Lain stood apart from the camp, watching the southern gate. Nothing moved there. The air felt suspended, as if the whole city held its breath.
By the second hour, a horn sounded from the walls. Then the gates opened.
The first to come through were not soldiers. They were women wrapped in gray cloaks, their arms full of children, faces downturned. Then came a handful of old men leading carts of grain, a Brighthand or two, a washerwoman carrying only a copper bowl. They walked in silence.
Sena murmured, “They’re leaving.”
Lain said nothing. The sound of the refugees’ steps – hundreds of soft, unsteady footfalls – pressed against her ribs.
Morgan rode up beside her, his horse restless in the cold wind. He surveyed the line of civilians spilling out from the city, and his expression didn’t change. “Word travels fast,” he said.
“They’re frightened,” Lain whispered.
“They should be.”
At the far edge of camp, the bloodwyrms lifted their heads as the first refugees passed. They would have to cross the river in order to meet the southwest road, unless they were equipped to cross the mountains to reach the sea. The people flinched at the sight of the wyrms, drawing their children close, but the beasts did nothing. They only watched, feathers trembling, golden eyes gleaming faintly in the mist. One exhaled a low hiss.
“Let them go,” Morgan said. “The Dagorlind cannot say we lack mercy.”
Rhalir’s voice carried from where he stood with the captains. “How many do you think will flee before nightfall?”
“Enough,” Morgan said. “And the rest will pray until their voices are hoarse.”
He wheeled his horse and called over his shoulder: “Form the lines. The living city will starve itself before we raise a blade, barring their reinforcements, should they come.”
Lain watched him ride away, her stomach knotted with a sickness that had nothing to do with hunger. The refugees kept coming in a steady, growing river of bodies through the southern gate. They looked neither at her nor the army, as though she were part of the dream they were leaving behind.
By midday, the exodus had changed. From the ridge, Lain could see the streets darkening with movement as long processions of the faithful clutched relics, traders dragged carts piled with goods, and Sisters formed chains to guide the lost toward the gates. A few Brighthand tried to stem the flow, shouting for order, but the people ignored them.
Behind them, the bloodwyrms stirred restlessly. Lain sensed it too, a kind of anticipation. The city’s fear had become a scent, and it thrilled them.
“They’re turning on each other,” Lain said quietly to Sena. “The Triad’s losing control.”
Rhalir joined them, his armor streaked with river mud. “They’ve sealed the northern road. No one leaves that way. Every family that runs south drains another guard from the walls. At this rate, Ivath will be hollow by dusk.”
Morgan’s cloak whipped in the wind. His calm was almost obscene. “Good. Let the rot show itself.” He gazed down at the city, the river curling behind it like a noose. “They built their kingdom on sacrifice. Now they can bleed it dry themselves.”
Lain turned on him, furious. “They’re not soldiers. They’re families. They’ll die out there in the rain, if they don’t find shelter before dark.”
“They were dead already,” Morgan replied. “You saw what they did to your kind. They only wear clean hands because others do their killing for them.”
“I don’t think most of them know what the Dagorlind have been doing. Even so, they’re still people – and how many of them are children, with no say at all?” Like yours sons, she wanted to say.
“They made you a god,” he said, his voice sharpening. “Why do you believe you owe them anything human?”
She stared at the terrible serenity in his face, something colder than fear sliding through her. She reached into the bond, found him there, and nudged with quiet compassion.
He gave his head one sharp shake before his eyes narrowed on her. “If there are things here you would rather not see, then don’t.”
He brought a hand up only slightly, and she felt the bloodbind tighten strangely around her head, whiting out her vision.
In an instant she put up her own defenses, then recalled how she and Mallow had severed their bonds, but that place inside her was unreachable, entirely under Morgan’s control. Still, she managed to shove his presence aside, just enough to control her own breathing and regain her sense of sight.
He frowned, more in confusion than fury at her resistance.
He had no time to address it. Another captain approached from the perimeter, wiping rain from his brow. “The Brighthand have begun to fortify the Spire,” he said. “They’ve moved barricades to the inner square and stacked sandbags along the causeway. Whatever faith they’ve lost, their captains are still preparing for a siege.”
