Page 37 of Eternal Thorns

“She's showing off,” Thorne grumbled. “Making a point.”

“And what point would that be?” Rowan's tone suggested he already knew the answer.

Before Thorne could respond, something dark slid through his awareness like oil through water. The shadow entity had returned, stronger than before, its whispers carrying the weight of centuries.

Remember how it felt?To trust so completely? To believe in something larger than ancient divisions?

The voice was Marcus's, young and earnest as it had been in the beginning.

Thorne's form flickered violently, frost spreading from his feet. “Get out.”

Why fight what you already know?Now the voice was his own, thick with betrayal and grief.History repeats. The pain will be exquisite.

But something unexpected happened as the shadow tried to twist his observations of Silas.

“Guardian?” Briar's voice shook slightly. “The shadows are moving wrong.”

Darkness gathered at the grove's edges, testing Thorne's defenses. But where it tried to touch memories of Silas, it found no purchase. The young Ashworth’s actions carried none of his ancestor's hidden ambition, none of the pride that had made Marcus vulnerable to corruption.

The shadow's whispers took on a frustrated edge.

If we cannot poison your sight, perhaps we shall poison his. Show him the monster you became. The vengeance you dreamed of. The price of loving a guardian who chose bitterness over healing.

“The hell you will.” Thorne's power flared, driving the presence back.

“Well,” Rowan said into the ringing silence after the shadow retreated, “that was interesting.”

“Interesting?” Thorne rounded on his old friend. “That thing is getting stronger, bolder, and you call it interesting?”

“What I find interesting is how it failed.” Rowan's expression turned thoughtful. “It couldn't twist your perception of Silas the way it once poisoned your memories of Marcus. Why do you think that is?”

“Don't.”

“The flowers are doing the thing again,” Briar interrupted, pointing to where the twilight blooms had begun opening, turning toward Thornhaven like flowers tracking the sun.

Thorne felt Silas complete the last of Agnes's magical tests. Silas’ power moved through the ancient protections with such natural grace that even the manor's stones seemed to hum in recognition.

“He's nothing like Marcus,” Thorne said quietly, and was surprised to realize he meant it. “And that terrifies me more than if he were.”

“Because it's harder to hate what you recognize as genuine?” Rowan asked. “Or because hope is more frightening than suspicion?”

“Both. Neither.” Thorne paced the grove's perimeter, his form shifting between shadow and substance as he wrestled with unwelcome realizations. “Marcus knew the right words, made the right gestures, but there was always something underneath. A hunger that colored everything he learned. But Silas...”

“Approaches magic like coming home,” Briar finished when he trailed off. “Like remembering something his blood always knew, even if his mind forgot.”

The shadow's presence lingered at the edges of Thorne's awareness, rage and frustration rolling off it in waves. It had expected to find another Marcus - another noble whose ambition could be twisted, whose pride could be weaponized. Instead, it faced something it didn't know how to corrupt.

“You have to make a choice,” Rowan said quietly. “That entity won't stay frustrated for long. It will find new tactics, new ways to prevent what it fears most.”

“And what's that?”

“The same thing you fear.” Rowan's moss armor clinked as he moved closer.

Thorne watched through his crow's eyes as Agnes concluded her magical demonstrations. She'd proven her point thoroughly - Silas possessed not just the potential for working with forest magic, but an innate understanding that transcended simple inheritance.

“So what will you do about it?” Briar asked, echoing his earlier question. Her freckles had settled into a steady glow, suggesting she already knew his answer.

He materializedin the heart grove to find the Elder Willow already waiting, her bark-skin form radiating tension.

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