Page 66 of Tethered In Blood

The quiet that followed was suffocating.

I held his gaze, even as my gut twisted, instinct telling me to retreat. To leave it alone. “I only want to understand,” I said.

His jaw tightened. He shook his head once. “Understandin’ won’t save you.”

Oberon stepped closer, creating a subtle change in the air, accompanied by the quiet pull that followed him. Tension settled over his frame, winding. His voice was steady and low. “What do you mean?”

The man’s gaze flicked to him. Beside him, the women kept their eyes lowered, busying their hands as they twisted herbs into tight, intricate knots. The sharp scent of rosemary curled through the air, but it did little to mask the unease that pressed in on each of us.

The man exhaled sharply through his nose, issuing a warning. “Means you should leave before you find out.”

Oberon didn’t move. Not a single shift of his weight, not a flicker of reaction. But his presence changed in a way that was impossible to ignore. The surrounding air became heavier and pressed in further, daring the man to try again.

The villager shifted on his feet. His wariness deepened, but he held firm. “Things in Vaelwick don’t take kindly to outsiders askin’ questions.” His calculating gaze flicked to me. To my hands, still dusted with remnants of crushed herbs from the market. To the bandages wrapped around my fingers.

His lips parted, hesitated, then set in a thin, grim line. “‘Specially ones who think they can fix what’s been decided.”

A slow, insidious chill unfurled in my gut. “Decided by who?” I asked.

The reaction was immediate. The women moved with quick, efficient hands, gathering their things in silence. The man stepped back, his expression set into stone.

Oberon didn’t press further. His fingers brushed against my wrist. The message was definite:We’re done here.I turned with him as my feet carried me away from the stall, but my thoughts lingered and unsettled me.

As we walked, I flipped through my journal, scanning the pages and searching for answers. But the words blurred, the notes I had taken lost shape and meaning, and fragments refused to align. The pieces lay scattered as bones in the dirt, but they didn’t fit together as they should have.

Frowning, I lifted my gaze, allowing my eyes to adapt to the bright midday sun. It was too hot.

Vaelwick sat northwest of Silverfel. It shouldn’t be much warmer, if any. Silverfel’s dense canopy might have lowered the temperature, its shadows sheltering the village. Vaelwick was different. Exposed.

Sprawling fields stretched toward the horizon. Golden and black waves of dead wheat and brittle grass rolled with the lazy whisper of the wind. The only trees were on the other side of the fields, opposite from the town. No shade. Nowhere to hide from the relentless press of the sun overhead.

My eyes followed the slow ripple of movement across the fields. It should have been soothing, but it wasn’t. The wheat swayed out of time with the wind, as if moving to an unseen rhythm.

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. My uniform was too thick, designed for the freezing, damp castle corridors, and long nights wrapped in stone walls, not for the relentless heat turning me into a seared prime filet—or maybe steamed. My fingers flexed, feeling the dampness gathering beneath my bandages and the prickle of sweat on my skin. I wanted to roll my sleeves up to let the air touch my arms and cool the discomfort.

The thought lingered, an old weight I thought I had shed. The past never left. It only settled beneath my skin and sleeves, waiting for these moments to remind me it was still there.

Oberon stood at the mansion door with arms crossed. He didn’t just wait. He made sure I entered. I slowed as I passed him, readjusting my grip on my journal.

Why did he do that? He just stood there, still as stone, watching. Waiting. It made ignoring his presence impossible.

“I’m going to the room… I mean,myroom,” I corrected, the words fumbling off my tongue. My grip tightened on the journal as if it might anchor me. I felt self-conscious under his gaze, and I hated that I did.

“I have too much to figure out,” I added, lifting the journal as if that explained everything. He furrowed his brows, but he didn’t respond.

Maybe he felt the shift between us, the unspoken weight that had settled into the spaces where silence once felt normal. Now, it only felt thick. Heavy.

I paused, then shook my head at myself. Enough.I stepped past him into the mansion’s threshold, and a chill swept over me. The air was cooler inside, but no less suffocating.

At the bottom of the stairs, I hesitated again. The ceilings loomed overhead, and the silence stretched more than it should have. Even the flickering candlelight became distant, swallowed by shadows that gathered in the high corners of the hall. A whisper of unease trailed through me.

Marcus’s mansion had been that way. It was too large, too empty. The emptiness turned every creak into footsteps and every shifting shadow into watching eyes. There were too many doors, places for someone to be lurking just out of sight.

My pulse stuttered fast.

We weren’t in Wickloe. I wasn’t there anymore.

Clearing my throat, I pushed myself forward, step by step, until the memory loosened its grip, and I reached my door. The journal dropped on the table with a dullthud,pages fluttering before settling. With a groan, I sank into the chair and pressed my fingers to my temple.

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