MasukBor spat at their feet. "My son choked on your victory." He held out the lock of pale hair, not as an offering but as an indictment. "You carry this until the water runs clear. If you fail, I'll feed you to the poisoned stream myself."
Elira took the hair. It was weightless. The promise it represented was not.
"You promised your support as a lord!" Bor's finger jabbed at Kael. "You gave us a grave instead of a future!" He turned burning eyes to Elira. "You swore on your name in the mine. My son was a fighter. The new poison wave from your 'victory' killed him in a day. Foam on his lips." His voice dropped. "What is the word of a noble worth? It's a curse. You're worse than the mine masters. They never pretended to care."
Thane moved be
The journey down was less procession, more grim assessment. Pyre's sharp eyes cataloged the blighted land.At the settlement, Borin's hulking figure approached. "Pyre! They dragged you out here!""Borin! Playing foreman!" Pyre clapped his arm. "When a letter describes catastrophe this delicious, how could I resist?"At the poisoned stream, Pyre knelt without regard for robes. He uncorked vials, dipped one into iridescent sludge, brought it to his nose—and chuckled dryly."Oh, that's brilliant. Horribly brilliant. Sulfur notes almost elegant, but someone added mercury and arsenic kick. A cocktail for ages."Borin g
That evening, dinner was a battlefield of silence. The clink of cutlery was deafening.Elira sat between them, senses overwhelmed. Thane's anger rolled off him cold and metallic. Kael's shame and resentment were sour and sharp. She reached out mentally to Thane:What happened?A wall of silence slammed down in her mind. Thane didn't look up. The rejection stung.Kael broke the audible silence, voice clipped."The investigation. What did you find?"Thane looked up, eyes meeting Kael's. The air crackled.
Elira was cleaning a wound in the makeshift hospital when she noticed Kael at the food line. An old woman in a worn cloak stood before him, hood shadowing her face. Something about her posture—too straight for her apparent age—made Elira's wolf stir uneasily.Kael handed the woman bread and meat. Instead of leaving, she followed his gaze to Elira."What a tragic fate," the old woman said, her voice a dry rustle.Kael's posture stiffened."What do you mean?""A hunter falling for his prey. And she's already bound to another by the moon."Kael froz
Bor spat at their feet. "My son choked on your victory." He held out the lock of pale hair, not as an offering but as an indictment. "You carry this until the water runs clear. If you fail, I'll feed you to the poisoned stream myself."Elira took the hair. It was weightless. The promise it represented was not."You promised your support as a lord!" Bor's finger jabbed at Kael. "You gave us a grave instead of a future!" He turned burning eyes to Elira. "You swore on your name in the mine. My son was a fighter. The new poison wave from your 'victory' killed him in a day. Foam on his lips." His voice dropped. "What is the word of a noble worth? It's a curse. You're worse than the mine masters. They never pretended to care."Thane moved be
The dining hall in the Cinderfell mansion was too large for the three of them. The long, dark wood table could have seated twenty. They sat clustered at one end, a small island in a sea of polished, empty space, the silence between them louder than any conversation.Elira sat at the head, feeling like an imposter on a throne she never wanted. Kael sat to her left, and Thane to her right. It was a silent, agreed-upon arrangement that felt more like a trap than a seating chart.The clink of a porcelain cup was the only sound. Thane poured tea for Elira first, then for Kael, and finally for himself. He then placed a small, honey-drizzled pastry on the edge of her plate, his movement sure and quiet. He had done this every morning since their arrival, a ritual of care as constant as the sunrise.
The Rennar mansion at Cinderfell was not the sun-warmed stone of the capital, but a structure of dark timber and grim granite, hunched against the mountain winds like a brooding sentinel. It was a place of cruel irony, a fact that struck Kael with fresh force as they arrived. This had once been Duke Malven's northern hunting estate. After his fall from grace, the King had gifted the land and the mansion to Kael, a reward for his loyalty. Now, Kael was bringing Malven's daughter—his own wife—here as a fugitive, to a place that should have been part of her inheritance.It was also the place where they had once played at being a married couple, a staged honeymoon for a political mission. Now, the ghosts here were their own.As the entourage clattered into the main courtyard, the journey's end felt less like a homecoming and more like an internment.







