Marked

Chapter 9

RYN POV

“He’s heavier than he looks,” Teryn muttered, cinching the last knot on the makeshift skid we’d fashioned from pine limbs and a length of rope pulled from her satchel. “Figures.”

I stood over him, watching his chest rise and fall in slow, even rhythm. The enchanted powder she’d sprinkled just beneath his nose had worked quickly—rendering him limp within seconds and likely to stay that way for the next few hours.

Long enough to get him out of the open. Hopefully.

Before loading him onto the skid, we stripped away his weapons. His sword—obsidian-hilted, polished but worn—was heavier than it looked. We set it aside and began undoing the straps of his chest guard, stiff with dried blood and mud.

That’s when I saw it. The mark.

Black. Sharp. Shaped like a flame, curling up and out from just beneath his collarbone and stretching toward his heart.

It shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Teryn sucked in a breath beside me.

“Well,” she said, voice flat. “That settles it.”

I looked up. “You recognize it?”

“I’d recognize that anywhere. That’s the Shadowmark.”

I stared at the shape, now knowing the truth. “So he’s…”

Teryn nodded once.

“The King’s Shadow Hunter.”

We moved in silence for a while after that.

He lay unmoving on the skid, tied at the ankles and wrists, the mark now hidden beneath a cloak thrown over his chest. We took turns hauling the weight—two miles of uneven forest floor, branches dragging, sweat slick on our backs.

For the first stretch, Teryn took the lead, pulling him over roots and rocks while I followed behind, watching for any twitch, any sign that the powder might be wearing off. There were none.

“He’s hunted us for years,” she said as we walked. Her voice was low, tight. “Not just rebels—leaders. Smugglers. Families who offered shelter. He doesn’t miss. Doesn’t hesitate.”

She paused to step over a root, breath heavy.

“I’ve lost three friends to him. One was seventeen. He didn’t even flinch when he slit her throat.”

I glanced down at the unconscious male. Still unmoving. Still silent. He didn’t look like a monster. But I’d learned long ago that monsters didn’t always look the part.

Teryn didn’t speak again for a while. Just kept walking, one hand steady on the branch that pulled his weight, her boots crunching softly over the earth. The forest had gone quiet around us again, but this silence felt heavier. Not the tension of being watched.

The grief of memory.

“She was only seventeen,” Teryn said finally, voice flat, but edged with something sharp. “Barely more than a child. Her name was Caleira.”

I stayed quiet. Teryn didn’t look back at me. Just kept pulling.

“She wasn’t a fighter. Not even part of the Veil. Just… the wrong place, the wrong time. Her older brother was a healer. He’d been gifted with water magic. Quiet type. Kind. Not one for rebellion. He just wanted to help.”

She adjusted her grip on the ropes.

“He saved a female once. Pulled her back from the edge after the king’s soldiers left her for dead on the edge of a village. Caleira helped him treat her. Just passed him herbs. Held her steady when he closed the wound.”

I felt my stomach twist.

“What happened?” I asked, already knowing.

Teryn’s jaw tightened. “He got out. Fled across the border. Made it to safety. She stayed behind. Thought no one knew.”

She glanced over her shoulder, and I saw the fire banked behind her eyes.

“Three days later, he found her. The Shadow Hunter. Tracked her down like an animal.”

I looked down at the male dragged behind us. The scars. The strength. The mark. And now, a name soaked in blood.

“She didn’t resist,” Teryn went on, quieter now. “Didn’t run. Begged him not to do it. She told him she didn’t have magic. That she hadn’t cast a single spell. She wasn’t lying.”

Her voice broke a little, just at the edge. Almost too quiet to hear.

“He slit her throat anyway.”

Silence stretched long between us. Only the rustle of leaves beneath our steps and the quiet drag of his weight behind us. I didn’t know what to say.

Didn’t know how to reconcile the peaceful expression on the face of the unconscious male behind us… with the blade that had taken a child’s life.

So I said nothing. And we kept walking.

By the time the trees thinned and the outline of the safehouse came into view, my arms were aching and my legs were numb.

Teryn had taken the worst of the weight, but the dragging, the caution, the steady pull of rope and wood and silence—it had worn on both of us. Still, the male remained unconscious. The enchanted powder had done its job.

He hadn’t so much as flinched.

The safehouse was tucked into a rocky hillside, mostly hidden by vines and old stone. It didn’t look like much—just a weathered structure with moss-streaked walls and a broken chimney.

But as we stepped through the rusted gate and hauled the skid toward the entrance, I felt it. The faint buzz of wards. Protection. Power.

Teryn reached into her pack and drew out a small, rune-marked medallion, pressing it to the iron door. There was a soft hum, followed by a click, and the door creaked open on old, reinforced hinges.

Inside, the air was cool and dry.

The interior looked stripped, almost abandoned—just a few crates, some makeshift furniture, and a layer of dust on the floors. But there was more beneath.

Teryn led the way to a trapdoor in the far corner, hidden beneath a warped rug and a crate marked with rotted wine symbols. She heaved it open. The stairs beneath led down into the dark.

Thick stone walls, narrow passages, torch sconces along the walls. As we descended, she spoke quietly behind me.

“This used to be one of the king’s outposts,” she said. “Back when his army still patrolled this region heavily. They built it to last—fortified, reinforced, hidden. When they pulled back years ago, the Veil took it.”

She paused as we reached the landing.

“Now we use it for fugitives. Those on the run who need somewhere to vanish. Sometimes rebels pass through on missions.”

She turned to look at me.

