Page 52 of Tethered In Blood

I ripped my gaze away from his with a sharp inhale, blinking at the wall, the floor, anywhere but him. “Can you do anything besides stare at me?”

Oberon made a sound just short of a scoff. His grip on my arm tightened briefly before he let go and leaned back. “Forgive me for ensuring that you were still breathing,” he muttered.

A weak laugh escaped me, but it didn’t hide the tremor in my voice. “I’m fine.”

THEFRESHMORNINGairnipped at my skin as I rolled my shoulders, stretching my arms overhead to shake off the lingering stiffness of sleep. My breath fogged in the pre-dawn light as I exhaled, pretending to breathe smoke to mask my unease. Beside me, the horse’s hooves scuffed against the dirt as Oberon secured the last of our supplies. The sounds of leather straps tightening and buckles fastening filled the quiet between us.

“How far is Vaelwick?” I asked, rubbing the horse’s neck. Its warmth seeped into my fingertips, providing a grounding sensation against the morning chill.

Oberon gave the strap one final tug before answering. “Close,” he grumbled, his voice rough from the early morning air. “But it’s across the river. We should arrive by sunrise.”

I nodded. A small wave of relief eased the tightness in my shoulders. At least we didn’t have to pass through Emberhollow again—no monstrous Ashenmaws lurking in the mist as they called for blood. The memory still clung to me, the phantom sensation of their piercing shrieks reverberating in my bones.

That had passed.

The nightmare had ended.

Oberon noticed the change in my expression and gave me a pointed look. “Don’t get too comfortable,” he warned, his tone laced with unspoken caution. He didn’t elaborate. He would have said more if it had been important…wouldn’t he?

I relaxed my grip on the saddle as we crossed the main path. The dirt road winding through the trees was a ribbon of shadow in the dim light. I took one last glance at Silverfel.

The heavy, stifling fog that covered the village when we arrived had lifted. The air was clearer now, lighter, as if the land had been holding its breath and could finally release it. A hollow stillness remained, the quiet after something dark had passed, leaving only memories. The thing we faced, the illness that had clawed through the village, had become insignificant. A memory. A nightmare that would fade with time.

Whatever lay ahead for us in Vaelwick was unlikely to be more dreadful than that. Blighted harvests and creatures disappearing into the forest were problems we could manage. Such issues didn’t seize your mind and linger long after your safety. They were commonplace enough.

NIGHTFALLDRAPEDOVERthewoods in deep blues and grays as we drew closer to the river. Silhouettes of trees reached toward the sky. The distant rush of water filled the silence, a whisper that only intensified the quiet between us. The air carried the scent of the river mixed with moss, wet leaves, and an unfamiliar metallic tang beneath.

I shifted in the saddle, my fingers wrapping around the worn leather reins. The unease that had settled in my stomach churned, making it impossible to sit still. My body remained tense, every muscle bracing for danger.

“So,” I broke the silence, my voice sounding too loud in the hush of the woods. “How big is Vaelwick? Is it bigger than Silverfel or smaller? Do they have an inn, or are we—”

“Herbalist,” Oberon warned quietly. The alert set my nerves on edge. He dismounted in one fluid motion. His boots touched the ground silently, his movements precise and deliberate. He crouched low, fingers skimming the dirt, and his sharp gaze flicked over the underbrush.

“What—”

He silenced me with a single glance, and my pulse quickened. I followed his line of sight but only saw the tangled undergrowth, the dark shapes of branches shifting in the faint breeze. A threat lurked nearby that he sensed, but I didn’t.

A lump formed in my throat.

Oberon’s jaw tightened when his fingers brushed against the ground again. Then, with casual efficiency, he pulled a dagger from his belt and slashed downward. A sharp snap echoed as a thin, invisible cord recoiled into the brush, disappearing into the darkness. A trap. My grip on the saddle tightened as tension filled the air.

We weren’t alone.

A hiss pierced the night.

The arrow whispered through the air and brushed against my skin, the only warning before it zipped past my ear, narrowly avoiding my shoulder. The world lurched. I flinched, ducking, my breath caught between my ribs. My heartbeat throbbed in my skull.

Oberon shoved himself onto the horse behind me in one smooth, hurried motion, the warmth of his presence searing through my back. My breath turned shallow. Whoever had set the trap and watched us from the shadows had closed in.

Oberon’s voice rang out above the thunderous sound of hoofbeats. “Take the reins!” he barked, capturing my attention. The demand surprised me, but I focused on the gleaming knives fanned between his fingers, which I hadn’t seen him draw.

My pulse faltered. My voice was muffled by the wind and the pounding of hooves. “Where did those come from?” I shouted.

The muscle in his jaw jumped, irritation flashing in his silver-flecked gaze. “Take the damned reins, Herbalist!”

“I don’t know how to—”

“Then learn!”

---