CHAPTER 5
Cian remained where he was, watching the lake below. Moonlight rippled across the water, casting him in shifting bands of silver and shadow. Faelith rose and approached him, her voice sharp with fury.
“You knew! This entire time, you knew!”
He didn’t look at her. “I made a calculated assumption, that’s all.”
As an Arcane Knight, he had been trained from childhood to see what others could not. He could read the subtle patterns of arcane energy in the air and sense disturbances long before they took shape. He was trained to use his magic to stop them.
Since that afternoon, he had felt something moving in the shadows behind them.
So, he waited, watching for the moment it would reveal itself. He hadn’t realized it was Changelings until they reached the ruins. But something had felt wrong; the wind, the sudden coldness, the smell of magic in the air.
His explanation did nothing to soothe her. Cian finally met her gaze, taking in the tight crease of her brow and the flecked orange embers of her eyes, darkened now with rage. He saw the punch coming before she even shifted her weight.
With swift reflexes, he caught her wrist mid-swing, turned her with her own momentum, and pinned her arm between his body and her back.
His other arm crossed her front, holding her firmly in place if she tried again.
“You bastard. You let my people die for your own gains.” She fought against him, unyielding, but he was stronger.
Cian tightened his hold, giving her no room to move without hurting herself. Heat radiated from her small frame into him, her fury burning hotter than the fire he had summoned.
“Aye, I did,” he said quietly. “But I saved you, didn’t I? And I saved what’s left of your men.”
Faelith snarled and twisted against him, her breath ragged with anger. For a heartbeat, she looked ready to break bone to free herself.
Then something in her posture faltered. A subtle shift. A crack in the armor of her rage. Beneath it, grief surged like a tide. The bodies of her men lay only a few paces away, one shrouded in shadow, another resting under the still waters of the lake.
“Let me go,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the effort of holding herself together.
Cian released her at once. She stepped away, rubbing her wrist, though the ache there was nothing compared to the storm he saw inside her. Without looking at him, she walked toward the fallen, her steps heavy, her shoulders rigid.
The remaining warriors, hollow-eyed and shaken, stood nearby, waiting for her word. They had lost friends and brothers, and the weight of it hung over them like a shroud.
Faelith knelt beside Talan’s body once more, studying his face as though committing every detail to memory. When she spoke to her men, her voice was barely more than a breath.
“Tend to your wounds. Then we bury them. All of them.”
No one argued. Even Cian, who owed these men nothing, moved to help. The ground near the front of the ruins was soft enough to dig, though the damp earth clung stubbornly to their hands.
They worked in silence, the only sounds the scrape of metal against soil and the distant stirrings of animal life returning to the forest. The moon watched over them, pale and unblinking, bearing witness to their grief.
When the graves were ready, they lowered the bodies one by one. Faelith lingered over Talan’s resting place, placing his sword atop his chest before covering him with earth. She whispered a prayer, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
“May the stars guide you home.”
Her men bowed their heads. Cian stood a short distance away, his expression unreadable, though something flickered in his eyes—regret, or something far more complicated.
By the time the last grave was filled, exhaustion had settled deep into their bones. Faelith’s limbs felt heavy, her breath uneven. She turned toward the ruin, her voice barely above a whisper.
“We rest here tonight.”
They returned to the shattered hall, where the remnants of the fire still smoldered. Cian coaxed the embers back to life, the flames slowly growing until they cast a soft glow across the stone.
Faelith sank to her bedroll near the fire, her cloak wrapped tightly around her. Her men settled nearby, too weary for words. Cian remained awake, sitting with his back against a pillar, his eyes fixed on the shifting shadows beyond the firelight.
Faelith watched him through half-closed eyes. She wanted to hate him. She tried to blame him for everything that had happened. But the truth was tangled and sharp.
He had saved her life. He had saved the remainder of her people. And yet he had known something stalked them and said nothing.
The same question always found its way to the front of her mind: why?
He hesitated for a moment before speaking, his tone softer than before. “Cian. My name is Cian,” he said, still not meeting her gaze, but allowing a note of vulnerability to seep into his words.
