Chapter 9 Nine

The truce with Theron was a fragile, transparent thing, as delicate as the morning frost beginning to sparkle on the pine needles around us. We walked, but the space between us was no longer just physical; it was a chasm of mutual suspicion and calculated alliance. He saw me as a key to a dragon's favor. I saw him as a map and a weapon, for now.

We traveled for hours in near silence, the landscape shifting from steep, rocky inclines to a forest of ancient, towering trees whose canopies woven so thickly they turned the day to a perpetual, green-tinged twilight. This was the Silverwood, I presumed. His territory. Every shadow felt like it held watching eyes.

"We are being followed," Theron said, his voice barely a whisper that was swallowed by the dense undergrowth.

My heart stuttered. "The Syndicate?"

"Worse," he murmured, not breaking his stride. "The forest itself is… curious. Your presence here is a ripple. A human, steeped in a dragon's bond, wielding a piece of his soul. You are an anomaly. An insult to the natural order." He glanced back at me, his expression unreadable. "The old things are waking up to see what trespasses."

Before I could process that terrifying thought, he held up a hand, stopping me. We had reached the edge of a clearing. In its center stood a tree so massive it dwarfed all others, its bark silver-white and smooth as polished bone. Its roots formed a natural archway leading into darkness.

"The Heartwood," Theron said, a note of reverence in his voice. "We will be safe here tonight. The wards are ancient and strong."

Safe. The word felt foreign. I was starting to believe there was no such thing in this world.

He led me through the root-archway. Inside, it wasn't a dark hollow, but a vast, cathedral-like space. The inside of the tree was hollow, the walls glowing with the same soft phosphorescence as the cave moss. The air was warm and smelled of damp earth and blooming night-flowers. It was beautiful, and utterly unnerving.

Theron gestured to a bed of soft, dry moss near the wall. "Rest. I will keep watch."

I didn't argue. The adrenaline that had been fueling me for what felt like days was finally receding, leaving a bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. I sank onto the moss, the leather of Kael's tunic rustling softly. I curled onto my side, my back to Theron, and closed my eyes, my hand instinctively closing around the coin in my pocket.

Sleep came, but it was not restful.

It was a vision, sharper and more vivid than any before. I was no longer just an observer; I was there.

Cold, polished obsidian floor bit into my knees. The air was sterile and reeked of blood and ozone. I was looking through Kaelen's eyes. A silver collar, etched with runes that pulsed with a sickly purple light, was locked around his throat. It felt like a vice on his magic, on his very will.

"The human, Kaelen," a smooth, chillingly familiar voice purred. Silas Vane walked into his line of sight, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, a crystal glass of crimson liquid in his hand. "Where did she go?"

Kaelen remained silent, his head held high. The defiance was a physical force in the room.

Silas sighed, a sound of theatrical disappointment. "The bond is so new. So fragile. But it works both ways, does it not? You feel her. Her fear. Her desperation." He took a sip. "And I wonder… if you feel her pain?"

He nodded to someone unseen. A jolt of agony, white-hot and paralyzing, shot through my—through our —nervous system. It was a pain designed not just to hurt the body, but to scour the soul. I tried to scream, but had no voice. I felt Kaelen's roar of anguish trapped in his own throat, a silent, vibrating torment.

The pain ceased as suddenly as it began. Silas knelt, his face coming close to Kaelen's. "I will find her, dragon. And when I do, I will make you watch as I unmake her, piece by piece. The bond will make you feel every second of it. You will beg me to kill her long before I am done."

I jerked awake with a gasp, my body drenched in a cold sweat, the phantom echo of that excruciating pain still dancing along my nerves. I was trembling, tears streaking hot paths down my cheeks. The vision had been more than a warning. It had been a sharing. I had felt what they were doing to him.

"Bad dreams, witch?" Theron's voice came from the other side of the hollow. He was sitting with his back against the wall, sharpening a dagger with a stone. He hadn't been sleeping.

I sat up, wiping my face with a shaking hand, grateful for the dim light. "They're torturing him," I whispered, the words raw. "Because of me. To get to me."

Theron stopped his sharpening. The rhythmic shhhk-shhhk of stone on metal ceased. "It is what the Syndicate does. They find what you love and they break it in front of you."

The cold, hard reality of his words settled over me, smothering the last embers of my panic. The tears stopped. The trembling stilled. A new, frigid calm took hold. This wasn't a game of wits or a shaky alliance anymore. This was a war.

I looked at Theron across the glowing space. "How long until we reach their stronghold?"

He studied my face, hearing the change in my voice. "Three days. If we push hard and the forest allows it."

"Then we push hard," I said, my voice flat. I stood up, the exhaustion burned away by a cold, focused fury. "And you will teach me what you can about their defenses. Their patterns. Everything."

A slow, approving smile touched Theron's lips, a predator recognizing another. "The mouse is gone."

"The mouse got her friend tortured," I said, the memory of Kaelen's silent scream a brand on my soul. I met his gaze, my own eyes dry and hard. "She won't be coming back."