Marked

Chapter 4

Ryn POV

It’s been a few days since the fight.

My bruises have faded, the soreness worked out of my limbs from long shifts and harder training. No one questions my presence anymore. They nod when I pass. Hand me supplies when I ask. I’m not one of them yet—not really—but I’m no longer an outsider either.

And more importantly, they’ve started to talk. I’ve learned more about the Veil in these few days than I thought I’d ever know. It’s not just this cave. Not just Thalen and his unit. It’s bigger. Older.

A network spread across the entire realm under the king’s rule. Each unit has its own leadership, its own mission, its own risks. Thalen’s just one piece—trusted, respected—but not at the top.

There are others. Whispers of hidden generals. Silent couriers. Oracles that send word between flames and shadows. A rebellion threaded through the bones of Nythral like veins in marble.

It’s… vast. And growing.

I ask Teryn once, while sorting through crates of dried meat and salves. “Why here? Why stay in Nythral if it’s the most dangerous place to be?”

She snorts softly. “Because this is where it’s worst. And if we can move through the rot here, we can move anywhere.”

She tells me our unit’s job is to smuggle supplies east, across the border into one of the lesser-guarded kingdoms still under the king’s reign. Other units can’t operate so close to the capital. The scrutiny’s too high. The soldiers too cruel.

But us? We’re the risk-takers. The desperate ones.

The ones who go out in the dead of night to ferry salves to resistance cells, sneak spell scrolls to hidden wielders, and find fugitives before the king’s dogs do.

It’s dangerous and relentless, but it’s also more meaningful than anything I’ve done in years. Because for once, I’m not just running from something. I’m running toward something.

The summons comes just after the evening meal.

A runner—barely more than a boy—appears at the entrance to my alcove and says, “Thalen wants you.”

I pull on my boots, sling my satchel over my shoulder, and make my way to the command tent. Thalen is already inside, arms braced on the table, studying a map pinned with colored stones and scribbled notes. Teryn stands beside him, arms crossed, eyes flicking up when I enter.

“Close the flap,” Thalen says.

I do. Then I wait.

He doesn’t look up, just taps a spot on the map. “There’s a village here, about twelve miles north. Small. Quiet. Mostly Fae farmers. One healer with a habit of looking the other way when fugitives pass through.”

He finally lifts his gaze to meet mine.

“She also runs a safehouse. One of ours.”

Teryn speaks next. “She needs supplies. Enchanted salves, dried herbs, healing dust. Things that aren’t easy to come by outside of Veil protection.”

“And you want me to take them,” I say.

“You’ll go with me,” Teryn corrects. “But yes.”

I nod once. “When do we leave?”

Thalen straightens. “Be ready within the hour.”

It’s not just a delivery. It’s a test. One to prove that I’m not just useful in a fight—but that I can be trusted when it matters most.

Smuggling enchanted goods. Navigating open villages. Protecting a rebel healer hidden under the king’s nose. It’s the kind of mission that could cost you your head. And I say yes without hesitation.

We leave before the others wake.

The caverns are silent, lit only by the blue glow of enchanted moss and the faint flicker of torchlight. Teryn walks ahead, pack slung over one shoulder, her boots making almost no sound on the stone.

She doesn’t speak until we reach the surface tunnel—the one that leads to the hidden door carved into a cliffside miles from the ruined temple.

“Once we’re above ground, we speak only if necessary,” she says. “Keep your cloak up. Keep your hands close.”

I nod, tightening my grip on the strap of my satchel. The air grows thinner the higher we climb. Cool, fresh, with the faint bite of pine and loam. It’s the scent of freedom—and danger.

The forest greets us with quiet. The kind of quiet that isn’t peaceful. Just expectant.

Teryn sets a brisk pace. We travel light, with two small packs: one for supplies, the other for weapons and emergency enchantments. The salves are wrapped in thick cloth, layered with sound-dampening spells to prevent magical signature leakage. I’m the one carrying them.

Every crunch of leaf beneath my boots feels too loud. Every birdcall feels suspicious.

