I found Sahora sitting on the ground beside a tree in a small grove, arms crossed, eyes closed as if she were trying to meditate. Her stormhound was curled around her feet.
“Kathera says to listen to the trees,” she said. “But I don’t understand how.”
“What have you tried?”
“Sitting here,” she muttered, “trying to listen to the whole forest, but it’s not saying anything.”
“Well, maybe try focusing on just one tree.” I sat down next to her. “Try focusing on anything, the rustle of leaves, the feel of the ground beneath you, the way the bark looks.”
She took a deep breath, like she was bracing for something sharp.
“How am I supposed to do that when all I hear is your breath?” Her voice was rough. “All I feel is the tug of the bond. And the only thing I can think about is you, your stupid fearless smile.”
“Well,” I said quietly, “get used to it. I’m not going anywhere.”
Suddenly, the air shifted. She looked at me with eyes so fierce that it stopped me cold.
“Someone is out there. I feel it in the air.”
“What direction?”
“Two people, one to the east, the other to the west.”
I drew my sword. Cold slid into my hands as I remembered who we might be about to face. Would it be someone I knew? Someone who could carry word back to my father about my broken oath?
“Oliver, if you’re going to help, I need your head in it.” Sahora’s voice rang in my ears.
“I’m in it,” I heard myself say, still trying to drag my heart back out of my throat.
We crept through the shadows. I went east. Sahora went west.
I scanned the treeline and caught it: a small movement between the trunks, the glint of armor like mine.
I stepped into the open and waited. Maybe I could talk first. Maybe I could make them see.
“Oliver?” a voice breathed. “Is that you? We thought you were dead.”
Byln.
My throat tightened. “No. I—well…”
His gray eyes sharpened. “What are you doing here? You didn’t kill her.”
“I can’t kill her.” The words rushed out of me. “She’s my Soulfated. Please listen, she’s carrying Kathera’s soul. Kathera isn’t dead. She never left.”
“What?” His face twisted. “You’re lying. Your eyes have been clouded.” He lifted his knife. “You stand in my way. Celentra must stay frozen.”
He lunged.
I ducked under the blade and brought my sword up defensively. “Please, I’m not lying. I don’t want to fight you. This isn’t what Kathera wants.”
“Celentra must stay frozen.” He struck again, fast and desperate. His shoulder slammed into mine, and we went down hard. My sword skittered into the dirt.
Byln was on top of me, knife flashing for my throat.
“Please!” I grabbed his wrist with both hands, shaking. “Byln, you know me. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Celentra must stay frozen.” His knife hovered a breath from my face.
“I thought you were in it!” Sahora shouted from the trees.
Byln froze. He looked up at her, anger burning bright. Slowly, he pushed off me. He dropped the knife in shock.
I sucked in air, my pulse a hammering mess.
“I was,” I said hoarsely. Then the old fear hit me like a fist. “Then I wasn’t.”
“Celentra must stay frozen!” Byln snarled and charged straight at Sahora.
She met him head-on. Storm clouds rolled above her.
His fist cracked across her face. She staggered once, smiled, then dropped low and drove two blows into his gut so hard the air left him in a grunt. Before he could recover, she swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground like a felled tree.
In a blink, she was on him, legs locking around his shoulders, her thighs crushing tight against his throat. Byln clawed at her, bucking, trying to wrench free.
I lurched forward. “Sahora…”
Too late.
Sahora’s knife flashed. She set the edge to his neck, dragging it along his skin, letting him feel the pain.
He fought for a few more seconds. Then the struggle drained out of him. His body went slack. The grove fell quiet again, as if even the trees were holding their breath.
My stomach turned. Byln was my cousin. I released a breath, unsure of what to say.
Sahora released him and stood.
Blood streaked her cheek where he had hit her. It looked like war paint.
She walked to me, eyes flat as winter.
“Next time you’re in it,” she said, her voice low and shaking with something she refused to show, “please be in it.”
Then she turned and walked away, covered in blood.
She gave me her trust. This was the moment to prove I deserved it, and I failed her.
I quickly followed her.
“I’m sorry. I just wanted to try to convince him to see things the way they are.” My voice was stronger than I felt.
She spun on me, fury blazing in her eyes. “I’m not mad that I had to kill him.” Her words clipped like flint. “I’m mad that you felt the need to try to make him see what he does not want to, while he was coming at us with a knife. That is not mercy, Oliver. That is gambling with our lives.”
“Sahora… that was my cousin. Of course, I tried to talk sense into him.”
She blinked, confusion cutting through the fury. “I don’t know what a cousin is.”
“Family.” The word rolled off my tongue and stung. He was family. I did not look back, because if I did, I was not sure I would keep breathing.
Her expression softened. “Oh, Oliver. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“He wasn’t going to listen. I know that,” I said quietly. “You did what needed to be done.” I swallowed hard. “He died for what he believed in. We, priests, find comfort in that.”
Though I could not tell if the words were for him… or for me.