Page 16 of Bound In Stone, Claimed In Fire

She nods, softly whispering, “Yes. Let’s hope.” For a moment, her eyes flick down to my chest, where the runes glimmer faintly under the sunlight. Then she meets my gaze with an earnest question in her expression, though she doesn’t voice it. We both know this alliance is fragile, riddled with secrets and haunted by the past.

But as we set off again, side by side, neither of us retreats. The invisible chain binding us tugs, ensuring that every step forward is shared. Despite the lingering resentment, the unspoken fears, and the looming threat of a monstrous force awakening somewhere in Protheka, we move as one—reluctant partners venturing into the unknown. And ever since my eyes snapped open in that temple, a tiny part of me wonders if perhaps this forced alliance might be the key not only to saving the world from Nerezza, but to finding a new purpose in the uncharted future that lies ahead.

5

SARIAH

Cold air bites at my cheeks as I trudge across the rugged trail, boots crunching over loose gravel and stiff patches of half-frozen grass. The sky overhead is blanketed in slate-gray clouds, promising snow or a bitter drizzle before the day ends. The entire world seems hushed, as if bracing for a storm. My heart pounds, more from the tension that lingers between Kaelith and me than the climb itself. Every step forward reminds me that we are bound together by magic we barely understand.

We’ve been following the narrow road east for most of the morning, shadows from the hills stretching across our path. The group of refugees we encountered yesterday pointed us in this direction—toward a lowland valley that supposedly leads into the realm of Snowfall Glen. I repeat the name in my mind like a whispered mantra, half-hope, half-dread. If the purnas of the Glen reject us, or if they spot Kaelith before I can explain… it won’t end well.

Glancing sideways, I catch a glimpse of him. He walks a few strides ahead, broad shoulders tense, leather wraps around his hips and thighs the only armor he has. His obsidian-hued skin appears almost gray in this dim light, the runes carved into his chest faintly glowing with every breath he takes. He’s massive next to me, an imposing, silent guardian—except he’s no knight in shining armor. He’s gruff, moody, and bound to me by a curse I accidentally triggered. The constant tension coiling in my stomach stems from both my lingering fear of him and something deeper, more complicated.

I rub a hand to the brand on my skin, feeling the raised scar through my threadbare glove. It’s an eternal reminder that I was once part of a purna coven, now exiled for being too unpredictable, too free-spirited, too powerful. They said I was dangerous. Sometimes I wonder if they’re right, given how my magic is intimately wrapped around Kaelith’s. I sense his power through the bond—a low thrumming that sometimes flares with his moods, echoing in my blood. And I can’t deny there’s an uncomfortable allure in that shared current.

He stops abruptly, scanning the trail that winds around a jagged outcrop of rock. I nearly slam into his back. My reflexes kick in just in time for me to step to the side, closer than I’d like to the steep dropoff on our left. Loose pebbles scatter under my soles, sliding down into the valley below.

“Careful,” he growls, offering me his forearm by reflex. My heart jostles at the unexpected gesture, but I quickly recover my footing without taking his assistance.

“I’m fine,” I insist, mustering as much confidence as I can. He nods, though a faint grimace tightens his mouth. I know he’s only worried I might slip, which would risk both our lives. The tether ensures we share more than just awkward companionship—my danger is his danger.

We continue onward in stiff silence. The wind picks up, tugging at my hood and sending stray locks of my chestnut hair whipping around my face. A streak of silver catches the corner of my vision, reminding me of how my magic has physically changed me over time. Another little sign that I’m not exactly the coven’s perfect student anymore.

At last, the path widens enough for us to walk side by side. I’m grateful, partly because it means I can keep a wary eye on Kaelith’s mood, and partly because I’m tired of feeling like I’m chasing after his imposing figure. We pass a cluster of frost-kissed shrubs, their branches rattling against one another like brittle bones. My nose catches the smell of damp earth, as though the ground is preparing for another snowfall.

