CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE #2
His eyes were covered by cloth, hands cradling the back of his head as he sprawled on the ground near the fire.
Ronan exhaled, a wisp of smoke slinking along the ground toward Ford. It tapped his shoulder and Ford ripped the cloth from his eyes, searching for who’d touched him. Just as he turned, the smoke leveled at his eyes, and he swallowed.
“If you touch my horse,” Ronan growled, “I’ll gut you with its saddle strap.”
The path weaved spiral toward the village, a scatter of clay roofs and smoke-bitten chimneys shoved between the hills.
Ronan and Callum reached it just as the sun went cold, the scent of night heavy in the air. Lanterns burned low in every window, their light honey-soft against the dark.
Wide-eyed children darted between doorways; men stood with spears that were more rust than metal. Ronan and Callum were met with cautious eyes, murmurs, until one of the villagers recognized Callum and the tension shifted to relief.
“Commander Hale,” a woman said, clutching his arm. Her hands were rough, nails black with soil. “You’re still breathing. The gods must favor stubborn men.”
Callum smiled thin. “Not sure they favor any of us lately.”
Ronan locked his arms across his chest, thumb drumming against his bicep. The woman looked him over once and nodded, remembering his good deed of bringing the injured woman to their healer.
She led them toward the center square, where the victim lay wrapped in linen. Fumes curled from the incense pots beside her where some knelt, voices rising in splintered harmony, the old hymn to Aelia.
The melody shimmered, no mourning, only light as each voice rose in succession, hands glowing delicately as they pressed them over the wound.
A prayer to guide the woman back to the dawn.
Ronan watched in silence. Even now, after everything, they still worshiped the sun as if it hadn’t abandoned them centuries ago.
Still, he found himself whispering the same words before he even realized it. An old prayer, one he shouldn’t have known. Smoke slipped from his palms, soft and silver, mingling with their light.
For once, it didn’t burn, didn’t suffocate. It mended.
Callum’s stare caught him, though he said nothing. And as the woman’s breath steadied, he wondered how strange it was to wield his magic to heal, when it had only ever known to kill.
Callum folded his arms, leaning his head near the woman beside him. “Have any soldiers been through here in recent days?”
A few heads turned their way when she didn’t speak, though one older man nodded toward them, motioning for them to follow as he distanced himself from the ritual.
“The Brightwalkers haven’t passed through in months,” he said, stopping in front of a shop, its structure long faded. “Roads are quiet. Too quiet, maybe.”
“Then they’re regrouping.” Callum looked at Ronan. “Or hunting elsewhere.”
Ronan’s eyes stayed on the woman, her chest moving shallowly beneath the hymns. “If they come here again, there’ll be nothing left to pray over.”
They left well before the moon fell, Callum walking a pace ahead, cloak brushing mud.
“You didn’t have to come,” he noted.
Ronan’s laugh came low. “You’re welcome.”
Callum’s eyes narrowed as he let out a quick laugh. “That wasn’t a thank-you.”
Ronan kept his eyes forward, purposely staying a few steps behind. “I noticed.”
They walked on, the silence only broken by the creak of their boots and the echo of the song that had followed them.
“You don’t understand what she is,” Callum murmured.
Ronan gave him a look, tilting his chin up. “If you mean Verena, she’s got a sharp tongue.”
Callum’s jaw flexed as he forced out a laugh. “She always has.”
“Charming quality,” Ronan mused.
Branches clawed at them as they passed, the forest closing in the deeper they went. The underbrush crunched, somewhere ahead a crow, or raven, screamed, too human to be comfortable.
Callum cleared his throat. “It’s kept her alive.”
Adjusting the leather cuff around his wrist, Ronan said, “You mean it’s kept everyone else terrified.”
“Same thing.” Callum’s shoulders stayed squared, too rigid. “Our mother taught us many things growing up. Verena didn’t only get her boldness from her, but she educated us in the old tongue as well. Said it was the gods’ language once. That it would save us when faith couldn’t.”
“Seems it did,” Ronan said. “Got your sister a wolf’s loyalty. Not bad for bedtime stories.”
Callum’s mouth pulled tight as he glanced at him. “You think everything’s a game, don’t you?”
“And you think this isn’t.” Ronan adjusted the strap of his sword, fingers brushing the hilt.
“That’s what you never understood, guardian.
Every move, every secret, every life has been played on a board we didn’t build.
” He tilted his head, gaze cutting through him.
“It’s always been a game. The only difference is, I stopped pretending to play fair. ”
Callum ripped a wilted flower from a bush as he passed, twirling it between his fingers, before it crumbled into dust. “Watching our world unravel while you stand there isn’t winning.”
The scowl on Ronan’s face twisted. “You mistake endurance for victory. I’m not winning. I’m surviving.”
Shaking his head, Callum buried the edge of pity beneath the frustration. “No. You’re hiding behind it. Behind your smoke and your silence and your guilt. You want to talk about pretending?”
A muscle ticked in Ronan’s jaw. “Careful—”
Anger tightened Callum’s voice as he stepped closer. “At least I still remember what we’re fighting for. You’ve forgotten.”
Ronan’s eyes cut to him, a spark igniting behind the exhaustion. “I haven’t forgotten.” He stepped forward again, until their shadows merged. “I just stopped believing it would save us.”