Morgan nodded. “Then they’ve accepted what’s coming.”
“Some will fight to the last bell,” Rhalir said.
“Of course they will,” said Morgan.
Always at her side was Mallow, whose jaw tightened. Lain knew what he would say, if he could. So she said it for him. “There are still innocents trapped inside those walls. The Sisters, the servants – people who had no say in what’s been done.”
Morgan turned to her. “And what would you have me do?”
“I’d have you think before you turn the city into an altar,” she said. “Like you said. We’re not the Dagorlind. We have mercy.”
Rhalir shifted uncomfortably. “We can surround the Spire by nightfall,” he said. “Keep the pressure on them without bloodshed. If they see we’re not moving to storm the gates, some might surrender.”
Morgan nodded once, eyes still on Lain. “Fortify the river flank. I want archers at the west wall and scouts watching every tower. They’ll try to reach the high bells first, to attack from above. The Spire’s light will guide their courage.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
He turned to Lain, his tone almost tender. “And when courage fails, we’ll show them what fear can build instead.”
They discussed the numbers of who remained, and the strategy of finding weak points in the wall. At some point Lain no longer listened, her ears falling back as she imagined her Sisters and Brothers caught in the Spire, ordered to remain at their prayers.
The clouds broke briefly, sending a blade of sunlight through the mist. It struck the upper bells of Ivath, setting them alight for a heartbeat in a fragile halo above the dying city.
Lain closed her eyes. “They think we’re bringing the end,” she whispered.
Sena touched her arm. “Aren’t we?”
The camp tensed as night drew close. Men stacked supplies, checked arrows, oiled steel. The smell of rain and pitch hung heavy. Beyond the firelight, the bloodwyrms slept half-submerged in the shallows, their scales black mirrors against the water. It seemed they had no sense of cold nor heat, and Lain shivered watching them slither through the pools of murky water.
Lain sat on a low stone. The wind combed her hair into damp curls. Her antlers gleamed faintly in the dying light. She had been sitting there long enough that the cold had crept into her hooves. Mallow stood some paces away, where he always did – her shadow given flesh, eyes steady on the camp’s perimeter. The weight of his presence had stopped feeling foreign, but there was a continued feeling of unresolve whenever she saw him.
Sena approached with a bundle of bandages and a wooden bowl balanced in one hand. She crouched, brushing a hand against Lain’s sleeve. “You should eat. Or at least sleep for a while.”
Lain shook her head. “I can’t.”
Sena studied her for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. But don’t just sit here. You should walk a bit. Get the blood moving before you freeze.”
“I’m fine,” Lain murmured.
“Sure you are.” Sena glanced at Mallow. “Captain, she’s not fine.”
He didn’t turn. “Not my place to say otherwise.”
“It’s exactly your place,” Sena said, then gave a pointed little jerk of her chin toward the shadows beyond the fire.
“Go on. A short walk.” She leaned in close to Lain. “Serpent’s sake, Lain, if you don’t talk to Captain Ren in private the tension between you is going to kill me and half the soldiers here.”
Lain managed a weak smile. Sena straightened, glancing toward the rows of tents where some of Morgan’s captains had gathered.
“He’ll be busy a while yet,” Sena murmured. “Arguing with Rhalir about the river barricade.”
Mallow’s gaze flicked toward Sena, measuring, then back to Lain. “Two minutes.”
Lain froze. “Three.”
He sighed through his nose but followed.
They passed the outer line of tents, where the light from the fires thinned. The rain had stopped for now, but the ground was soft and cold beneath her hooves. The only sounds were the low pulse of the river and the slow exhale of a sleeping wyrm nearby.
When they were far enough that the firelight blurred behind them, Lain stopped. “You don't have to hover all the time.”
“Actually, I do. Hard to bodyguard when you’re not near the body needs guarding.”
She turned to face him. “I don’t need guarding with Morgan this close.”
He smiled faintly, tired. “That’s when you need it most, Little Hooves.”
They stood in the half-light, close enough that she could see the faint tremor in the hand just south of his injury and the wet shine of his lashes when he blinked. The air between them hummed with her Tuning, a ghost of what they’d once had, the echo of a song she’d forgotten the words to.
“You hate this,” she said.
“I hate watching him use you.”
