The sun hit me like a betrayal.
Too bright. Too warm. Too real.
I hadn't realized I'd fallen asleep—curled up in the grass, cloak half-covering my shoulder, Selaithe's back pressed lightly to mine. Her breathing was slow and even. Still asleep.
The hill felt different in daylight. Not gentler. Just exposed. Like the world was squinting at us and asking, "Why are you still here?"
I sat up slowly, every joint aching like I'd been dragged through stone and memory instead of dreams.
For a moment, I forgot where I was.
Then I saw the lopsided stone, the carved flower Selaithe had scratched into the dirt with a stick, and it all came rushing back.
The run.
The confrontation.
Veyr's smile.
The cloak Nareva had stuffed into my arms.
And the decision I couldn't undo.
"Morning," Selaithe mumbled, eyes still closed.
"Hey."
She yawned. "You look like you got hit by a wagon."
"Feel like it too."
"You snored."
"Liar."
She grinned without opening her eyes. "You wouldn't know."
I rubbed my face. "I need to figure out where I'm going next."
She cracked one eye open. "What, you mean besides here?"
"I can't stay hidden under a hill forever."
"Why not?" she said, stretching her arms behind her head. "The hill likes you. I like you. That's two votes. Majority wins."
I gave her a look.
"What?" she said, feigning innocence. "The outside world sucks. It's loud, it stinks, people stare. You're safer here. With me."
That should've sounded comforting.
It didn't.
Not entirely.
"I think the city has walls. Watchmen. And probably a bunch of worried nobles with my description."
"Worried?" she scoffed. "Come on. If they cared, they'd be looking for you personally. They'd be crying in public. Sending out bards. Instead? They'll sign some letters and let ginger menace-hair do the dirty work."
"…Ginger menace-hair?"
"Veyr. Obviously." She rolled her eyes. "You think I don't know that snake when I smell one?"
I blinked. "You've met him?"
She shrugged. "Not officially. But I've seen him. Once, in the upper district. Same kind of walk as a man who already thinks he owns your shadow."
I flinched.
Yeah. That… was accurate.
"I think I need help," I muttered.
"You already have me," she said instantly, sitting up now.
"I meant someone who can hide magic."
"…Still me."
I raised an eyebrow.
Selaithe's grin sharpened like a blade in the grass. "What, you think you're the only one with secrets?"
"I'm getting that impression."
"You think I hang around old hills because I like grass in my boots?" she said, standing and dusting herself off. "Come on, noble boy. I'll show you something."
"Show me what?"
"My other hiding place."
She didn't wait for me to agree.
We slipped through the alleys of Tharionne like mist—Selaithe moving with too much ease for a girl who claimed to just "hang out under hills." Her steps were light. Measured. Predatory.
We ducked under a collapsed awning, past a rusted gate, and into an overgrown apiary.
"Welcome to my kingdom," she said, bowing deeply. "I've inherited a mighty empire of dead bees and rotting wood."
"Inspiring."
She winked. "I only invite special people down here. Or victims. Jury's still out on which you are."
"Comforting."
Behind a barrel, she pulled away a false plank and revealed a ladder into darkness.
"After you," she said.
"This feels like the setup to a trap."
"It is. If you ever betray me."
The grin never left her face.
I smirked back and climbed down anyway.
The space below was dry and hidden—an old cellar reinforced with stone, ringed with storage crates and faded blankets. A lantern sat in the corner beside rows of dried herbs and some kind of jerky I didn't trust.
But my eyes locked onto the chalk circle etched in the center of the floor.
"You're a mage," I said, instantly recognizing the ward lines.
Selaithe raised a brow. "Not quite. I dabble."
"That's a sigil ward."
"Wow," she said. "Big words. Look at you, sparkboy."
"Don't call me that."
"Okay, okay. Prince Pyromancer."
I gave her a flat look.
She grinned wider.
"I can help you keep it hidden," she said, suddenly serious. "Whatever it is. The aura. The fire. I've felt it before."
I stiffened. "Where?"
"From you. That day you ran."
My mouth went dry.
"Some people taste metal when they're near mana," she said, walking the edge of the circle. "I taste frost. And you?" She looked back at me with something too sharp in her eyes.
"You freeze the air, Kaelen. Even when you're burning."
I sat on a crate and tried to breathe through the panic rising again.
"I don't know what to do."
Selaithe tilted her head, gaze softening. "Then don't do anything yet. Just stay. Rest. Hide."
"And then?"
She leaned in closer, crouching in front of me.
"Then we figure out who's trying to take you away…" Her voice dropped a note, "...and make sure they don't."
Something cold flickered behind her smile.
I tried to joke. "That sounds a little… aggressive."
She giggled. Actually giggled.
Then, very cheerfully: "I will kill anyone who tries to take you from me."
Silence.
I blinked. "What."
"Oh, I'm mostly joking."
"Selaithe."
"What?" She placed a hand over her chest like I'd insulted her. "You think I wouldn't go stabby-stabby on a noble bootlicker who tried to drag you back to academy-prison?"
I stared at her.
She stared back, unblinking. Still smiling.
"I'm very protective of my things," she added, chipper.
"I'm not a thing."
"You ran away to me," she said. "That's basically a marriage proposal."
"It's not."
"Too late, I already accepted."
I groaned.
She laughed.
But the way she watched me after that—like I was a candle flickering too close to the wind—felt heavier. Closer. Hungrier.
Meanwhile, back at the Selkareth estate…
The study smelled of parchment, steel, and ash.
Calden Thornec stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the folded note left on Kaelen's bed.
