Gideon blinked. Jasira tilted her head. Wyn smiled.
“You read?” Alaric asked, half-mocking, half-impressed.
“Sometimes,” I muttered, before returning to sharpen my blade.
Jasira leaned forward, stirring the fire with a stick. “Caerthaine hides its magic behind gilded walls. All jeweled marble and velvet politics, but you bleed the same even if it’s on silk.”
Alaric added softly, “They may glitter, but they’re Vireth’s puppets now. Their power’s not in magic; it’s in appearances.”
Gideon chuckled. “And Elyrien? That place grows bread like it breathes. Not fancy, but they’d starve us out if we lost their alliance.”
“Elyria’s fields are sacred,” Wyn murmured. “They say the gods still touch the soil there.”
One of Alaric's eyebrows arched in a silent challenge, the curve sharp and pointed, “And Tharnhal?”
“Cold,” I stated. “But solid. They’ve got a fortress carved into the cliffs and a library older than any crown. They speak slowly and hit hard.”
“Sounds like my kind of people,” Gideon muttered.
Everyone laughed lightly. For a moment, the weight of the night lifted.
The fire crackled low. Alaric strummed a tune as Jasira began humming. I didn’t recognize this song. Tyren tossed another twig into the coals and leaned back with a sigh.
And then, Bran lifted his head in alert.
His ears tilted toward the trees.
We all followed his stare.
The laughter faded, and everyone quieted.
Somewhere beyond the veil of willow branches, something moved. Something not far enough for comfort. A rustle. The sound of weight shifting through the brush.
“Could be a deer,” Alaric offered, though his voice lacked confidence.
I stood slowly, brushing the hilt of my sword. Wyn rose too, one hand instinctively reaching toward the dagger at her belt. I noticed the way she scanned the dark with more awareness than ever before.
The rustling stopped.
Bran let out a quiet growl. Just once.
Then the forest returned to stillness.
We waited for a few moments longer, but nothing happened.
“I’ll take first watch,” Tyren muttered, already rolling his shoulders.
No one disagreed.
Wildervale might let you laugh, but it never truly enabled you to forget where you were.
Whatever was out there, it didn’t scare me.
Chapter Fifteen
Wynessa
The first snowstoleinto the world like an unbidden secretwhispered from the sky. Itsettled, soft and sudden, muffling the edges of the day.
