In the air.
And somewhere beneath my skin, something had glowed.
Chapter Fourteen
Erindor
By the time we made camp that evening, the sun was already low, casting long golden slants through the trees. We spent the better part of the day winding through Wildervale’s quiet groves. The light shifted with a deliberate slowness, as the forest breathed around us. Thoughts of her consumed my mind.
Wyn.
She had said little after the grove and the fox.
She had vanished from our sight and returned an entirely different person. A newfound radianceclungto her, a brightness that shimmered around her like a halo. Something in her eyes had shifted, like someone had lifted a weight I hadn’t even known she was carrying.
Even the animals noticed.
Bran, normally so selective, followed at her heel like a knight sworn. Birds landed near her as she walked. A white moth clung to her hair for over an hour. It was subtle at first and easy to dismiss, but I saw it.
So did the trees.
We made camp beside a shallow bend in the river where moss grew thick between the roots of weeping willows. Their branches hung in veils, shifting enough in the wind to hide or reveal. Itwas quiet here, the quiet that left you alone with your thoughts.
And mine lately were a mess. All I could think of was her.
She was crouched now by the edge of the water, sleeves rolled, rinsing herbs she’d gathered. The sunlight touched her hair in strands of amber and rose. Every so often, she would glance back to check on Jasira or murmur something to the hound curled beside her. It was a quiet sort of care. The kind you didn’t always notice until you couldn’t stop seeing it.
She caught me watching and smiled tenderly. My eyesdarted away, desperately searching for a distraction.
Alaric had pulled out his lute and was quietly tuning it, plucking a few soft notes that floated over the camp like smoke. Tyren sat nearby, carefully oiling his armor with a cloth. He’d placed a small carved token near Jasira’s bedroll earlier, one of his “luck pieces,” he’d claimed, warding off evil spirits. None of us mocked him for it, not after everything we’d seen.
Later, after the others had eaten and Jasira was dozing again, Wyn approached me while I was checking the edges of my blade.
“Would you show me again?”
“What?”
“How to use this,” she asked, holding out her dagger.
I blinked. “You want to train?”
She nodded, fingers intertwined in front of her. “If that’s alright.”
I hunched my shoulders. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. Gods, no. It was because I did. Too much.
Something inside me pulled taut at the request. It wasn’t the way she looked at me, eyes wide and hopeful, or the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. It was what it meant. That she trusted me, wanted to learn from me, and wanted to be near me.
An insistent pulse screamed of things I wanted but were forbidden.The truthlodgedlike a shard in my throat: thisshouldn't matter. Her safety was the only thing that was allowed to be consumed in my thoughts. Nothing more.
Still, I nodded. “Come on.”
We moved a short distance into the clearing, far enough from camp to be out of direct view. The air was cooler here, the grass soft underfoot. She took out the small dagger she’d bought at the market, the one I’d sharpened while she slept.
“Try to stay light on your feet. Don’t think about fighting, think about surviving,” I said softly.
She nodded and positioned herself in the stance I had shown her. I stepped behind her to adjust her, my hands brushing lightly over her shoulder, elbow, and wrist.
A subtle catch in her breath, almost imperceptible, was sensed whenever my fingers grazed her side to guide her posture. Her skin warmed beneath my touch, a transparent veil barely concealing the subtle tremors that betrayed her.