In the quiet, my mind churns with all the secrets we haven’t addressed: the question of how to sever the tether, the threat of Drayveth finding us, and the looming horror of Nerezza’s possible return. Fear clenches my stomach. The exiled purnas of my old coven whispered Nyxari legends to scare novices into submission. The idea that I might be partially responsible for awakening that monstrous figure is enough to make my blood run cold.

I shudder at the thought, then realize Kaelith has slowed his pace, falling in step with me. His tail swishes once, stirring dust from the trail. When his gaze flicks to me, molten gold irises glinting, a ripple of heat travels through the bond.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks, voice low, as though he’s been mulling it over.

I hesitate, uncertain how much honesty to reveal. “Sometimes,” I admit softly. “You’re… unlike anything I’ve encountered.” My eyes dart to his runes. “And it doesn’t help that I awakened you from a centuries-long sleep you never wanted to leave.”

He snorts, lips curving in a bitter approximation of a smile. “Yet here we are.”

I gather my courage. “I’m not helpless, Kaelith. I might fear what you can do, but I don’t cower in terror. I won’t cower.”

He gives me a sidelong glance, evaluating me with those intense eyes. “I’ve noticed you don’t cower.” The faintest note of grudging respect tints his words.

A tense silence follows, the two of us trudging on. Eventually, I break it, my voice unsteady. “You saved me. Back there, when I almost slid off the path. You could’ve just let me tumble and tried to find another way to break the tether, but you didn’t.”

He exhales, wings twitching in slight irritation. “If you fell, we’d both suffer,” he says, tone gruff. “It’s not exactly altruism.”

I arch a brow, even though he might not see it under my hood. “So you keep saying. But you don’t push me away, not entirely. Sometimes you even… look out for me. That’s more than just survival instinct. Admit it.”

He rumbles a noncommittal sound, refusing to confirm or deny. But the rigid set of his shoulders loosens a fraction, as if he’s not wholly denying the truth in my words.

That flicker of shared acknowledgement lingers as we continue. There’s chemistry between us, electric and uneasy. I catch the tension in his jaw when he glances at me, and I know my own heart betrays a fast beat whenever he’s too close. Fear and fascination coil together, leaving me unsettled. I can’t let attraction blind me to our precarious reality, but a small part of me thrills at the attention—maybe because I’ve lived so long in isolation, with only Drayveth’s shadow chasing me.

I shake off the thought, focusing on the stretch of road ahead. It curves around a boulder-strewn hillside, revealing a more open vista. Far below us, a wide valley fans out, dotted with patches of dull, scrubby vegetation. The wind whips over the ridge, chilling my cheeks. Kaelith lifts his head, scanning the horizon. I sense his heightened alertness. Searching for threats—or for something else?

We descend to the valley’s floor by late afternoon. Thick clouds roll across the sky, dimming the light. A scattering of snowflakes flutters around us, melting when they land on my cloak. The road is less defined here, broken by old tracks and dried mud. Whatever traffic once passed through this area has diminished. My memory of these parts is hazy, gleaned from half-remembered lessons in the coven. Prazh is vast and underpopulated; entire stretches remain wild or haunted by old magic.

After half an hour of walking, Kaelith halts by a rocky outcropping that juts from the ground like a curved spine. He kneels, running a clawed hand over something carved into the stone. My curiosity piques. I step closer, crouching beside him. Faded symbols etch the surface: a series of curling lines interspersed with a diamond shape repeated several times. Moss clings to the crevices, obscuring parts of the design.

“What is it?” I ask quietly, brushing aside some of the moss.

His eyes narrow, the runes on his chest flickering in resonance with whatever he senses. “They’re old wards. Gargoyle script, I think. Hard to decipher after centuries of wear.” He tilts his head, tracing one symbol with a careful fingertip. “This shape… it resembles the sign we used to denote the boundary of a sealed territory.”

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