Page 55 of Tethered In Blood

I tracked their fragile movements until my attention shifted to the shadows stretching long against the warped walls. An unnatural silence lingered in the space, making my instincts bristle, as if something had claimed the place.

My knuckles recognized the familiar spin of my dagger, a habitual gesture. The steel caught the moonlight filtering through the fractured roof, with brief reflections flickering in the dust-laden air. The blade felt heavy in the silence, a reminder that I was present, breathing, and upright.

A scoff broke the eerie stillness.

“Show-off.”

My eyes darted to Quinn. She leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed, unimpressed as always. I shot her a pointed look, warning her to remain silent. She rolled her eyes in response, dismissing my unspoken order with a defiance that only she could muster.

‘The way her eyes would roll back…’

My fingers tightened around my dagger, pressing into the leather. The knight’s words from the tavern echoed in my mind—the jeers, the implications, the truths concealed beneath them.

I scowled and shoved the memory to where it belonged: buried and forgotten.

The wood groaned beneath my boot as I kicked the door open harder than necessary. The sound split through the night, serving as a warning against the dark, yet nothing stirred. Even the usual chittering of night insects had dulled as if Elduvaris were holding its breath.

Dagger in hand, I entered, my eyes scanning the room. It was empty. No movement or life was visible except for a single frost-limbed spider that skittered across the floor before vanishing into the cracks.

At least,somethinghad gone right.

Quinn’s voice echoed in the space. “Can I go in now?” The sound lingered, absorbed by the void, but there was no response.

She moved past me as I stepped aside. Her shoulder brushed against mine in a fleeting warmth against the cool night air before she set her satchel on the floor by the hearth. Her movements remained steady and controlled, yet her fingers trembled. The ambush had rattled her more than she wanted to admit. Her knuckles turned white on the reins; her gasp when the arrows flew by, and her widened eyes upon realizing our disadvantage in numbers spoke volumes.

‘What? Are you out of your mind?’

Yes.

It was absurd.

The jump had been blind and desperate, with the river churning below like the gaping maw of a beast. I wasn’t even sure we would survive, but staying was worse. Darkness obscured her view of the dense canopy. It would have been difficult to distinguish the moving shapes among the trees and the glint of metal reflecting the sparse moonlight that filtered through the leaves.

Killing them was within my capabilities. That wasn’t the doubt. I had faced worse odds and walked away, bathed in the blood of those foolish enough to stand in my way. But to fend them off while ensuring she emerged unharmed? That had been the risk. Not the jump or the river.

Her.

My mission was to keep her safe, and, regardless of whether I liked it, I needed her.

Whoever cursed Silverfel was aware of the Fae residing in Aurelith. They concealed the magic from me, causing it to escape my perception. It was a deliberate act, a warning, a challenge, and a silent dare.

And I needed her to unravel it. Her wits, her talents, and her knowledge were essential. She had dedicated her life to studying poisons, herbs, and how magic intertwined with nature, even if she refused to acknowledge it. If anyone could decipher the curse’s origin, it was her.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees, rattling the building’s loose beams. Distant thunder rumbled in the night, creating a static-charged atmosphere. A few drafts slipped through the crevices of the walls, carrying the aroma of damp elduvaris and distant rain.

Quinn kneeled by the hearth, inspecting the logs that someone had left behind long ago. Her fingers brushed against them, testing before reaching for the striking tools. She struck them together—once, twice—and nothing happened. A spark flickered, feeble and fleeting, but it extinguished in the kindling. She huffed and readjusted the bundle of dry twigs.

Another attempt.

Another failure.

The entire hearth would have roared to life with a single spark had I ignited it, but my curiosity held me back. Frustration did not dissuade her determination. Her jaw remained set while the fire became an adversary she refused to lose to. She didn’t ask for help, even when she should have.

Had she always been so self-reliant?

The wind slammed against the walls. The lantern light flickered, casting long, restless shadows across the room. One of them danced over her bandaged hand, a reminder that her wound had yet to heal. Fumbling with the tools as if she had something to prove would only worsen it.

She made one last attempt before I spoke. “If you can’t start a fire, just say so.”

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