Page 10 of Tethered In Blood

Calder stepped closer and studied my work. “What is that?”

“A frost salve,” I replied, ensuring my voice remained bright and steady. “For frostbite and cracked skin. The violet petals help circulation, and the resin forms a barrier against the cold.”

She cocked her head and inspected the jar as I poured the finished salve inside, the smooth liquid settling into the glass. “Where did you learn that?”

“I made it up,” I admitted. “My cracked, bleeding hands left me with nothing else. It took weeks of trial and error, but I got it right.”

Calder’s eyes flicked to mine, searched and peeled me open without touching me. “And it worked?”

I nodded. My heart beat against my ribs, but I kept my mask in place. “It did. For me and others in the village. I’ve used it ever since.”

She picked up the jar, turned it in her hands, and watched the salve shift against the glass. The flickering light softened her features, blurring the sharp edges of her face. “Interesting.” She set the jar on the table and looked at me again. “Resourceful. Precise. Perhaps you’ll prove useful after all.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said lightly.

Calder gave me one last careful look before disappearing into another room, leaving me with a lingering sense of uncertainty and a growing unease. The fire’s heat licked at my skin, but a chill ran through me.Useful. Not skilled or talented. The word lingered in my mind, a reminder of the thin line between acceptance and exploitation. I shrugged my shoulders, trying to shake off the feeling. It wasn’t acceptance, but it was a start.

Calder reappeared from the back room, a measuring tape coiled in her hand, her brow furrowed in concentration. She strode toward me with the quiet authority of someone who didn’t need to announce their importance, and I couldn’t help but tense, my instinct to step back and brace contained beneath my controlled expression.

“What is that for?”

“For your uniform,” she said, unraveling the tape with a snap of her wrist. “Stand straight.”

“Uniform?” The word felt foreign to my tongue, a weight I was unsure I could carry.

“Yes. You won’t work in the infirmary in patchwork gowns and scavenged boots.” Her eyes perused me, lingering on the frayed edges of my sleeves, the scuffs on my shoes, the signs of life outside the castle walls. “This is a place of healing, not charity,” she added. “Appearances matter here.”

I stifled the irritation bubbling in my throat and pressed against the instinctive bitterness that twisted in my chest. “I assumed my skills might speak louder than my hemline.”

Calder’s eyes narrowed. I thought she might scold me, but the most minor twitch pulled at the corner of her mouth—a near imperceptible smirk. “Skills are a good start,” she admitted, voice still brisk. “But they’re not what the castle remembers. Stand still now.”

Her hands were efficient and no-nonsense, and the measuring tape brushed against my shoulders, waist, and arms with quick precision. The sensation was foreign and impersonal, yet unsettling. When was the last time someone had taken my measure? Since no one had bothered?

“What colors do you favor?”

Colors? As if my opinion even mattered.I hesitated because I didn’t know, but the first answer that came to mind blurted out before I could overthink it. “Green, I suppose. Or red.”

Calder hummed. “Dark colors, then. Something useful.”

“Like me.”

She stepped back, scrawling notes on a scrap of parchment that she withdrew from her apron pocket. “You’ll have your garments in a few days. Until then,” her gaze flickered toward my sleeves again, “try not to ruin what little you’ve got.”

I let out a slow breath as the weight of expectation settled deeper into my core. I had wanted this. Had fought for it.

Now, there was no turning back.

5

Oberon

‘DOWHATYOUmust.’My jaw clenched as Alric’s words echoed and curled around my thoughts. It was my duty, the sole purpose carved into my bones since I took my first life.

‘It will be done.’

The thick forest canopy above filtered the moonlight into scattered, fractured beams. Gnarled trees surrounded me with skeletal branches that reached toward the sky like bony fingers clawing for salvation. The air hung damp and heavy, thick with the decay of leaves and the musk of wet soil. My boots pressed into the ground silently.

A flicker of movement caught my eye. Moths danced around the distant firelight, their fragile wings casting fleeting shadows against the trees. Near my boot, a beetle skittered across a twisted root, its carapace glinting wet obsidian. In the underbrush, nightchimes droned, a restless, ceaseless hum. Their translucent bodies pulsed with a faint bioluminescent glow, and their wings shimmered as they rubbed against each other, releasing a sound of distant thunder in a whispering chorus that breathed with the night itself.

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