“Sometimes we use it for prisoners.”

We brought him to the farthest room. It had no windows. No vents. Just stone and steel and the soft flicker of torchlight dancing across the floor.

We laid him on the old cot in the center, chained him to the stone wall with iron manacles. He didn’t stir. Still under. Teryn lit one of the wall torches and stepped back, exhaling hard.

“We’ll question him when he wakes.”

Her voice was colder now. Sharper.

“If he is who I think he is… we may not get many answers. But we’ll try.”

I stared down at him—this ghost, this weapon, this story wrapped in scars and silence.

And wondered what, exactly, we had just dragged into the heart of the rebellion.

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RIV POV

The first thing I registered was the cold. The second was the weight. Metal. Around my wrists. Anchored to the wall behind me.

The air was still, the silence near-perfect—but not absolute. A faint crackle of fire came from somewhere beyond the heavy wooden door in front of me, a sliver of warm light spilling in through the barred window at the top.

My head ached. A low, dull pulse at the base of my skull. Blunt force. Not fatal. Someone got close enough to drop me.

Smart.

I pushed myself upright with a hiss, the chains clinking softly as I shifted. Whoever had locked me down knew what they were doing. The restraints weren’t just for show—they were reinforced, threaded through the stone. I flexed my wrists experimentally. No give.

I took in the room. Bare stone walls. No windows. No weapons in sight. A cot, dusty and empty under me, likely where they’d dropped me before chaining me upright. No torches in the room—just that thin spill of flickering light from outside.

Not a dungeon. Not a prison. Something older. Repurposed. Bootsteps moved just beyond the door. Light, but purposeful. And then a voice. Female. Guarded. Sharp.

“You’re awake.”

I looked toward the door, stepping forward enough to let the chains rattle just a little. Nothing aggressive. Just loud enough to say I’m not broken yet.

“Who are you?” I asked, my voice rough from disuse.

There was a pause.

Then her answer came, dry as flint.

“Funny. I was about to ask you the same thing.”

I smiled. Just a little. That irritated edge in her voice was familiar. Predictable. Easier to hold onto than the unknown of where I was or who else might be listening.

“Well,” I said, settling back against the stone, “Considering you took my armor, I imagine you’ve already seen the mark. You know exactly who I am.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Then: “Name.”

One word. Commanding. I smirked again, tilting my head toward the door.

“That’s reserved for a very select few.”

She didn’t respond. But I could feel her annoyance through the door. Like sunlight through stone. And despite the ache in my head and the drag of iron around my wrists… I found myself looking forward to this game.

I didn’t expect the door to open. But it did. A creak of old hinges. A wash of firelight. And her—stepping into the room like she owned it, even if every part of her body was wound tight enough to snap.

Cloak pushed back over her shoulders. Sword belted at her side. Boots silent against the stone. She stopped just short of the torch’s reach, far enough to stay well outside the range of the chains.

Smart, again. I liked her already. She watched me for a long moment, arms crossed. Not appraising. Studying.

“Let’s try this again,” she said, voice steady. “Your name.”

I gave her a slow look from boots to brow.

She was shorter than I’d expected. Sun-touched skin. Green eyes like wild forest shadow. And that hair—copper in the firelight, tied back but half-loose from the road. Her face was too serious for someone so young, but there was steel in the way she held herself.

Familiar steel. The kind that’s earned, not inherited.

“I assume you already know my title,” I said, tilting my head toward the dark mark I knew was still visible at the edge of my collar. “If not, let me save you the trouble. You’ve just captured the Shadow Hunter.”

“Not what I asked.”

Her tone didn’t shift. But her hand hovered a little closer to her hilt now. Good instincts.

I shrugged, the chains groaning slightly with the motion. “Names are powerful things. I don’t give mine to people I don’t trust.”

She stepped a little closer. Just one pace.

“Then you’d better get used to silence,” she said, “because you won’t be leaving until I know who I’m dealing with.”

I smiled again. Wider this time. And slower. Because her anger? That simmer under the surface? That was interesting. That meant there was something personal behind this.

“I’m already used to silence,” I said quietly. “Been living with it a long time.”

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move. But the tension in the room curled tighter.

“Fine,” she said after a beat. “You don’t want to give your name? I’ll give you one.”

I arched a brow. She stepped forward one more inch, still outside my reach, her voice low and cold.

“Murderer.”

Murderer. The word didn’t surprise me. I’d heard it before—spat from the lips of soldiers, whispered by rebels, screamed by grieving parents. It had lost its sting a long time ago.

Or at least, I thought it had.

But hearing it now, from her…

Something flickered beneath the surface. Tightened. Not guilt. Not regret. Just… a sting. A pressure in my chest I hadn’t expected. I didn’t let it show.

I just raised a brow, tilting my head slightly, like she’d commented on the weather.

“I’ve been called worse.”

I shrugged against the weight of the chains, metal groaning softly against stone. Her jaw flexed.

“And besides,” I added, gaze steady on hers, “if you think that word’s going to break me, you’ll be disappointed.”

She didn’t answer right away. Didn’t flinch. But something shifted in her expression—just a shade of discomfort, like she wasn’t entirely sure what she wanted from this conversation.

Or from me. Then she crossed her arms again and gave a slow, deliberate nod.

“I’m not sure what we’re doing with you yet,” she admitted. “But I do know I’ll be getting answers out of you.”

I smiled at that—a slow, crooked thing that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Of course you will.”

I leaned back against the wall.

“As soon as you decide the right questions to ask.”