CHAPTER 4
Cian stumbled as he was dragged into the lit clearing, the sudden brightness stabbing into his skull. The hood helped, but only barely. His head still throbbed from yesterday’s drinking, the lingering hangover clamped around him like a vise.
The music died first. Then the laughter. Then the whispers began, spreading like ripples across a still pond.
He kept his head down, but he could feel the eyes on him—dozens of them, sharp and suspicious. The Diwaller were not known for their hospitality toward humans, especially not shackled ones.
Movement flickered at the edge of his vision. Someone stepped forward from the crowd, just out of sight. The blonde elf, the one who had led them here, handed a missive to an older woman who radiated authority.
Yesterday, he had been vomiting against a tree, barely conscious, when the knights of Talcana surrounded him.
He tried to put up a fight, but there were too many of them, and he had not been himself.
Today, he was shackled, his magic sealed by a rune etched into the iron.
His wrists burned where the metal rubbed raw skin.
He had no wish to be in this situation. No desire to be anywhere near the Diwaller. But when he saw the knights cross the boundary stones, he knew the Diwaller scouts would find them.It was only a matter of time.
Arrows had appeared from the shadows not even ten minutes later, aimed at the knights. A tall elf with golden hair had stood in the clearing, arms crossed over a fine white tunic, no weapon in sight.
Cocky arsehole.
Cian had almost laughed. Almost.
Now, as the older woman dismissed the crowd and ordered her people to feed the knights, Cian was dragged toward the banquet table. His guard shoved him to the base of an oak tree and left him there like old baggage.
He tried to adjust himself, but the iron bit into his skin and the knotty bark dug into his back. He glanced down. Dried blood stained his knuckles and his leather tunic. He had not had time to wash before the shackles went on.
Another reminder of the terrible things he had done.
He needed to escape. Soon. Before they returned to Talcana. Before his fate could be decided.
The question was how. The captain held the only key, and the bastard had already taken Cian’s gold and thrown his food to the men. It was probably already being digested, or steaming on the forest floor in a pile of shit somewhere.
His personal guard tossed a plate at his feet. Table scraps, fatty venison, nearly bare grape stems, and a sad sliver of cheese.
Cian sighed and reached up, pulling his hood down. The back of his neck prickled.
Someone was watching him. He lifted his gaze.
And froze.
Hazel eyes stared back at him. Eyes flecked with orange embers. Eyes that had haunted him for years.
A lithe elf woman with dark hair and a subtle smattering of freckles across her nose stood at the table, dressed in an ethereal gown that pooled softly around her. She stared at him with a look that suggested recognition.
Fucking hell.
???
It was absurd. Impossible. Just a trick of the mind.
There was no way she could know this man.
Faelith prayed silently and desperately while lying in bed, staring at the vaulted ceiling and desiring tonight’s rest to be peaceful.
That the dreams would stay away.
But peace would not come.
Memories crept in, sharp and merciless. Fire. Smoke. Screams. Her childhood home burned around her. She was a child again, hiding behind a cart, trembling.
Then the wolf stalked from the shadows, massive and dark, silver eyes glowing and reflecting the embers.
Before she could reach her hand toward it, pain exploded across her scalp as someone grabbed her by the hair. A knight towered above her, armor gleaming in the firelight.
He dragged her out and threw her to the ground.
Her head struck a stone embedded in the dirt.
Warm liquid trickled down her face.
The knight loomed over her, sword raised high.
She couldn't move. She couldn't see his face.
The last thing she saw was the blade coming down on top of her.
Faelith woke a few hours before dawn, the memory still vivid. She dressed quickly, pulled on her traveling gear, and secured her sword and dagger at her hip. She made her way down the steps toward the kitchens to grab rations for the road and a special treat.
The knights already had their horses fed and watered.
Faelith would need a mount of her own. She walked into the stables.
A beautiful white mare threw its head in greeting and nickered when she saw Faelith.
With an apple wedge waiting in her palm, Faelith greeted Lleuad with a bright smile.
She gave the horse the treat and petted the mare’s muzzle.
“Are you ready for a ride, geneth?”
With the horse’s nod of approval, Faelith set to work tacking Lleuad.
The humans were gathering, their armor clinking softly in the morning gloom as Faelith trotted up to them. Her own men were already assembled and prepared to leave; boredom etched across their faces as they waited for the knights to catch up.