It was a small gesture of trust offered in the uncertain quiet. Though his uncanny ability to know when she stared unsettled her.
“Faelith,” she replied, turning away from him.
Her thoughts twisted in circles. Maybe if she kept going over the possible reasons, she would stumble upon the truth. Exhaustion finally dragged her under. The only one who could tell her was the knight accused of murder.
The dream came as it always did.
Her childhood home was engulfed in flames, the heat blistering her skin. Smoke choked the air, thick and suffocating. She ran through burning halls, calling for her parents, for anyone, but the roar of the fire swallowed her voice.
The walls groaned and collapsed, sparks flying like fireflies. In an instant she was behind that damned cart again, and she saw it: the black wolf.
Its silver eyes glowed through the smoke, unblinking, watching her with an intensity that rooted her in place. Its fur shimmered like a living shadow. It didn’t move or snarl. It simply watched as the knight appeared again to drag her out of her hiding spot.
Faelith reached out, her hand trembling, but the wolf vanished in a burst of smoke. The sword came crashing down.
She awoke with a jolt.
Cold morning air filled her lungs, sharp and biting. The fire had burned low, its embers dim. Her men were still asleep, their breaths slow and steady. But Cian was awake.
He sat just a few feet away, posture relaxed yet alert, his eyes fixed on her with a calm intensity that prickled her skin.
“You were dreaming,” he said softly.
Faelith pushed herself upright, brushing hair from her face. “I always dream.”
“Do your dreams always end in nightmares, then?”
She stiffened. “How—?”
“You cried out,” he said.
Her heart skipped. She looked away, staring into the dying embers. “It’s nothing. I dreamt I saw a wolf.”
Cian didn’t press, but she felt his gaze linger on her, as though he could see through the cracks she tried so hard to hide. She rose to her feet, brushing dirt from her cloak.
“We should get moving. The sooner we leave this place, the better.”
Her men stirred awake, groaning softly as they rose. They gathered their supplies in silence, their movements weary. The ruin felt warmer in the morning light, its long shadows retreating from the rising sun.
Faelith avoided looking at the graves as she passed, though she felt their presence like a weight pressing against her chest.
Cian barely slept. He had kept watch most of the night, the least he could do after the stunt he’d pulled. He wasn’t above doing whatever was necessary to secure his freedom, but the grief he felt radiating from her had shaken him more than he cared to admit.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He remembered watching the forest ahead of him, listening for anything that might creep close.
It couldn’t have been for long, not long enough for his own demons to find him. But he woke to the sound of a soft cry behind him, dagger already in hand before his eyes had fully adjusted to the low glow of the dying fire.
Wrapped in her cloak, Faelith tossed and turned as though running from something in her dreams. Her features shifted from fear to terror, shadows sliding across her face.
He knew that look well enough.
Dreams that weren’t dreams at all. Ghosts with teeth. Memories that’d sooner gut you than let you rest.
He had to fight the urge to go to her, to brush the back of his finger across her furrowed brow. He could feel the absence of her against him, the memory of her warmth lingering where he’d held her.
Fool of a man, he thought, jaw tightening. You’ve no business wanting what is never yours to hold.
Cian tore his gaze away only when she rose and shook the dirt from her clothes. The fire sputtered weakly beside him, its warmth fading as morning crept in. He pushed himself to his feet and rolled the stiffness from his shoulders.
His muscles ached from last night’s fight. But the ache that lingered deepest was the one he couldn’t name, the one that had settled in his chest when he’d watched her cry out in her sleep, reaching for something she could never grasp.
He busied himself with gathering what little remained of their supplies and his gold coins.
He checked the straps on the saddlebags and tightened the cinch on the horses.
The motions were familiar and grounding.
Necessary. Anything to keep his thoughts from drifting back to the way she had trembled in his arms, fury and grief tangled so tightly he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.
By the time Faelith’s men stirred fully awake, the sun had risen enough to send long beams of light through the broken walls of the ruin. They moved slowly, their faces drawn, their eyes hollow. The weight of the night clung to them like a second skin.
Faelith joined them a moment later, her expression composed but pale, her movements stiff with exhaustion. She didn’t look at Cian as she approached the horses, but he felt her presence like a shift in the air.