We pass abandoned shrines, half-buried boundary stones, and a watchtower swallowed by ivy and silence. I don’t ask what happened to the soldiers once stationed there. I already know.

By midday, we’ve put nearly ten miles between ourselves and the Veil. Teryn only stops once—to refill our water skins at a stream. I watch her kneel, movements careful, deliberate.

“You always this quiet?” I ask, crouching beside her.

She glances at me. “Only when I like staying alive.”

Fair enough. We reach the outskirts of the village by late afternoon.

It’s nestled in a hollow beneath a ridge, surrounded by sparse trees and crooked fences. Smoke rises from a few chimneys, and the scent of fresh bread drifts on the wind.

It looks peaceful. But peace is a lie in Nythral. Especially here.

Teryn scans the perimeter and jerks her chin toward a cluster of stone houses near the edge of the woods. “That’s her place. We go in through the back.”

We follow the narrow trail, every instinct sharp, every shadow a possible watcher.

The healer is waiting. But something tells me… so is trouble.

Teryn leads us along a narrow footpath that winds between the outer homes—past a sagging fence, an abandoned well, and a half-burned orchard. No one is outside.

The whole village feels like it’s holding its breath. We slip around the back of the stone house she pointed out earlier. Ivy climbs the walls. A crooked windchime made of carved bone and iron hangs near the back door. Teryn knocks once, then twice fast.

A pause. Then three slow taps. The door creaks open just wide enough for a pale eye to peer through. The locks click, and the door swings open fully.

A female Fae stands in the doorway, tall and slender, her silver hair braided back tight, her sleeves rolled to her elbows. She wears a stained apron, and her hands are inked with healing glyphs that trail up her forearms like vines.

Her face is kind. But her eyes are sharp.

“About time,” she says. “I’ve been out of feverroot for three days. Thought I was going to have to treat the next burn with spit and good intentions.”

Teryn smirks faintly. “Nice to see you too, Selene.”

She steps aside to let us in. “Hurry up. You’re lucky it’s my day for pie. I don’t usually feed smugglers.”

Inside, the house is warm and dimly lit. It smells of dried herbs, smoke, and something sweet cooling on the windowsill. A fire crackles low in the hearth, and jars of salves, tinctures, and dried bundles of plants hang from the ceiling on long strings.

It doesn’t feel like a rebel outpost. It feels like… home.

Selene leads us through the kitchen to a trapdoor beneath a rug. She pulls it open and waves us down. “You can unpack down there. Warded, hidden, and dry—unless the rats chew through the cedar again.”

Teryn goes first. I follow, stepping into a narrow underground room lit with faelight and lined with crates and cots. This is the safehouse. And judging by the bedrolls and the faint scent of steel and sweat, it’s not empty.

Selene drops down behind us, already unbuckling the pack from my shoulders. “How many doses this time?”

“Ten full-strength,” I say. “Three low-flame. Two binding wraps.”

She whistles. “Either someone likes me, or you lot are planning for a bloodbath.”

Teryn says nothing. Neither do I. Because behind that tired smirk, I can see the truth in Selene’s eyes.

She’s scared.

Dinner is simple, but warm—thick vegetable stew, soft bread, and the promised pie, made with dried fruit and drizzled honey. It’s the best food I’ve had in weeks, and I don’t realize how hungry I am until the first bite is in my mouth.

Teryn doesn’t say much while we eat. She never does. But Selene fills the silence easily, moving between her stove and the table, talking as she pours tea and sprinkles dried herbs into mugs.

“Fugitives are passing through faster than ever,” she says, voice low but steady. “I’ve seen more wounded in the last two weeks than I saw in the past two months.”

Teryn glances up. “Raids?”

“Raids. Ambushes. Scouts gone missing. There was a pair of siblings here last week—barely old enough to survive on their own—and they’d been chased for four days straight by Nythral hounds. One of them still had the blood on his skin from watching his mother die.”

My stomach clenches. I lower my spoon.