Nareva stood at the window, not looking at him.
"Gone?" Calden asked, his voice dangerously calm.
Nareva nodded.
"You helped him."
Another nod.
"He'll head to the city,"
"He's already there."
"How long until Veyr realizes?"
"Too soon."
Calden's expression didn't change.
"He'll die out there."
"He'll die here faster."
Calden turned, jaw set. "He's not ready."
"He'll never be, if you keep trying to beat the fear out of him instead of teaching him what to do with it."
Calden's eyes narrowed. "You think he'll survive on instinct and magic tricks?"
"I think he'll survive because he has people who care whether he does."
That struck something. Deep.
He didn't answer.
But his sword was already gone from the wall by the time the storm broke over Tharionne.
The road to Tharionne was quiet.
Too quiet for Calden Thornec's taste.
His boots crunched through the frost-hardened mud as the scout team crept along the forest edge. Five men behind him—steel at their sides, crossbows strapped to their backs. Not household guards. Mercenaries. Hired blades. Men who asked no questions as long as the coin came fresh.
Ahead, Veyr rode calmly. Back straight. Copper-red hair tied back in a ribbon that hadn't moved once in the wind.
Calden hated that ribbon.
"I don't like this," he muttered under his breath.
"I would be shocked if you did," Veyr said without looking back. "After all, you're not in charge here."
Calden didn't answer.
He didn't need to. The others felt the tension. You could see it in the way they didn't meet either man's eye.
"We're close," one scout said. "Tracks were light, but recent. Single set. Youth-sized."
Veyr nodded as if this was obvious.
"Kaelen," he said simply.
Calden grunted. "Could be any kid."
"Could be," Veyr replied, calm and venomous, "but isn't."
They followed the trail down into the city outskirts. Slush turned to cobble. Forest gave way to smoke. Narrow paths opened into Tharionne's crooked alleys and crumbling corners. The old stone felt too still. Too expectant.
As if the city itself knew a hunt was coming.
Calden paused at a crossroads, hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
Veyr dismounted.
"We split here," he said, adjusting his cloak.
"Like hell we do," Calden growled.
Veyr turned. Smiled that polite, awful smile.
"You think I need you to leash me, old man?"
"I think if you find him first, there won't be anything left to bring back."
"Would that be so terrible?"
The words hung between them like a blade.
One of the scouts coughed. Loudly. "Uh. We'll check the west quarter. Near the wall. Low traffic. Fewer eyes."
"Smart," Calden said, still glaring at Veyr.
The mercenaries scattered.
Veyr smoothed his gloves. "If Kaelen's hiding in this city, we'll find him. And when we do…"
He trailed off.
Didn't finish the sentence.
Didn't need to.
Calden stepped in front of him.
"You will leave the boy unharmed. If you touch him before I say—"
"You'll what?" Veyr asked, voice soft and deadly. "Kill me?"
A pause.
Calden didn't answer.
Veyr's grin widened. "No. You won't. Because if Kaelen is what we both suspect… then I'm the only one who can get him through what comes next."
He turned and walked away.
They searched for hours.
Calden questioned vendors, checked stables, walked alleys so narrow he had to turn sideways. His cloak snagged on rusted nails. His boots splashed through filth. But he didn't complain. Didn't pause.
Because every minute Kaelen was missing was a minute he could fall into the wrong hands.
Into Veyr's hands.
A sharp whistle echoed from down the western hill.
One of the scouts.
Calden followed it fast—gravel scattering underfoot—until he reached the edge of a worn pasture behind an abandoned apiary.
He stopped.
A flower was carved in the dirt.
Crude, shallow.
Fresh.
A few loose blades of grass were pressed into the shape of a body having recently lain there.
And in the distance, a flicker of light.
A lantern's glow beneath the earth.
He crouched low.
Sniffed the air.
Mana.
Not much. But enough.
"Kaelen…" he whispered.
Then louder.
"Found something!"
The air in the cellar shifted.
One second, everything was still. Quiet. The next, I felt her tense beside me like a bow pulled tight.
Selaithe set the lantern down without a sound. Her hand slid to the wall, fingers splayed against the stone like she could feel the vibrations through it.
"What is it?" I whispered, still half-asleep, still too slow to catch up.
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes had gone sharp—focused on nothing, on everything.
Then, just above a whisper: "Footsteps."
My blood froze.
I sat up, heart already hammering, but she grabbed my wrist before I could move further.
"Behind the crates," she said, voice like a blade. "Now. Don't speak. Don't breathe unless I say."
I started to ask where—how—what the hell was happening—
But then she yanked me toward the far side of the room and shoved me down behind a stack of broken planks and burlap. Dust filled my nose. I clamped my hand over my mouth, willing myself to be smaller. Invisible.
She crouched in front of me, hands tight on my shoulders.
"Kaelen," she said, barely audible. "If they take you…"
She didn't finish the sentence.
Her eyes burned into mine—mauve like bruised lightning, wild like she'd already written the ending and didn't care who bled in the margins.
"…I will kill them."
I didn't move.
Didn't blink.
My breath caught in my throat, too thick to swallow.
"Selaithe—"
She pressed a finger to my lips. Her hand trembled just slightly.
"Stay still," she whispered. "Stay silent."
Then, quieter.
"I swear, Kaelen… I'll bury the whole damn building before I let them take you."
And the terrifying part?
I believed her. Every word. Every tremor in her voice wasn't fear—it was restraint.
Because Selaithe wasn't afraid of them.
She was afraid of what she'd do if they touched me.