Marked

Chapter 17

RYN POV

We’d been walking for over an hour, the dense forest swallowing the sound of our footsteps and the chill of night wrapping around us like a second skin.

I kept the rope in one hand, its other end tied gently around Riv’s wrists. Not tight enough to chafe, but enough to keep up the illusion of a prisoner’s escort. Each time it tugged with his movement behind me, I felt it like a whisper against my skin.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t stumble. He just followed.

Teryn trailed behind him, silent as the shadows, her footsteps as sharp and sure as I remembered from training sessions in the Veil. None of us had said a word since we left the safehouse. Every crack of twig beneath our boots felt too loud. Every breeze rustling through the trees, too suspicious.

When the faint crunch of hooves hit the edge of my awareness, I stopped short and lifted my hand in a silent command. We were near the main road. Too near.

I dropped to a crouch and motioned for the others to do the same, guiding Riv off the narrow trail and into the underbrush. I reached for his arm—gently—and helped lower him to the ground. His breathing stayed steady, but I could feel the tension humming beneath his skin.

He couldn’t see what we saw. The flicker of torchlight between the trees. The glint of steel on armor.

A detachment of Nythral soldiers—just a patrol—but more than enough to kill us if we were discovered.

Teryn knelt beside him and leaned in close to his ear.

“Don’t speak,” she whispered, voice cold. “If you want to keep your life.”

Riv’s jaw tensed. But he nodded. I shifted. Slid between them. I wasn’t sure if it was to protect him from her, or the other way around. Maybe both.

He was sitting still now, his hands loosely bound, his body alert despite the blindfold. And I could feel his breathing shift—sharpen—at the sound of the soldiers’ voices growing closer.

A normal patrol. But they were close enough I could hear their conversation. Bored. Laughing. Clueless. Still dangerous. Without thinking, I reached down.

Just a light brush of my fingers across his arm—over the leather armor and along the scarred skin near his elbow, where I knew the worst of the pain had been.

I stroked gently. Once. A quiet promise in the dark. I hated that I did it. Hated that I wanted to. Hated that part of me ached for him to know I was still there.

He could alert them at any moment. He could betray us. And yet… my fingers stayed on his arm until the torchlight faded and the hoofbeats disappeared down the road.

The patrol’s torches faded into the dark, swallowed by the curve of the road and the trees that lined it. The quiet that followed was thicker than before—heavier somehow, like the forest was holding its breath just a little longer, just in case.

No one moved. Not yet.

I kept my hand on Riv’s arm, my fingers still resting on the spot I’d touched to calm him. I didn’t know why I hadn’t pulled away. Maybe I didn’t want to. Maybe some foolish part of me wanted him to know he wasn’t alone.

The rope connecting us tugged slightly. A reminder. He wasn’t free. And I wasn’t supposed to care.

Behind us, Teryn’s breath came sharp and quiet. “Let’s move.”

I let go of his arm and rose from the underbrush, brushing dirt from my knees. Riv followed without complaint, the blindfold still tight across his eyes. He didn’t speak. He hadn’t uttered a word since we left the safehouse.

I tugged gently on the rope to guide him, and we continued down the path, winding farther into the trees and away from the road. Teryn took up the rear again, silent as ever.

We didn’t stop for hours. The moon crept higher overhead, casting a silver sheen across the forest floor. The air was damp and chilled our skin, our cloaks damp from low-hanging mist.

Riv never faltered. Not once. He moved like a ghost behind me—controlled, quiet, aware.

The rope between us pulsed with the rhythm of our steps, a constant thread of tension that felt less like a restraint and more like a tether. A strange, fragile bond that neither of us acknowledged.

When we finally slowed, it was because the trees thinned and the air shifted—cooler, sharper, the sound of water echoing faintly through the leaves. We were close now.

Closer to the Veil. Closer to the point of no return.

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RIV POV

The forest spoke in whispers. Wind through the trees. Distant water trickling over rock. The muted crunch of boots in damp soil. I couldn’t see. But I didn’t need to. The rest of me had learned to listen—to feel.

The blindfold cut off light, but it only sharpened the rest. Every tug of the rope tethered to my wrists. Every shift of weight in the female’s footsteps ahead of me. The quiet rhythm of her breath when she slowed down, like she was checking for danger.

She hadn’t said a word since the patrol passed. Neither had I.

But when her fingers brushed my arm earlier—light, grounding, almost… kind—I’d felt something I hadn’t known how to name.

And still didn’t. I didn’t want her to stop.

The other one—the one behind me—didn’t trust me. Her silence was loud in a different way. Coiled and ready. She would have ended me the moment I flinched wrong.

But Ryn—and I only knew that name because she gave it to me—had a different kind of silence. Not softer. Just more dangerous. Because it was getting under my skin.

My legs ached from the steady march. The wounds had closed, but my body wasn’t whole yet. Still, I didn’t complain. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction, even if I collapsed.

Not that I wanted to collapse. Not with her leading me. Not when I could still feel her presence like a flame just out of reach. And then the air changed.

Cooler. Damp stone. The sound of water grew louder. Echoes. Underground. We were close to something—a cavern maybe. A passage. My skin prickled.

Even without sight, I knew we were entering sacred ground. Hidden ground. The rope tugged again. I followed. Because I had no choice. And maybe—gods help me—because a part of me wanted to.

