Page 15 of Eternal Thorns

Briar hesitated. “Even if-”

“Even if the manor burns to the ground.” At her alarmed look, he added, “A figure of speech, little spark. Go.”

She went, though her backward glances spoke volumes. When she was gone, Thorne sank down beside the grove's heart-spring, letting its ancient magic wash over him. The water's surface reflected his face - and for a moment, he could have sworn it showed him as he was before. When he still believed in things like trust and reconciliation.

The burns on his flesh pulsed once, almost gently, as if in response to that thought.

The heart-spring'smagic refused to grant Thorne peace. Every time he approached something like meditation, the burns on his flesh would pulse, sending his thoughts spiraling back to gray eyes and broken promises. After the third failed attempt, he gave up.

“To me,” he commanded, and the night air filled with the whisper of dark wings.

His crow scouts arrived in waves, their magic-enhanced eyes gleaming with reflected starlight. He merged his consciousness with their collective sight, viewing the manor from a dozen different angles simultaneously. The experience would drive most beings mad, but he'd had centuries to master it.

The library window drew his particular attention. Old magic lingered there, responding to the key's presence like iron to a lodestone. Through one crow's eyes, he watched Silas finally succumb to exhausted sleep in the master chamber, the key still glowing faintly against his chest. The boy's companion - Kai, he'd heard him called - had dragged a chair against the bedroom door, as if simple wood could keep out forest magic.

“More guts than sense, that one,” Thorne muttered, though he couldn't help respecting the human's loyalty.

A disturbance in the magical barriers pulled his attention outward. The key's power had settled from its earlier display but remained active, sending ripples through spells he'd maintained for centuries. Like pebbles dropped in a still pond, each pulse weakened the separation between worlds just slightly.

“Rowan,” he called, knowing his old friend wouldn't have gone far. “I need the border guardians reassigned.”

The ancient spirit emerged from his oak, still wearing his moss armor. “To what purpose?”

“Don't start. I'm not planning to attack him.” Thorne gestured to the magical disturbances visible in their shared sight. “But those barriers won't hold if we don't adapt them. We need a new pattern.”

Rowan studied the shifting magical currents. “A net, rather than a wall?”

“Something subtle enough not to trigger the key's power, but strong enough to track his movements.” Thorne sent his design through their connection - a web of overlapping patrols, guardians moving in patterns that would seem random to human eyes.

“Clever,” Rowan admitted. “Though the council won't like us expending power this way.”

“The council can-”

“Can what, old friend?”

“Never mind.” Thorne redirected his attention to the crows, sending new instructions through their bond. As they dispersed to their assigned positions, movement near the manor's edge caught his eye.

“Shit.” The word didn't adequately express his concern, but human languages rarely had curses strong enough for magical complications.

Shadow creatures slid through the darkness between trees - entities born from the grief and rage of the original betrayal. They weren't supposed to exist anymore. He'd spent decades hunting them down, binding them, destroying the ones too far gone to save. Yet here they were again, drawn to the manor like moths to flame.

“The key calls to them,” Rowan said quietly. “It remembers their creation, just as it remembers you.”

“I destroyed them all.”

“Did you? Or did you simply bind them to your own pain, old friend?” Rowan's expression held too much understanding. “They're part of this tale too, whether you will it or not.”

The shadow creatures wavered at the edge of the manor's grounds, testing the weakening barriers. They were beautiful in their terrible way - forms made of starless night and ancient sorrow, echoing the shape of Thorne's true form. He'd created them unintentionally in the aftermath of Marcus's betrayal, pouring his grief and rage into the forest until it took on a life of its own.

Through his crows' eyes, he watched one shadow creature drift closer to Silas's window. The key's soft glow repelled it, but the entity's response wasn't fear or anger. If anything, it looked almost... longing.

“Double the patrols near the manor,” Thorne ordered, trying to ignore how the burns on his flesh ached in sympathy with the shadow creatures' desire. “Nothing approaches without my direct approval.”

“And if they're drawn by more than just the key?” Rowan asked. “If they sense a chance for their own healing?”

“Don't.” Thorne's power flared, causing nearby leaves to frost over. “The Ashworth has until the full moon to understand his heritage. That's all.”

“As you say.” Rowan's tone suggested he heard all the things Thorne wasn't saying. “I'll coordinate the new patrol patterns. Try not to freeze the entire forest before dawn?”

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