Ch. 7: The Sound of His Name

The fortress woke to silence.

No birds, no wind, no crackle of fire.

Just the still hum of tension—like the world itself was holding its breath.

Kaelira knew before she saw the empty bedroll.

Taren was gone.

She stood in the doorway, heartbeat pounding in her ears. His blanket was folded, his dagger missing, tracks leading into the frost beyond the ruins.

She crouched, pressing her fingers into the prints. Small. Hesitant. Alone.

“Damn it, Taren,” she whispered. “What did you do?”

Behind her, Zevran’s shadow stretched long across the corridor. “He left before dawn,” he said. His tone was calm, but the set of his jaw wasn’t.

Kaelira spun. “You let him?”

“I didn’t have to. The boy’s scent trail began shifting hours ago.”

Her glare sharpened. “And you didn’t wake me?”

Zevran’s silver eyes flashed. “You needed rest.”

“I needed information!”

He stepped closer, voice steady. “And if you’d chased him half-asleep, your fire would’ve eaten the forest.”

She hated that he was right.

She hated more how easily his presence steadied her pulse.

“Where would he go?” she asked.

“Back to them,” Zevran said grimly. “The Dominion’s call is strong for anyone touched by its magic. They use it to pull the weak-minded home.”

“Taren isn’t weak.”

“No,” Zevran said softly. “He’s scared. There’s a difference.”

⸻

They followed his scent trail northeast, through the skeletal forest and into the mist that marked Dominion territory. The air changed as they crossed the boundary—colder, sharper, filled with faint whispers that brushed against the skin like spider silk.

Kaelira shivered.

“Do you hear that?” she murmured.

Zevran nodded. “Runic echoes. The Dominion spreads its wards by song.”

“Creepy song,” she muttered.

“Effective, though,” he said. “It confuses trespassers.”

“Noted.” She drew her cloak tighter. “I’ll stick to complaining instead of trespassing.”

His lips twitched, almost smiling, and the sight made her chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

He wasn’t supposed to be human enough for that kind of expression.

She forced herself to focus. “If they can pull him back, can they find me?”

“Yes,” Zevran said simply. “But they won’t.”

“Because you’ll protect me?” she said dryly.

He gave her a look over his shoulder. “Because you can protect yourself.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

⸻

By afternoon, they found signs of struggle: claw marks in the dirt, droplets of blood half-frozen into the moss. The scent was familiar—Taren’s mixed with something sour and metallic.

Kaelira crouched beside it. “They took him.”

Zevran’s expression darkened. “We’re close to their stronghold. They’ll use him to draw us out.”

“Us?”

“You,” he corrected. “I’m just the insurance.”

She rose, eyes flashing gold. “Then I’ll make them regret the invitation.”

Zevran caught her wrist before she could move. His grip wasn’t rough, but it carried command.

“Anger won’t serve you here.”

“Neither will waiting.”

He studied her face for a long, quiet moment. The wind pushed a few strands of her hair across her cheek; he reached out instinctively, brushing them aside before he realized what he was doing. His fingers lingered for half a second too long—then he pulled back.

Kaelira didn’t move. “You could’ve just told me to stop.”

“You wouldn’t have listened,” he said softly.

She looked at him then, really looked—how the sunlight hit his eyes, turning silver into something almost warm. She hated how easily that warmth sank beneath her ribs.

Not yet, she told herself. Not him.

⸻

They reached the Dominion outpost by dusk.

It wasn’t a fortress like she expected—no banners, no towers. Just a scattering of stone huts hidden beneath the frost, all glowing faintly with runes carved into their walls. Voices drifted faintly from belowground, rhythmic and wrong.

Zevran crouched low behind a ridge. “There. The main pit.”

Kaelira followed his gaze. In the clearing’s center, a dozen Dominion soldiers circled an iron cage sunk halfway into the earth. Inside it, a figure curled in on itself, trembling.

“Taren.” The word left her throat like a blade.

He was alive—but barely. His eyes glowed faintly, black veins spiderwebbing his skin. Every few seconds, his body jerked, like something inside him was trying to get out.

Kaelira’s stomach turned. “They’re feeding him the curse.”

“Or testing it,” Zevran murmured. “The Dominion is studying how long the infection takes to merge with wolf blood.”

She stared down at the boy she’d risked everything to save. “We have to move now.”

Zevran’s hand brushed her shoulder, light but firm. “Not until we count their sentries.”

“I’m not waiting for a strategy when he’s dying.”

His voice dropped low. “And if you die too, the Dominion wins twice.”

Her heart slammed. “You think I care about your wars?”

“No,” Zevran said quietly. “I think you care about your pack. And he’s part of it now.”

The words hit harder than any command.

She looked away, blinking fast. “Then help me bring him home.”

⸻

When they struck, they struck fast.

Zevran moved like a shadow, silent death in motion. Kaelira followed his lead, her flame dim but controlled—small bursts of heat, flashes of gold light that disoriented rather than destroyed. The Dominion soldiers fell one by one, more confused than wounded.

By the time the last one hit the ground, the air shimmered with smoke and frost.

Kaelira ran to the cage, dropping to her knees. “Taren—it’s me.”

The boy looked up slowly, eyes clouded. “You… shouldn’t… be here.”

“Neither should you,” she said, forcing a smile. “We’re getting you out.”

Zevran’s blade cut through the lock. The door groaned open. Kaelira reached for Taren’s arm—and hissed as his skin seared her palm.

He whimpered. “It’s inside me.”

“I know,” she whispered. “We’ll fix it.”

Behind her, Zevran’s tone was calm but tight. “We can’t do it here. The Dominion will sense the breach.”

Kaelira nodded, slipping Taren’s arm around her shoulder. He was lighter than he should’ve been, his pulse erratic. “Let’s move.”

⸻

They disappeared into the trees just as the first alarm horns sounded in the valley below.

The forest swallowed the sound quickly, but the tension stayed.

Taren slept fitfully between them, carried in Zevran’s arms now, his breathing shallow but steady. Kaelira walked beside them, her fire dimmed, her heart too loud.

“Why do they want him?” she asked quietly.

“Because he’s proof,” Zevran said. “Proof that their curse can fuse with royal bloodlines. He’s not random, Kaelira. He’s lineage.”

She frowned. “What lineage?”

“Mine.”

The world tilted. “What?”

Zevran’s jaw set. “He’s not just some lost boy. He’s my kin. My brother’s son.”

Kaelira stared at him, speechless. “So you knew all along—”

“No,” he said, his voice breaking for the first time since she’d met him. “I only hoped I was wrong.”

⸻

The forest wind carried their silence long into the night, the air thick with smoke and truth.

Kaelira looked at the child in Zevran’s arms, then at the man himself, and something inside her twisted again—deeper this time, not just anger or fear.

Trust, maybe.

And that scared her most of all.