a steady anchor against the rising tension. “Stay alert, Lightborne.”
Even the air feels wrong—too still, too silent.
My muscles coil tight, every nerve alive with anticipation. I scan the shifting shadows, but the forest offers no answers—only more questions, more unease. The golden light beneath my ribs flickers faintly, like a warning flare, pulsing against my skin in time with my racing heart.
And then I feel it—a presence, prominent yet unseen, the weight of its gaze pressing down on us.
We’re not alone.