The air shifted again—this time sharply. The ground beneath my boots went from earth to stone. Cold. Flat. Smooth in some places, rough in others. My steps echoed now. Dull and distant. Not like the open forest.

We were inside. I’d been in caves before—plenty. But this wasn’t a natural one. The stone was too clean, the slope too even. And the air… it had weight to it. A pressure I couldn’t explain, like the walls were watching, or listening.

I stumbled once on a sharp curve in the floor. A small misstep, but I righted myself before they had to correct me.

Ryn didn’t speak, but I felt her pause. The rope between us went slack for half a heartbeat, then resumed its gentle pull. She was watching me. Even without sight, I could feel her attention like a warm blade

We descended in silence. The air grew colder. Damper. Dripping water echoed from somewhere far off, rhythmic like a heartbeat in the stone.

I counted turns in my head. Left. Left. Right. Then two more rights. Down a sloped ramp. Then stairs—twelve, maybe fifteen, carved straight from the rock. My senses stretched to memorize every step, but the layout was impossible.

The pattern kept changing. Magic, I realized. The tunnels were enchanted. Shifting. If I were alone, I’d be lost in minutes. They’d built a maze underground. A fortress. A prison. And I was walking straight into it.

But I didn’t resist. I followed the rope. I followed her. Because somehow… I trusted that she wouldn’t let me fall.

The tunnel curved again, and I caught a new scent. Torch smoke. Faint and steady. Voices, muffled by distance. We were getting close to others. My grip around the rope tightened slightly.

Not from fear. Not even from anger. But from the quiet, gnawing awareness that whatever came next— She might not be able to protect me from it.

The tunnel narrowed, then widened again. My boots scuffed the edge of what felt like a ridge, then stepped down onto smooth stone. We had arrived. Even blindfolded, I knew it. The temperature shifted. The air opened up around me. This was no longer just a tunnel—it was a chamber. Large. Vaulted. Alive with quiet sound.

Voices, hushed and clipped, bounced off the walls. The kind of quiet that only exists when weapons are ready, and people are waiting for an excuse to use them.

My spine straightened instinctively. So did my shoulders. Even bound, even blind—I refused to appear small. The rope tugged again. Ryn’s step slowed as she guided me forward a few more paces, then came to a stop.

I felt it in the way the rope slackened. The way her breath hitched ever so slightly. We were standing before someone.

“Remove the blindfold,” a male voice said. Low. Sharp. Commanding.

I knew that voice. Not the tone, not the cadence—but the type. He was a leader. A soldier. A skeptic. And he wanted me dead.

Ryn stepped closer.

Her fingers brushed my cheek as she reached for the knot behind my head. I held still. Didn’t flinch. The cloth loosened, then fell. Light pierced the darkness.

Torchlight flickering along damp stone. Shadowed faces lined the room. A wide, domed chamber hollowed from the mountain itself. Carved with purpose.

And at the center—standing tall, arms crossed, face carved from ice—was the one who had spoken.

A warrior. Older than me by at least a couple of centuries. Scars on his face. One down his temple. Another at his jawline. A leader hardened by war and loss.

“You’re the Shadow Hunter,” he said, voice like gravel and smoke.

He didn’t ask. He already knew. I didn’t answer. I kept my jaw locked, expression blank. Let him look. Let them all look.

If they were going to kill me, they’d do it with me standing tall. Beside me, Ryn moved—just enough to put herself slightly between us.

Subtle. But deliberate. Her presence had weight. And maybe… so did her belief in me. He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just stared at me, like he was trying to peel me open with nothing but the weight of his gaze.

“I asked you a question.”

No—he hadn’t. He’d made a statement. But I understood what he meant now. He was giving me a chance to speak. Or not. I didn’t. The corner of his mouth twitched. Not a smile. Something darker.

“Nothing to say, then?”

Still, I said nothing. Not because I wanted to be difficult. Because I didn’t owe him anything. Because the truth—my truth—wasn’t his to demand.

“You’ve killed a lot of good fae,” he went on, stepping forward now, boots echoing across the stone floor. “Rebels. Innocents. Children.”

Behind him, a few of his soldiers shifted. One of them looked ready to draw a blade. The rest stared at me like they were waiting to see what I’d do. Waiting for a reason to spill my blood.

“You expect me to believe that now, you’re suddenly a threat to the king instead of a weapon for him?”

I met his gaze. Let the silence stretch. He didn’t deserve to hear me say it, but the truth lingered just beneath my skin like a splinter. I’d never wanted to be a weapon.

“He hasn’t harmed us,” Ryn said suddenly.

Her voice snapped through the room like flint and steel. Sharp. Controlled. Protective.

“He could’ve escaped. He didn’t. He could’ve attacked me. He didn’t.”

Thalen turned toward her slowly.

“You vouch for him?” he asked, voice low.

Ryn hesitated. Just for a heartbeat.

Then: “Yes.”

The room shifted with her word. It wasn’t a shout. Wasn’t defiant. But it carried weight. And the others heard it.

Thalen’s eyes narrowed. Then he looked back at me. His jaw worked as if chewing through a decision. Finally, he spoke.

“If he so much as breaks a single rule,” he said, “I’ll make an example of him. And I won’t stop at thirty lashes.”

Ryn’s breath caught beside me. And I understood something in that moment I hadn’t let myself believe. She wasn’t just protecting me. She cared.

And that was far more dangerous than anything Thalen could do to me.