Page 20 of Chains of Love

"Besides," Serra adds, "who are we to cast stones? A dark elf and a human traveling together isn't exactly conventional either."

I bite back a response, the reminder of last night's vulnerability stinging fresh. Beside me, Turo happily munches on his own creation, oblivious to the undercurrents of adult tension swirling around him.

I clear my throat, standing abruptly. "We should get moving. We've wasted too much daylight already."

Serra nods, her hands busy wrapping chunks of bread and dried meat in cloth. She tucks them into a worn leather sack, along with several apples and what looks like dried herbs. "The bread should last you a few days if you're careful with it." Her eyes catch mine. "Real bread, not Turo's creation."

"But mine was good too!" Turo protests, his tail swishing.

"Of course it was, sweetheart." Serra pats his head before pressing the sack into my hands. Her fingers squeeze mine briefly. "Be safe out there. I hope you find what you're looking for."

The kindness in her voice makes my throat tight. "Thank you for everything."

"You're always welcome here," Serra says, though Rook's grunt suggests he might disagree.

Turo's lower lip trembles as he looks between Darak and me. "Do you have to go? You could stay and I could make more sweetbread!"

I kneel down, meeting his earnest gaze. "That's very tempting, but we have important things we need to do."

"More important than sweetbread?"

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" I ruffle the fur between his horns.

Darak bows slightly to Serra and Rook, his movements carrying that inherent dark elven grace. "Your hospitality won't be forgotten." Coming from him, I know it's more than mere courtesy - Darak doesn't give praise lightly.

Or ever.

Turo charges forward with all the boundless energy of youth, wrapping his arms around my waist in a fierce hug that nearly knocks me over. His small horns bump against my stomach, and I catch a whiff of sweetbread and childhood innocence. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," I say, surprised to find I mean it with every fiber of my being.

I've never been interested in children - they're usually more useful as bargaining chips than companions - but this little tot, with his eager smile and endless enthusiasm for baking, holds a special place in my heart. It's almost frightening how quickly he wormed his way past my defenses.

The morning sun warms my face as we step outside. Behind us, Turo waves until we disappear over the hill, his small figure growing smaller with each step.

"How long until we reach the port?" Darak's voice breaks through my brooding thoughts.

I adjust my robes, keeping my eyes fixed on the dirt path ahead. "Kestral's only a couple days' walk from here if we follow this road."

The leather sack shifts against my shoulder as we walk, the sound of Serra's carefully packed provisions rustling with each step. His words from last night echo in my mind:At least Serra knows how to present herself. Though I suppose when you've got nothing to present...

The early afternoon sun beats down on us as we trudge forward in silence. I touch the scar on my cheek absently, remembering how he'd tried to salvage the situation later.You're not ugly.The words stick in my throat like Turo's charred breakfast. Not ugly. What a ringing endorsement.

The sack of food suddenly lifts from my shoulder. I blink, startled from my thoughts as Darak swings it over his own. The gesture catches me off guard – too gentle for someone who'd cut me down so easily with his words last night, too familiar for the uneasy tension between us.

I sneak a glance at his profile, trying to decode the meaning behind this small act of... what? Kindness? Pity? The bond pulses between us, offering no answers, just the constant reminder of his forced connection to me.

Without it, he probably would never have bothered to notice me.

11

DARAK

The sun hangs low in the sky, painting everything in shades of amber and crimson that remind me too much of blood on battlefield snow. My feet ache from the endless walking, muscles protesting each step across the uneven terrain, but Lirien pushes forward like a woman possessed.

She hasn't spoken more than three words to me since we left the cottage this morning, and her silence weighs heavier than my sword.

"We need to make camp." The words fall into empty air as she continues walking, her dark robes billowing around her ankles. "Lirien."

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