“And then what?” Veeto shoots back. “You carved her a flute?”
The bastard’s laughter rips through the crystal, wild and cruel. My pulse hammers in my skull. I want to crush the quartz to powder, but my grip holds.
“Listen to me,” I growl, low enough to shake the dirt. “If you breathe her name with that stinking tongue of yours, I’ll find you. Doesn’t matter how many forests I gotta burn to ash. Doesn’t matter how deep you crawl. I’ll find you. And you’ll beg me to kill you quick.”
For once, Veeto goes quiet. Just breathing, heavy and thoughtful. Then, softly, almost amused: “That’s it, then. You’re gone.”
The words land in me like a hammer.
“You’re gone,” he says again. “Fallen. Harder than a dwarf down a mineshaft. She’s not just some lost little soldier to you. She’s in your blood already. Your marrow. That’s why you’re snarling. That’s why you’re calling me in the dead of night, instead of sleeping like a troll should.”
The crystal hums. My throat works, but nothing comes out.
Veeto chuckles low. “Careful, old friend. A troll with a mate in his heart… that’s the most dangerous creature there is. Not just to others. To himself.”
I slam the crystal shut with a hissed word, drowning his voice in darkness. The ruin returns, quiet but for the fire and River’s breathing.
I sit there, claws shaking against the stone, breath rough in my chest.
The satyr’s words echo like war drums. Not because they’re lies. Because they’re truth.
River is no longer just a human I pulled from a river. No longer just a wounded soldier needing shelter.
She’s already more than that. Too much more.
She’s becoming everything.
7
RIVER
The pass cuts high into the mountain, a knife wound in the stone. Frost slicks every rock, and fog wraps around us like wet cloth. My boots crunch on the ice-crusted trail, every step a gamble, every breath a cloud. The air stings, sharp enough to slice lungs, and my thighs burn from climbing, but I keep my jaw tight. I won’t ask him to slow down.
He doesn’t stumble. Of course he doesn’t. Kragna moves like the mountain made him, hooves steady even on ice, shoulders broad enough to shoulder the fog aside. He glances back every so often, heavy eyes catching light, and I make sure to glare right back, like I’m fine.
I’m not fine. But pride is armor. It’s saved me more than steel.
“Cold?” he asks at one point, voice low, more rumble than sound.
“No,” I snap, breath puffing white. “I’m peachy.”
His mouth twitches like he’s hiding a grin. That makes me want to shove him right off the cliff.
We climb until the trail narrows, cut so close to the edge that the drop yawns beside us, dark and endless. Fog fills the ravinebelow, a sea of shifting gray. I keep my eyes forward, hands clenched around my rifle, heartbeat loud in my ears.
Then the river shows itself.
It’s narrow, maybe ten feet across, but half-frozen, jagged slabs of ice floating downstream. The water beneath surges fast and black, a whisper of thunder under the frost. The only way across is a half-rotten log someone jammed between the banks years ago. Its surface glistens with rime, slick as glass.
My stomach knots.
Kragna steps onto it first, casual, as if it’s a stone bridge in summer. His hooves don’t even slip. He crosses in three strides, easy as breathing, then turns to wait for me.
I swallow, hard. The river growls under me, dark and hungry. I set one foot on the log. Ice crunches. My rifle weighs heavy across my back, balance already tricky.
“Take your time,” he says.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” My voice shakes more than I want it to.