Selene doesn’t flinch. “That’s the king’s new game, I think. No more subtlety. No more watching from the shadows. He wants us afraid. Wants the people too broken to hope.”

Teryn’s expression hardens. “And yet, you stay.”

Selene shrugs, sliding a mug of tea in front of me. “If I leave, who heals the runners? Who feeds the ones who can’t stand long enough to make it to the next safehouse? You fight with blades. I fight with warmth. That doesn’t make it less important.”

I nod. “It doesn’t.”

Her eyes flick to me, studying.

“You’re new,” she says. “But you already get it.”

Teryn says nothing, but I catch the faintest flicker of approval in her expression. Selene pours the last of the tea and settles across from us.

“You should know,” she says after a pause, “something’s changed recently.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“The air feels… tense. Like something’s watching. I used to feel safe in this village. Now, the quiet feels wrong. Too many strangers passing through. Too many soldiers asking questions and pretending they’re just here for patrol.”

Teryn leans forward. “Did any of them ask about magic?”

Selene nods slowly. “One did. A captain I hadn’t seen before. Pale as moonlight, with armor too fine for backwater patrol. He asked if I’d seen signs of ‘unauthorized magic use.’ Called it that exactly.”

I feel my pulse skip.

Teryn notices. So does Selene.

I keep my voice even. “What did you say?”

“I told him I’d seen nothing. And I gave him a tonic for migraines to make him leave.”

A beat passes. Then Selene adds, “He took it. But he didn’t believe me.”

The warmth of the meal turns cold in my stomach. Because I know what that means. They’re getting closer. And if they’re hunting magic… they’re hunting me.

The knock is sharp. Three heavy raps. Not friendly. Not hesitant.

I freeze, spoon halfway to my mouth, as Selene goes still—completely, unnaturally still. Her expression doesn't change, but something in her eyes flashes: instinct. Fear. Rage.

Then, fast as a snapped bowstring, she’s moving.

“Get up,” she hisses, already clearing the dishes off the table. “Now.”

Teryn’s already on her feet. She grabs my arm and yanks me toward the back hallway.

“Trapdoor,” she murmurs. “Go. Don’t make a sound.”

I don’t argue. My heart is thudding hard enough to drown out the next knock.

Selene follows behind us, moving fast but silent. She grabs a rug from the floor dear the back door and throws it over the trapdoor after we descend. Before she closes it, she leans down.

“Don’t come up unless I say the words: silver dawn.”

Then it slams shut. Darkness swallows us. Teryn doesn’t light a torch. We don’t dare. We crouch in the narrow corridor beneath the healer’s home, backs pressed to the stone wall, barely breathing.

Above us, the door creaks open.

Then a voice. Male. Clipped. Polished.

“Evening, miss. Apologies for the intrusion.”

“Evening, soldier,” Selene replies, voice calm. Measured. “What can I help you with?”

“We’re conducting a sweep. Routine questioning. Have you seen any unfamiliar Fae in the area recently?”

A pause. Then:

“Depends how unfamiliar you mean. I don’t take attendance.”

Polite laughter. Too forced.

“We’ve had reports of illegal magic use nearby. A disturbance. Orders from high up. Very high.”

“I see,” Selene says, voice unchanged. “Well, if I’d seen anything suspicious, I’d have reported it. No magic here. Just poultices and prayers.”

More silence.

Then the soldier speaks again.

“Anyone else in the house?”

My blood goes cold. Selene doesn’t miss a beat.

“No. Just me. I was just about to head to bed. Unless you’d like some tea?”

Another beat.

“No tea necessary. Thank you for your time.”

The door closes.

Teryn exhales beside me, just barely. We wait. Minutes pass like hours.

Finally, the trapdoor creaks. Light spills down.

“Silver dawn,” Selene says.

We climb back into the kitchen, hearts still pounding.

Selene’s face is pale now. Angry.

“They’ll be back,” she says. “And if that soldier reports even the smell of wrongness, the next knock won’t be so polite.”