The prisoner stood apart, shackled and silent, his eyes fixed on the ground.
The captain barked orders, and the eight knights mounted their horses.
Faelith and the party departed Mist Haven, with Cian walking behind.
She shifted in her saddle to look back at her home one last time and saw Rena standing in the clearing.
Faelith lifted her hand in farewell. Her mother returned the gesture.
Faelith turned back to face the road ahead and reached up to wipe away a tear that threatened to fall.
The captain led the procession down a narrow animal trail. Faelith followed second with her men, and the knights filled the back ranks with the captive. The sun was slowly rising, burning off the fog and dew that still lingered.
The journey to the capital would take three days, and although it was not common, the roads between Mist Haven and Talcana could be fraught with danger.
Bandits or shadowy inhabitants of the forest could be lying in wait. It was best to keep moving until they found a shelter where they could fortify for the night.
Mist Haven’s familiar trees gave way to denser growth, where the trunks rose like pillars, and the canopy knitted itself into a vaulted ceiling of shadowed green. The air still held the bite of night, cool enough that Faelith’s breath fogged faintly as she rode.
Lleuad’s hooves made almost no sound on the damp earth, but the knights behind her were less subtle. Armor shifted, leather creaked, and the occasional clink of chainmail broke the hush.
Faelith kept her gaze forward, though she felt the weight of the prisoner’s presence like a stone lodged between her shoulder blades. Cian walked with a steady, unhurried pace, his shackles whispering with each step. He did not stumble, nor did he complain or lift his head.
Yet there was a persistent sense that something simmered beneath his apparent calm, something poised and dangerous, waiting. She could not name the impression, but it pressed into her awareness.
A coiled energy beneath the surface, ready to unspool at the slightest provocation.
A jay screeched overhead, startling one of the younger knights. Faelith’s men snickered under their breath, their earlier boredom fading as the forest thickened.
Even they could feel it now. The shift in the air. The way the underbrush seemed to catch its breath.
“Eyes sharp,” the captain called, voice subdued but firm. “This stretch is known for trouble.”
Faelith nodded, though she already knew. Stories of travelers vanishing. Camps found abandoned, horses missing, belongings scattered as if dropped mid-flight. Some blamed bandits. Others whispered of things older than men or elves, creatures that moved between the trees like shadows.
Lleuad flicked an ear, showing her unease.
Faelith reached down, stroking her fingers along the mare’s neck. “Meddalu, eneth. Meddalu.” She whispered calmly.
But even as she said it, the fog ahead started thickening again, curling low around the roots and stones. The sun struggled to break through the canopy, its light fractured into pale shards.
One of her men, Ryn, rode up beside her. “My lady,” he murmured, “we should find a clearing before dusk. If we’re forced to camp in this brush, we’ll be blind.”
“We keep moving,” Faelith replied. “We will make camp once we reach the river crossing.”
He nodded, though worry pinched his brow.
Behind them, Cian finally lifted his head.
Faelith caught the movement from the corner of her eye. His gaze wasn’t on her or the knights. It was fixed on the forest itself, watchful and alert, as though he recognized something in the shifting shadows.
A faint shiver traced her spine.
Whatever the man sensed, she suspected it wasn’t good.
Night fell swiftly, shadows thickening and pressing in from all sides. After a full day of riding, exhaustion settled over the group.
Even the knights slumped in their saddles.
Faelith’s shoulders ached, and her legs felt stiff, but it was the unnatural quiet that unnerved her most. The ancient trees arched overhead like the ribs of a long-dead beast. No birds called.
No insects hummed. Not even the wind stirred this abandoned stretch.
Lleuad tossed her head, ears flicking back.
Faelith calmed her with a touch, hiding her own unease.
The captain pointed toward a crumbling silhouette perched on the cliff’s edge, a ruin half swallowed by vines and time. “We’ll shelter there for the night,” he declared.
His voice carried the confidence of a man who believed decisiveness alone could ward off danger. Faelith wasn’t convinced. They should have reached the river by now, which meant they were already hours behind schedule.
The structure radiated an old, abandoned energy, the kind that murmured of tragedies long past and lingering spirits. But the horses were exhausted, and the trail ahead wound precariously along the cliffs overlooking Lake Embers. Pushing on in the dark would be foolish.