Page 35 of Tethered In Blood

My pulse ticked faster.

Leaning forward, I skimmed my notes again with sharper eyes. If it were magic, it would explain the inconsistencies. If someone had woven something into the land, something bound to the old customs, then breaking those traditions could have shattered whatever protection was keeping it away.

The healer had mentioned that they once followed warding customs—salt barriers, symbols carved into doorways, and offerings left at the village’s edge. They had abandoned these practices. If those traditions protected the town, and someone had removed them, then maybe this wasn’t an illness; maybe it was a consequence.

My stomach churned, and I glanced at my pouch. It was empty. A dull ache gnawed at me as my stomach protested, but I had been through worse.

Rising from the desk, I stretched my stiff limbs and neck before moving toward my satchel, rummaging through what little I had left. If I were right, if this sickness were caused by magic, I could test it. Various plants responded when exposed to magic. A few amplified it, several dulled it, and others outright rejected it. If I triggered a response, I could find the source.

Across the room, Oberon lay on the floor, his back pressed against the wooden planks. Strands of dark hair fell over his forehead. One arm rested on his stomach while the other sprawled beside him. His long legs were bent at the knee, and his boots sat discarded at his side as if he hadn’t decided whether to sleep or keep watch. The dying embers of the hearth cast flickering shadows over him that highlighted the strong angles of his features and the scars on his exposed skin.

His breathing was deep and steady, but not at ease. Even in sleep, tension was clear in his jaw, and his fingers twitched restlessly as they reached for a blade. He was a predator forced into stillness, waiting for the moment he needed to strike.

He wouldn’t be there to shadow me, like a storm cloud poised to break. Careful not to make a sound, I grabbed my journal and herbs and quietly slipped out of the inn.

The fog clung to the buildings, curled over rooftops, and slithered through the narrow streets, swirling in thick, damp tendrils around my boots. The scent of damp soil and aged wood lingered in the air, a smell that followed rain but offered no promise of renewal. The silence was overwhelming. It pressed against my ears and made every step too loud, too noticeable.

Oberon’s horse appeared through the haze as I approached the village center, still tied to the well. The beast stood near a large bucket of water, filled to the brim. My steps slowed, and unease prickled at the edges of my mind.

Oberon must have tended to him.

The horse huffed, its breath curling in the frigid air. It flicked its tail and stomped its hoof—small, cautious movements that hinted at irritation or warning. Its dark eyes met mine for a moment. “You and I both,” I muttered.

The strange feeling lingered in my gut, an itch I couldn’t scratch, but I pushed forward. The knights’ quarters stood ahead, its wooden frame worn by time and weather. Its iron reinforcements, dark with rust, attested to its long resistance against the elements. I knocked, not bothering to wait for an invitation before entering.

The knight, who behaved as if my presence were a personal insult, stood. His scowl deepened at the sight of me, and irritation hung thick in the dim room. The glow of a single lantern cast jagged shadows against the walls, illuminating the hard lines of his face as he appraised me. His gaze flicked past me, his lips twisting into a smirk, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Where’s your dog?”

A slow breath steadied me. The words shouldn’t have bothered me; I shouldn’t have cared. Yet, they irritated me.

I straightened my back and met his gaze without hesitation. “Mind your tone.” His smirk widened, but I pressed on. “Sir Sinclaire is here on the prince’s orders. I suggest you consider your behavior, as I am unaware of what those orders entail.”

That wiped the smirk from his face.

My gaze drifted past him as I scanned the room. Exhaustion kept most from paying attention. A few watched with eyes gleaming in the low light, filled with curiosity. My focus returned to the arrogant knight before me when he stepped forward, closing the distance. He was tall, like most knights, but I refused to shrink back. If I had survived Marcus, I could handle him.

His smirk was slow and curling, dripping with condescension. “Bold of you,” he mused, tilting his head to look down at me. “Walking into a room full of men alone. Makes a man wonder…” His lingering gaze dragged over me as he stripped me bare with nothing but his eyes. “If you came here hoping to be handled a little rough. Can’t say you’re my usual taste, but I enjoy breaking in something new.”

A chill unfurled within me. With a raised brow, I smirked back. “Should I be afraid of you?”

For a moment, his expression wavered, but then he schooled his features into an air of smug amusement. “A clever girl would be.”

With a sigh, I tilted my head with feigned disinterest. “Good thing I’m more than just clever, then.” My voice dropped. “I’m here to do my job, not stroke your fragile ego. Your opinion of me is irrelevant.”

The smirk on his face widened. His hand shot out, and my breath hitched with anger. His grip on my jaw bruised, fingers sinking into my skin as if to make a point. “Bravery only gets you so far, Herbalist,” he hissed, his breath too close.

Fighting back a wince, I locked my jaw when his fingers squeezed. I had faced worse than an arrogant knight with a power complex. I oscillated between violence and insults before another voice intervened.

“Let her go.”

A second knight positioned himself behind him, arms crossed, and a heavy warning evident in his eyes. His words conveyed irritation rather than concern. “You’re being childish, Valdier. The rest of us would prefer to keep our heads.”

Valdier held his grip for a moment longer, his fingers flexing as he debated whether I was worth the effort. With a scoff, he shoved me back. His lip curled. “Not even worth dirtying my hands over.”

I straightened, refusing to reveal the ache blooming along my jaw as I smirked. “Miracles do happen. You managed to form a coherent thought.” His eyes flashed, but he didn’t reach for me again. Smart choice. I wouldn’t have played nice a second time.

Turning away, I retrieved the herbs from my satchel. “Now, if you’re finished sulking like a child denied his favorite toy, I have proper work to do.”

The mortar emitted a dull crack as I ground the herbs, letting my frustration seep into the motion. I mixed them with warm water from Oberon’s flask, disregarding the whispering knights. Their egotistical skepticism pressed against my back, but I had no patience for it.

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