Marked

Chapter 7

RYN POV

We waited longer than we should’ve.

Not because we were afraid—though fear did creep in around the edges—but because something about that voice above us had settled into my bones like cold water seeping into stone. It wasn't the words he said. It was the weight beneath them. The restraint. The danger laced through every syllable, hidden under the polish of civility like a dagger sheathed in silk.

Teryn had her ear pressed to the wall for nearly ten minutes after the front door shut.

“Clear,” she finally murmured.

But even she didn’t sound convinced.

We pushed the trapdoor open with practiced caution, wincing at every groan of old hinges, then slipped back into the kitchen as silently as we’d vanished. The house was still warm, the tea cup on the table still faintly steaming, as if the presence that had just filled this space hadn’t truly left.

I found myself glancing at the floor, at the space where he’d stood. I hadn’t seen him—only heard him—but I couldn’t shake the way my heart had reacted, like it recognized a language my mind didn’t speak yet.

I shook it off. Now wasn’t the time for thoughts like that.

Teryn grabbed her satchel and moved to the back door. She opened it just a sliver, scanning the trees beyond the fence.

“No guards,” she said softly. “They’ve pulled back. Probably camping outside the village.”

“Do we wait till morning?”

She shook her head. “No. They might double back. Or the quiet one might decide to come alone.”

I nodded, already pulling on my cloak. “Then we move.”

We slipped out the door and into the dark, the cool night air brushing against my face like a warning. The moon was only a thin sliver above us, the stars half-hidden by drifting cloud. We kept to the edge of the tree line, feet soundless on damp earth, the house behind us vanishing into the shadows.

We didn’t speak. We didn’t look back. But I could feel it—

Eyes in the dark. Watching. Waiting.

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RIV POV

They emerged from the back of the house just after midnight—two figures, cloaked, swift, and careful.

I almost missed them.

But the wind shifted, just slightly, and I caught the faintest whisper of movement in the trees. It was enough. I slid from the shadows and followed at a distance, silent as breath.

They didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate. They knew the woods. That much was clear.

My eyes adjusted quickly to the dark, as they always did. The trees thinned in places, letting stray beams of starlight cut through the canopy. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

The one in front was tall, confident. A fighter by the way they moved—back straight, boots steady, steps practiced.

The second figure, just behind, moved differently. Lighter. More fluid. Like someone who’d learned to step without sound long before they’d ever picked up a weapon. She caught my attention before I realized why.

Shorter than the other, her cloak clung close to her shoulders and fluttered around her legs like smoke. A few strands of hair had slipped free from her hood—long and dark, but not black. There was a glint of copper when it caught the starlight, the kind of burnished tone you only see in dying embers or sun-warmed wood.

I narrowed my eyes, focusing.

Even from a distance, I could see the angles of her face when she turned. High cheekbones. A sharp jaw. Her skin was fair, smooth, glowing faintly in the low light—marked by the kind of life lived close to the earth, but not untouched by it.

She glanced back once, pausing just briefly. Wide. Alert. Too steady for someone fleeing for their life.

She wasn’t panicked. She was listening. She doesn’t know I’m here. She couldn’t, could she?

There’s something else in the way she moves. Something almost… ancient. Familiar in a way that sets my nerves on edge.

I keep my distance. Thirty paces behind. My footsteps silent. My presence buried. But the forest around her? It feels like it leans in.

And gods help me… so do I.

They moved like shadows for hours. Silent. Focused. Tireless.

I stayed far behind—just close enough to keep them in sight, just far enough not to be seen. They never looked back. Never faltered. Not once. Whoever they were, they’d done this before. Smugglers, maybe. Or rebels. Or something worse.

The forest began to shift with the earliest hints of light—birds stirring in the branches, the breeze changing direction, the scent of dew rising from the moss.

And still they pressed on. Until finally… they stopped.

They settled at the edge of a clearing nestled between two ridges, surrounded by fern and shadow and quiet. The taller one—the fighter—set down a small pack and disappeared briefly into the trees, likely scouting ahead.

Which left the second, smaller figure alone.

I crept forward, just a little. Kept myself behind the thicket, hidden in the brush. And for the first time, I saw her up close in the daylight.

