Chapter 18: Three Days
1202 Words
They returned to camp before dawn.
No one slept after that.
Cassian demanded details.
Lyra demanded more entertaining details.
Corvin demanded tea.
Destiny gave none of them what they wanted.
She sat by the dying fire with the pendant in both hands, replaying every word.
Your mother is alive.
Three words powerful enough to rearrange breath.
Kael stood a short distance away speaking quietly with Cassian, posture rigid, every line of him controlled.
Which meant furious.
At her? At Serah? At the idea of “alone”?
Likely all three.
Lyra dropped beside Destiny wrapped in furs.
“Well,” she said cheerfully, “you continue attracting dramatic women.”
Destiny barely smiled.
“She knew my mother.”
“She might.”
“She had the ring.”
“She did.”
“She had my pendant.”
“She also stole from camp,” Lyra said. “Multitalented.”
Destiny looked at her.
“What do you think?”
Lyra’s expression softened.
“I think truth and traps often wear the same coat.”
Useful.
Annoying.
Royal traits, apparently.
---
Morning brought movement.
Camp was packed within the hour.
They rode north through narrowing mountain trails while snow thickened around them.
Destiny and Kael rode side by side in silence long enough to become its own argument.
Finally she spoke.
“You don’t get to decide for me.”
“I know.”
“Then stop behaving like you do.”
“I’m behaving like someone who recognizes obvious bait.”
“She knew things only family would know.”
“Or things someone tortured out of family.”
Destiny flinched.
He noticed instantly.
His voice lowered.
“I’m sorry.”
She hated how quickly sincerity disarmed her.
“I need this to be real,” she said.
He looked ahead at the trail.
“I know.”
“That doesn’t mean it isn’t.”
“No,” he said quietly. “It means I need to prepare for both outcomes.”
That was fair.
She resented it anyway.
---
By midday they reached an abandoned watchtower overlooking a frozen valley.
Cassian’s scouts searched the perimeter.
Lyra raided old storage barrels and somehow found wine.
Corvin declared everyone reckless and set up lunch.
Destiny climbed the tower stairs alone.
At the top, wind tore through broken stone.
Mountains stretched endless and white.
She heard Kael before she saw him.
“You disappear vertically now.”
“I wanted air.”
“There’s an excess of it.”
He stopped beside her.
For a while they watched the valley below.
Then Destiny said, “What if she’s really alive?”
“Then I’ll be glad.”
She turned sharply.
“You would?”
His brow furrowed.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because… because then I’d leave.”
The words slipped out before she could retrieve them.
Kael went still.
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know.”
Honesty again.
Dangerous thing.
He stepped closer, voice calm but rougher underneath.
“I want you safe.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one that matters first.”
“It’s not the only one that matters to me.”
The wind roared between them.
He understood.
She saw it land.
But before either spoke further, Cassian shouted from below.
“Tracks!”
---
They descended fast.
Scouts had found fresh prints circling the tower.
Not one person.
Many.
Cassian crouched beside them.
“Eight, maybe ten.”
Kael scanned the tree line.
“They’re herding us.”
Lyra drew two blades with visible excitement.
“At last.”
Corvin sighed.
“I hate all of you.”
Then horns sounded from the ridge.
Figures emerged through the snow.
Masked riders.
Black cloaks.
Crossbows raised.
One rider moved to the front carrying a white cloth tied to a spear.
Parley.
Kael stepped forward.
“Speak.”
The rider pulled down his mask.
Destiny’s stomach dropped.
The blond mercenary from the vault.
Alive.
Bruised.
Smiling.
“You really should kill people more thoroughly,” Lyra muttered.
He bowed mockingly.
“My king.”
Kael’s face became winter.
“You escaped twice. Improbable trend.”
The man looked at Destiny.
“My lady heir.”
“I’m going to stab him,” she said.
“Get in line,” Lyra replied.
The mercenary lifted a scroll.
“A message from Lord Marrow.”
Cassian swore.
Kael said nothing.
The man unrolled the parchment and read loudly.
“Deliver the girl by sundown tomorrow, and House Marrow returns the woman taken from the Sanctuary.”
Destiny’s pulse stumbled.
“The woman?”
The mercenary smiled directly at her.
“Your mother.”
Everything inside her froze.
Kael’s voice could have cut stone.
“You’re lying.”
“Possibly,” the man said lightly. “But can you afford certainty?”
He tossed the scroll into the snow.
Then signaled retreat.
The riders wheeled away before arrows could reach them.
Cassian lunged for pursuit.
Kael stopped him with one hand.
“No.”
The camp held its breath.
Destiny picked up the scroll with shaking fingers.
At the bottom was a mark in silver ink.
Crescent and star.
Her mother’s symbol.
Or someone using it.
She looked at Kael.
“What if they have her?”
His jaw clenched.
“What if they don’t?”
“What if they do?”
The question tore out of her.
For the first time since meeting him, Kael had no immediate answer.
That frightened her more than the threat.
---
That night the camp settled under brutal cold.
No one spoke much.
Destiny stood alone beyond the firelight staring at the mountains.
Sundown tomorrow.
Give yourself up.
Maybe save your mother.
Maybe doom everyone.
Footsteps behind her.
Kael.
“You’re thinking of going.”
“You already know that.”
“Yes.”
She turned.
“If it were your family?”
His silence lasted too long.
Then—
“I would burn kingdoms.”
“Not helpful.”
“It was honest.”
She stepped closer, anger and grief tangling together.
“I can’t ignore this.”
“And I can’t hand you to men who hunt bloodlines.”
“Then what do we do?”
He looked at her like the answer cost him.
“We trust me.”
“That is an outrageous suggestion.”
“It’s also the best available one.”
She almost laughed.
Almost cried.
Instead she whispered, “I’m afraid.”
He closed the distance between them.
Slowly enough for refusal.
Close enough for choice.
“So am I,” he said.
Then, with one gloved hand, he touched her cheek.
And kissed her.
Cold air.
Warm mouth.
Shock.
Need.
The world narrowed to one impossible point.
When he pulled back, both were breathing harder.
“That,” Destiny said faintly, “felt manipulative.”
“It was overdue.”
Before she could answer, a scream tore through camp.
They ran.
Lyra stood over an open supply crate, blade in hand.
Inside lay a severed braid of dark hair tied with silver ribbon.
And tucked beneath it—
A note in her mother’s handwriting.
- Writer