“This is my kingdom we’re in, prince,” Callum responded. “Don’t forget whose ground you stand on now.”
Ronan’s laugh cracked. “Oh, I remember. You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”
“Then stop pretending you know what’s best for it.”
“I’m not pretending.” The words came clipped, like they’d been waiting too long. “I just don’t take orders from someone who can’t see past his own prize. Verena is dangerous. And every day that danger is fueled. You might have her love right now, but be warned, it will not last.”
Callum stopped walking. “You think I wanted this?” he asked. “You think I asked for any of it?”
Ronan’s expression didn’t shift. “I don’t really care what you want or what you asked for. We all have our burdens.”
Callum’s face cracked, into rage, grief, exhaustion, and then he moved. Fire sparked at his fingertips, glowing across his knuckles, the space around him hissing with heat.
“You would know all about burdens. You’ve made a career out of dropping them on everyone else.”
The darkness reacted before Ronan did, spilling from his palms, rising in a wave and twining for Callum’s throat. Callum didn’t flinch as his flame met smoke, each amplifying between them, eating the air until it stung to breathe.
Ronan moved into the heart of it. “You think you know me?” he said softly, deadly. “You’ve seen fragments. Pieces of a monster you can’t even begin to understand.”
The fire in Callum’s hand surged higher, brushing close enough to sear the edge of Ronan’s coat. “Then enlighten me,” he said. “Because all I see is a coward.”
Vapor constricted, answering the insult for him, winding tighter around Callum’s neck until his flame flared white-hot in response.
And for a heartbeat, the forest burned and choked at once.
Until the wind shifted and Ronan exhaled, the smoke breaking apart like ash.
“You might have everyone else fooled right now, but one day your secrets will bleed through that fire of yours. And when they do,” he leaned in, the shroud winding up his own throat, “I might be the only savior you have left.” Ronan stepped back, cutting through the haze with a breath that sounded too close to a laugh.
“Pray I’m still on your side when that day comes.
” He brushed past him, but he didn’t get far.
Callum loomed behind him, still as stone.
The man’s fire had dimmed to embers, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides as he exhaled slow and unsteady, like it had been caged too long.
Still shaking, Callum’s hand dragged over his chest as if to calm the heart pounding there. Then he straightened his spine again, pride stitching the cracks before they could bleed.
By the time the light of the campfire reached through the trees, Ronan could already hear Verena’s voice cutting through. The kind of sound that found him, no matter how far he ran. The others were gathered close, the scent of smoke and strain clinging to them.
Verena was the first to look up, her gaze finding him easily. “You look like hel.”
“Good,” he grumbled as he passed. “Maybe I’ll blend in.”
Her eyes flicked past him, searching. “Where’s Callum?”
“He’s fine.” He turned back, watching her, the way she didn’t realize she was withholding breath, the way her brow arched at the edge of what was unsaid.
“Fine,” she echoed. “That’s a convenient word for men like you.”
His eyes narrowed, a trace of smoke dancing between his fingers. “And what kind of man am I, exactly?”
“The kind that smiles after starting a fire,” she said, finally noticing Callum.
He slipped by everyone, looking at Elva once, where she sat with Inessa and Nezra, before he dipped behind a tent flap.
Ronan almost laughed, but he felt her pulse jump, traitorously loud. Despite it, he said, “Better than the kind who enjoys watching it burn.”
He knew she had felt Callum’s fury through whatever bond he still shared with her. She didn’t have to hear the words exchanged to know Ronan had rattled him.
The fire crackled low, all spit and ember, no warmth reaching them.
“Ooh, do I get credit for the entire argument between you two just now, or are you saving some blame for yourself?” Shadows wove over the hollow of her throat, over the line of her jaw.
“I’m saying you tend to be at the center of things when they get combative.”
She let out a short, disbelieving laugh and folded her arms across her chest. “Are you always this insufferable, or do you just have a special thing for me?”
He lifted the arrowhead from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers, the white gilding in flashes from the flames, before finally answering, “Just you.” After a beat he looked at her. “Everyone else I burn before they have the chance to complain.”
Her brows lifted. “There’s that efficiency again.”
Ronan smiled. “I’m merciful, remember?”
“Right,” she murmured, looking back to where everyone began to disperse, collecting their satchels and packing up the tents. “I keep forgetting you have such a kind soul.”
“Hardly.” His stare lingered a moment too long. On her lips, her neck, the pulse fluttering there. ‘But I’m trying to improve.”
“Oh?” she scoffed. “Now we’re noble, are we?”
“Noble’s a stretch,” he said, giving her a swift wink.
The twitch in her jaw was worth the effort; she hated that he’d unsettled her with a gesture as small as that. “Oh phew, I’d hate to be so unimpressed by the wrong thing.”
“Something tells me nobility isn’t what inspires you anyway.” His words came out rough, dragged from his chest instead of chosen.
Smiling, she lifted her chin, taking a step closer. “You’d never survive what influences me.”
He leaned in, close enough for the space between them to feel smaller than it should. “I was made to survive worse than you can imagine, love.”
The way she looked at Ronan was damning itself, her full lips curving, until the point in her teeth shone as bright as her eyes.
As though she’d already memorized all the ways she was going to ruin him.