“We ride until midday,” she said, her voice steady despite the rasp of sleep. “We need distance between us and this place.”
Her men nodded, though none looked eager to mount up. The ruin behind them seemed to watch in silence, its jagged stones catching the morning light like broken teeth. Faelith paused once, her gaze drifting toward the fresh graves.
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t linger. She turned away before the grief could take root again.
Cian found his sword among the remnants and lashed it to the saddle of a spare horse, a mild-tempered gelding who took his weight without complaint.
Once mounted, he drifted to the back of the line, where no one would look too closely at him or the thoughts chewing through him.He’d see them to the city gates.
Not one step more. A clean break, a clean road.
After that, he’d be gone. He told himself he’d find a boat, any boat, and let the sea carry him off the edge of the world if that was where it led. He’d sell his sword arm again, drink himself senseless, lose himself in warm beds and colder mornings.
He’d done it before. He could do it again.
But the lie sat heavy in his chest. He knew well enough the memories would follow, same as they always had—quiet at first, then sharp as a blade pressed to the ribs. There was no outrunning what waited for him in the dark.
Still, he clung to the story. A man needed some kind of promise to walk forward, even if it was only smoke.
No one spoke as they left the ruins. The forest greeted them with a cautious quiet, as though unsure whether it was safe to breathe again. Birds called from the treetops, tentative at first, then louder as the sun climbed higher.
The world felt alive once more, but the memory of the Changelings lingered like a curse on the backs of the survivors.
They rode for hours, the trail winding through dense underbrush and towering pines.
Faelith kept to the front, her posture rigid, her eyes fixed on the path ahead.
Her men followed close behind, their eyes darting to every tree and rock, their hands never far from their weapons.
Cian brought up the rear, his senses stretched thin, scanning the shadows for any sign of danger.
After last night, it wouldn’t balance the scales, but he’d try to make amends in the only way left to him.
The morning passed without incident. The sun warmed the earth, evaporating the dew that clung stubbornly to the ground. The scent of damp soil filled the air, mingling with the distant sound of rushing water.
It grew louder with each passing minute until the trees parted to reveal a wide river cutting through the landscape like a silver blade.
Faelith slowed her horse, letting Lleuad drink from the shallows. Her men dismounted, stretching stiff limbs and splashing cold water on their faces. The river was clear and fast-moving, its surface glittering in the sunlight.
It felt like a different world entirely—clean, bright, untouched by the horrors of the night before.
Cian remained mounted for a moment, watching the water with a distant expression. The river’s steady rush seemed to pull at something inside him, something he wasn’t ready to remember.
If only he could drown himself in ale, or at the very least in the river’s cold water.
Eventually, he dismounted and led his horse to drink. He plunged his hands into the current, washing off the layered dirt and blood, grounding himself in the present.
Faelith approached him then, though she kept a careful distance. Her eyes were still shadowed, but the fury from the night before had cooled into something quieter and sharper.
“We’ll rest here for a short while,” she said. “Then continue west, following the river to Talcana.”
Cian nodded. “As you like,” he said, the words carrying a soft lilt.
Her jaw tightened at the phrase, but she didn’t rise to it. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the river, watching the water rush over smooth stones. For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence between them was heavy, not hostile—more like a wound still too fresh to touch.
Faelith exhaled, her breath trembling slightly. “My people trusted me,” she said, her voice muted. “They followed me. And now they’re gone.”
Cian didn’t look at her, but his voice held steady. “They knew well what they were walking into,” he said, low and sure. “They died fighting. There are worse ways to go.”
“That’s not a comfort.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
She shot him a sharp look, but he didn’t flinch. He met her gaze evenly, his expression unreadable.
For a moment, she looked as though she might argue, might unleash the storm simmering beneath her skin. But she turned away instead, her shoulders sagging.
Cian watched her as she walked off, sunlight catching in her hair and turning it to warm chestnut. He felt the familiar tug in his chest, the one he tried hard to ignore.
The one that made him want to step closer and say something that might ease the weight she carried. But he stayed where he was, hands braced on the saddle, jaw tight.
Why had he stayed?