She flinched. “He’s not –”
“Of course he is.” His voice was quiet but unwavering. “He’s building something with you at the center, and when it collapses, you’ll be the one buried under it.”
“He believes in what he’s doing.”
“So do they. Every one of them who told you the sacrifice was holy.”
She glared. “He isn’t them.”
“No,” he agreed. “He’s worse. He makes you believe you have a choice.”
She looked away, to the river flashing in the growing dark. For a long moment, the only sound was the water, and the nearby noises of camp.
When she spoke, her voice had softened. “Why did you leave, if you were just going to come here?”
Mallow didn’t answer at once. He shifted his weight, looking past her toward the city.
“I thought I could live without this,” he said finally. “Without you. Without all of it.” His voice was brittle around the edges. “I thought if I ran far enough, I’d forget… or maybe the world would forget what it turned us into.”
“Did it?”
He huffed a sound that might have been a laugh. “No. The world never forgets. It just waits until you start to breathe again, and then it finds you.”
The darkness closed in and for a moment the only light came from the river, thin and silver, reflecting the rising moon. It drew a faint gleam along his jaw, his throat. In her night vision she saw him clearly, glittering like the sharp end of a blade.
“You came back because of me,” she said softly.
“I found more of his men near the Cloudspine,” he confessed. “Good trackers. Not Veinwrights, human hunters. I knew they’d find you before you made it back to Vaelun.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Followed the company down, wore a disguise. When I saw he had you, I knew I’d have to stay close. And then I saw Tanel today –” he stopped, exhaled sharply, anger ghosting through the motion. “All that talk of mercy. All those lies dressed up as love. I wanted to tear the bells from his robe and shove them down his throat.”
His hand flexed, the veins in his wrist standing out. “He said your name like you belonged to him. Like you were some sort of pet. And I realized I’ve spent half my life letting men like him claim people like you. I spent half my life being a man like him.”
Lain took a step closer. “What about Morgan?”
“He’s the same breed. He just wears his faith in blood instead of bells. But he’s got you collared, sure enough.”
He met her eyes, and for a heartbeat his composure cracked. The exhaustion behind it was the kind that came from too many sleepless nights, too many impossible choices. His pupils were wide, reflecting the moonlight. His breath shuddered when it left him.
He looked over her antlers, her scales. “And now you’re Veinwrought,” he said, the word rasping low. “Are you bonded?”
She could see how badly he tried not to let the thought affect him, how tight his shoulders stayed, how he kept his hands clenched at his sides as if he could hold the jealousy inside him.
“There was a ceremony,” she said softly, pressing self-consciously at the wound under her sleeve where Morgan had cut her, where he’d put his mouth to share her blood. “It… ended that way. With the bond. I didn’t expect it.”
She recalled the moment, how she’d wished he would have left that part of her untouched, how she hadn’t been in a position to give her consent. But she didn’t know how to explain it to Mallow without hurting him further. She understood suddenly that a truth like that would be worse than not knowing, and it made no difference; the outcome was the same. Better not to give him one more thing to suffer over on her behalf. So instead of carrying on she let the words trembled between them, full of things unsaid.
He closed his eyes briefly, jaw working, and when he looked at her again his gaze was raw and unguarded.
“I don’t know how to save you from him,” he said.
Her breath caught. “Then don’t. Just stay.”
He gave a broken, humorless laugh. “You make that sound easy.”
“It isn’t.”
They stood with the river breathing behind them, the smell of wet grass wrapping around them both. That smell was so much like Mallow’s that her throat filled with tears.
Mallow looked toward the city again, the bells that glimmered against the gray. “He means to burn it down to the bones,” he said.
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“I’m afraid of what it will do to you, to watch Ivath fall.”
Lain looked down at her hands. “Then maybe it’s better if the fire takes me first, so I don’t have to see it.”
He reached out as if to touch her, then brushed the back of his fingers along her cloak – not her skin, never that, but close enough that her breath stopped. “Don’t say that,” he said softly. “Don’t ever say that.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Mallow stepped back, the soldier overtaking the man again. “Come on,” he said quietly. “Before someone notices you’re gone.”
She followed, heart hammering, the warmth of that almost-touch still burning.