The first arrow shattered against a tree trunk inches from Alix Teardom's ear, splintering wood into a spray of sharp fragments that stung her cheek. She ducked low, shadows coiling instinctively around her like a living cloak, and rolled behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak. Her heart hammered against her ribs, not from fear alone, but from the raw surge of magic still thrumming through her veins after the escape from Eldridge. The inquisitors had tracked her faster than she expected. Five of them burst into the clearing now, armored in the king's silver plate, their cloaks bearing the royal crest of a chained flame. Crossbows leveled, swords drawn, faces hidden behind visored helms that made them look like faceless executioners.
Donstram Donovan stood motionless by his dying campfire, sword already in hand. The blade was a thing of brutal beauty, dark steel etched with faint runes that caught the weak dawn light. He did not look at her, but his stance shifted, angling slightly to cover her flank. "You," he growled without turning, voice low and rough as gravel under boots. "You brought this mess to my fire."
Alix rose slowly, shadows peeling away from her like smoke. Her violet eyes flared brighter in the dim light. "They were coming for me. You just happened to be in the way."
"Convenient." He stepped forward, boots crunching on fallen leaves. "And yet here you are, glowing like a beacon in the night. Witch."
The word landed like a slap, but Alix had heard worse. She lifted her chin. "And you are the fallen prince who slaughters anything that smells of magic. We make quite the pair."
Before Donstram could retort, the lead inquisitor shouted, "By order of King Eldric, the witch Alix Teardom is to be taken alive for trial! The mercenary known as Donstram Donovan is to stand aside, or be considered an accomplice!"
Donstram laughed, a short, bitter sound that held no humor. "Trial? You mean burning at the stake. I've seen your 'justice' before." He glanced at Alix then, really looked at her for the first time. Stormy gray eyes met violet, and something flickered there, recognition or perhaps calculation. "Stay behind me."
Alix bristled. "I don't need your protection."
"You need something," he snapped. "Or you'll be dead before the sun fully rises."
The inquisitors advanced, forming a loose semicircle. One raised his crossbow and fired. The bolt streaked toward Donstram, but he moved with predatory grace, sword whipping up to deflect it into the dirt. Another charged, blade high. Donstram met him halfway, their weapons clashing in a shower of sparks. The inquisitor was strong, but Donstram was faster, brutal. He twisted, drove an elbow into the man's helm, then brought his sword down in a vicious arc that bit through armor and bone.
Alix didn't wait. She thrust her hands forward, and the blackthorn vines from the night before answered her call. They erupted from the earth beneath two inquisitors, wrapping around legs and arms, thorns piercing flesh. The men screamed as the vines tightened, pulling them off balance. One broke free, lunging at her with a dagger wreathed in anti-magic runes.
She sidestepped, shadows lashing out to slap the blade from his hand. Pain exploded in her side as another bolt grazed her ribs, tearing cloth and skin. Blood welled hot and sticky. She gasped, staggering, but the curse inside her twisted the pain into fuel. Magic surged, darker now, hungrier.
Donstram finished his opponent with a thrust through the throat, then spun toward her. His eyes narrowed at the blood on her dress. "Fool. You should have run."
"And leave you to die alone?" she shot back, voice strained. "We're both marked now."
The remaining inquisitors regrouped, chanting in low voices. A binding spell began to form, golden chains of light weaving through the air toward Alix. She raised her arms to counter, but the curse rebelled, a sharp stab in her chest reminding her of its price. The chains tightened around her wrists, burning like fire.
Donstram roared and charged, sword cleaving through one chain. But the magic was strong, designed to hold witches. He grunted as a backlash of energy threw him back, sword skittering across the ground.
Alix dropped to one knee, the chains pulling her arms wide. The inquisitor captain advanced, a cruel smile beneath his helm. "The king will enjoy breaking you, witch. And your mercenary friend will watch."
Donstram rose, blood trickling from a cut on his brow. He looked at Alix, then at the captain. Something shifted in his expression, a decision made in an instant. He lunged not for the captain, but for her.
His hand closed around her wrist, over the burning chain. Their blood mingled where her wound touched his skin, a single drop of hers falling onto his scarred knuckles.
Time seemed to slow.
A surge of power erupted between them, red as fresh-spilled blood, threading through the air like liquid fire. The chains shattered with a sound like breaking glass. The red threads wrapped around their joined hands, pulsing, binding. Pain lanced through Alix's body, sharp and intimate, as if her soul had been hooked and pulled taut. Donstram staggered, a low groan escaping his lips, his stormy eyes widening in shock.
The soul bond.
It was the ritual she had sought, but not like this. Not forced in battle, not born of desperation and blood. The threads tightened, searing into their skin, marking them with faint crimson lines that glowed beneath the surface. Alix felt him, truly felt him: rage like a storm, grief buried deep, a loneliness that mirrored her own. Flashes of memory not hers— a throne room in flames, a father's execution, a mother's scream—flooded her mind before snapping away.
Donstram yanked his hand back, but the bond held, invisible yet unbreakable. "What have you done?" he whispered, voice raw.
"I didn't..." Alix stared at the glowing threads, fading now but permanent. "The blood. It triggered the rite. We're... linked."
The captain recovered first, raising his sword. "Abomination! Kill them both!"
But the bond had changed everything. Alix felt Donstram's strength flow into her, raw and unrefined, bolstering her shadows. She lashed out, vines erupting larger now, empowered by his fury. They wrapped the captain, thorns digging deep. Donstram retrieved his sword in a blur, moving with unnatural speed, as if her magic fed his reflexes.
Together, they finished the fight in moments. Bodies fell, the clearing silent except for their ragged breathing.
Donstram sheathed his blade, staring at his hand where the faint red mark lingered. "This bond. It means what?"
Alix touched her own wrist, feeling the echo of his heartbeat. "Our souls are tied. We share strength, pain... emotions, if we're not careful. The curse needed royal blood to break. Yours will do. But now, neither of us can die without the other suffering. And if one falls..."
"The other follows," he finished, voice flat. He met her eyes, anger warring with something deeper. "You used me."
"You saved me," she countered. "And now we're stuck together until we finish what the bond started. We break the curse properly, or we live like this forever."
Donstram looked toward the horizon, where the sun finally crested the trees, painting the forest gold. "Then we move. The king will send more. And I have no intention of dying for a witch's mistake."
Alix stood, wincing at the wound in her side. "It's not a mistake. It's fate."
He snorted. "Fate can burn."
But he did not walk away. Instead, he tore a strip from his cloak and knelt, pressing it to her bleeding side without asking. His touch was rough, clinical, but the bond hummed at the contact, a warmth that had nothing to do with healing.
Unique insight struck Alix then, sharp and unwelcome: Bonds like this were not chains of fate alone. They were mirrors, forcing two broken souls to confront what they had long avoided. Trust was the true curse, and breaking it might hurt more than any spell.
Donstram rose, offering her a hand. She took it, the red threads between them flickering once, then settling into quiet glow.
They left the clearing together, enemies bound by blood, walking into a dawn that promised only more darkness.