But no court lady I’d guarded had ever sketched flowers with such a quiet purpose. No noblewoman I’d trained beside had ever looked at the world like it could be both beautiful and broken.
She was different. Not because she was royalty.
She looked at the moss-covered stones and tried to understand their language.
And that terrified me more than any blade ever could.
Every shift of her weight.
Every time her back pressed a little more into my chest with the rhythm of the ride, I had to fight the instinct to close my arms around her. To keep her safe. To have a sense of stability in an unstable world.
She had said little all morning. Her steps had been careful when we broke camp; her eyes distant. I told myself it was exhaustion, but I knew better.
She was still thinking about the day before.
So was I.
I cleared my throat. “Wynessa.”
She startled slightly. Her head turned, her eyes meeting mine—wide, wary, and searching.
“I...about yesterday,” I said. The words came harder than I expected. “I didn’t mean what I said. Not all of it.”
Her gaze held mine for a breathless eternity, plumbing the depths of my fear. Until finally, a slow, knowing nod followed. “I know. You were worried,” her voice soft with empathy.
“I still am.”
A breath escaped her. Her voice was softer this time. “Me too.”
I hesitated. She sounded more than tired…Hollowed out perhaps.
And I didn’t understand why.
I shifted in the saddle behind her. “You don’t have to be,” I offered awkwardly. “We’re through the worst of it. No more raiders. No more storms. This forest might be cursed, but even curses eventually run out of energy.”
She gave a faint smile but didn’t turn around. “That’s not why I’m worried.”
I didn’t press her. We left it to rest there and rode in a comfortable quietness together.
By the time the temple revealed itself through the trees, half-swallowed by moss and time, the rain had deepened, soaking through my cloak and dripping steadily from the brim of my hood. Alaric rode ahead, sword drawn, scanning the perimeter like he expected the stones themselves to rise and challenge us. He didn’t speak. None of us did.
The temple appeared ancient. Not dangerous. Old in a way that demanded silence. I’d heard rumors about places like this. Temples left behind by the godmarked, where the veil between worlds was thin and spirits wandered, still waiting for prayers that never came. I’d never put much stock in stories. But standing before the vine-choked stone, I suddenly didn’t feel like a soldier, but an intruder instead.
There were markings carved into the stone that didn’t match any language I knew. Twisting symbols and spiral suns that made the back of my neck prickle. One statue stood intact near the entrance, a tall, hooded figure with antlers rising like blackened branches. His eyes gouged out.
Corren took one look at it and muttered a curse. He refused to sleep with his back to the altar and set up his bedroll facing the entrance, blade within arm’s reach.
I found no fault with him.
We cleared a dry patch under one of the larger arches and set up to rest. As we unpacked, Gideon muttered something about stopping for ‘an hour or two’ to dry out and shake the rain from our bones. Alaric agreed, saying we wouldn’t make it far, soaked to the skin and with visibility like a drawn curtain. Bran flopped at Alaric’s feet with a groan, already half-asleep. Jasira shook out her cloak and began unpacking rations.
Gideon climbed atop a cracked statue and declared himself “high priest of the conveniently dry pedestal,” which earned hima sharp look from Jasira and a muttered, “You’re going to fall and chip your other shoulder.”
Despite the tension, a fragile chuckle broke through, a little strained, yet undeniably welcome, softening the sharp edges of the moment.
I didn’t join in.
I kept my eyes on Wyn.