She pulled back her hood, shaking out her hair, and the rising sun lit it up like flame—auburn kissed with copper and gold. It tumbled down her back in loose waves, damp with sweat and morning mist, wild and beautiful in a way that felt… untamed.

Her face was turned slightly toward the fire they were building, the light catching the curve of her cheek, the angle of her jaw.

And her eyes—

Gods.

They were emerald green, vivid and sharp, the kind of green that only grows in wild places—deep forest and sacred groves—and they caught the sun like they’d been built to hold it.

The taller figure returned, breaking my stare at the smaller female.

The auburn haired female smiled at something her companion said, and I caught the smallest sound of her laugh carried on the wind—light, almost hesitant.

And then I saw the freckles. Just a light scatter across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, softened by the firelight, made brighter by the sun.

And the scars. Small. Faint. But there. Along her arms. A pale mark across her knuckles. Another just below her elbow.

She’d fought. She’d bled. And she was still here. I swallowed hard, know I should pull back slightly, though my feet didn’t move.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was real in a way few things in this realm ever were. And I didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her purpose. Didn’t know if I’d have to kill her tomorrow.

But for the first time in years…

I didn’t want to follow someone because the king told me to. I wanted to follow her because something in me already was.

She broke off a piece of bread and handed it to the taller one—her companion—then leaned back on her elbows, tilting her face toward the sun like someone who hadn’t felt warmth in days.

Maybe longer.

I watched her move with the kind of ease that only comes from years of discomfort. The way she flexed her fingers absently between bites, the way she kept her back to the ridgeline so no one could approach from behind.

She was trained, but not by a soldier. This wasn’t drilled into her. It was lived. Survival stitched into every breath, every glance, every bite of food.

She stretched her legs, booted feet crossed at the ankles, and her cloak slipped just enough to expose the faintest glint of a blade hilt at her hip.

I focused on it. Marked the shape. The size. Lighter. Shorter. Probably taken from a safehouse cache. That confirmed it. She had rebel ties.

Her companion said something I couldn’t make out. She smiled again, but this time it didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was the kind of smile worn like armor. And I knew that kind better than most. I should have turned back.

Should have returned to the king with my "lead." Should have written this off as a routine hunt and forced the compulsion back into the shadows of my mind.

But I didn’t move.

I couldn’t. I stayed. Because some part of me already knew—

She was going to change everything.

They’d just finished eating when I noticed it.

A subtle change in the taller one’s gait as she stood. She shifted her weight, favoring one foot over the other. It wasn’t dramatic. Most wouldn’t have caught it. But I did.

A limp.

She turned slightly, and the movement drew the attention of the other female—the one with auburn hair and eyes like storm-washed leaves. She set down her waterskin and stepped closer, speaking quietly, her brow furrowed in concern.

The taller one—older, clearly the protector—brushed it off. Tried to wave her away.

But she didn’t move. She crouched instead. And then she lifted her hand.

Magic.

I felt it before I saw it—barely a ripple, like the breeze before a storm. Then it bloomed in her palm. Soft, clean, silver-blue light. Gentle as water but woven with precision. Controlled. Familiar.

Healing.

I tensed, fingers wrapping around the hilt at my side, heart suddenly too loud in my chest.

Illegal. Unregistered. Unlicensed.

That display alone was enough to sentence her. Her companion, too. Harboring magic wielders carried just as much weight in Nythral. The king didn’t care who cast the spell. Only that someone did.

And yet—

I didn’t move.

She pressed her fingers just above the other female’s boot, where the swelling had begun. I watched, unmoving, as the magic poured from her skin in small, slow pulses—focused, steady, without waste.

Not showy. Not dramatic. Just… effective.

The pain left the older one’s face almost instantly. Her posture eased. The tension in her shoulders loosened.

It was done in seconds. The spell faded like breath into fog.

They spoke again, quietly. Probably arguing about the risk. But the younger one—the healer—wasn’t shaken. If anything, she looked relieved to have helped. There was no fear in her movements. No guilt.

Only purpose. I loosened my grip on the blade. And I stayed in place.

Watching.

Because I’d seen a hundred wielders burn for less.

And I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t bring myself to make this the moment I stepped out of the trees.

Not yet.