I stripped and sank into the water. It stung the cuts on my knuckles but felt good on the scales. They gleamed under the surface like living metal. I scrubbed fast, my mind still spinning with roots and crevices and the memory of twelve bodies on the north hill.
When I came out, Sunna was waiting with the food. I ate standing up, barely tasting it. Nina leaned against the door, sharpening her dagger with slow, steady scrapes.
"You're not alone in this," she said without looking up. "The whole keep saw what you did in the valley. Some are scared. Most are grateful. But they need you steady, not half-dead from beating up wooden posts."
I swallowed the last bite and wiped my mouth. "Steady gets people killed when the elders bring whatever the fuck they're cooking up next."
Sunna handed me a clean shirt. "Then get steady with us. Not alone."
I pulled the shirt on. The fabric felt soft against the new scales on my chest. The bond tugged harder now, warm and insistent. Gunnar was awake and waiting.
I walked back to his room with Sunna and Nina flanking me like guards. The corridor felt longer than usual. My arms ached. My mind wouldn't shut up.
Gunnar was sitting up when I pushed the door open. He looked better: color in his face, the black veins almost gone—but he still couldn't stand without help. His silver eyes locked on me the second I stepped inside.
"You wrecked the yard again," he said. No greeting. Just fact.
I dropped into the chair beside the bed. "I controlled it. Mostly."
He reached out and caught my hand. The bond flared bright and steady between our palms. For the first time in three days some of the restless fire inside me quieted.
"You're pushing too hard without me," he said quietly. "The power's part of you now. It doesn't like being ignored."
I squeezed his fingers. The scales on my neck caught the lantern light. "I don't want to need you every time it flares. Not when they could take you down again."
His thumb traced the silver on my wrist. "You don't need me. You've got me. There's a difference."
Sunna and Nina slipped out without a word. The door clicked shut.
I climbed onto the bed carefully, curling against his good side. His arm came around me heavy and warm. The bond settled deep in my chest, calm for the first time since the valley.
Outside, the keep kept moving: repairs, scouts coming and going, warriors sharpening steel for whatever came next.
Two days. Maybe less.
I closed my eyes and listened to Gunnar's heartbeat, steady under my ear.
The power inside me stirred once, low and waiting, but it didn't fight the bond this time.
I still didn't know if I could control it when the Black Council showed up with everything they had.
But for the first time in three days I believed I might not have to figure it out alone.
Gunnar's hand stroked slow down my back. "Rest," he murmured. "We train together tomorrow. Properly."
I nodded against his chest. Tomorrow.
Because the elders weren't done.
And neither were we.
*******************
A week dragged by in a blur of sweat, steel, and the constant low burn of the bond in my chest.
Gunnar was back on his feet by the fourth day, limping at first, then walking the walls like he owned every stone.
The black lightning scar on his chest had faded to a pale handprint, but the veins underneath still showed when he pushed too hard. He never complained. Just grabbed a practice sword and dragged me out to the yard every dawn and every dusk until my arms felt like they'd fall off.
We trained together now. No more solo beatings on wooden posts while I tried not to crack the ground. He'd stand ten feet away, silver eyes locked on mine, and bark corrections every time my power slipped.
"Anchor first," he'd growl when roots shot out wild and smashed a dummy instead of wrapping it neat. "Bond before the storm. Feel me, Elva. Not just the fire."
I felt him. Every damn time. The bond had thickened into something solid after the valley fight, like a live wire running between our ribs.
When I pushed power through it, the scales on my arms and chest stayed cool instead of burning. I could call a single root now without splitting the yard in half. Small crevices on command. Enough to trip a wolf or swallow a leg without burying half the keep.
But it still wasn't perfect. Yesterday I'd tried a full crevice during a mock fight and the ground had split wider than I meant.
Gunnar had lunged in, grabbed my wrist, and the bond had slammed the power back down before it swallowed Matthías. We'd both ended up on our asses in the dirt, breathing hard, laughing like idiots while the warriors watching us pretended not to stare.
The keep had settled into a rhythm of war. Scouts rode in and out at all hours. Repairs never stopped. Warriors drilled until they dropped.
Sunna and Nina had taken over organizing the supplies and the younger fighters, turning the courtyard into a constant clatter of blades and shouted orders.
Every night the hall filled with the smell of roasted meat and the low murmur of men who knew the next fight was coming soon.
I spent the nights curled against Gunnar's side in his big bed, scales pressed to his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat while the bond hummed steady between us.
Some nights we didn't sleep right away. The bond pulled harder then, heat and want and that ancient Old Blood recognition that made my skin feel too tight. We hadn't sealed it fully yet.
Gunnar kept saying I needed to be steady first, but the tension between us had turned sharp and sweet. Every kiss felt like a promise and a warning at the same time.
On the morning of the seventh day I woke to an empty bed and the sound of boots in the corridor. Gunnar was already dressed, sword belt on, face set like stone. The scar on his chest showed under the open collar of his shirt, pale but still there.
"Scouts just rode in," he said when he saw me sit up. "Get dressed and get to the hall. Now."
I pulled on clothes quickly and followed him. The main hall was packed. Matthías stood at the head table with a fresh map unrolled, red marks all over the border lines. Nina leaned on her crossbow, face grim. Sunna sat on the edge of the table, one leg swinging, but her eyes were hard.
The lead scout: a lanky man named Daníel Gíslason with a fresh cut across his cheek, spoke the second we walked in.
"They've regrouped at the old mill. Black Council plus two full packs from the eastern ridges. That's another two hundred wolves, easy. Green smoke's thicker than ever. They're not hiding it anymore. And they've got something new. Big cages covered in black cloth. Smells like the Bound, but worse."
Gunnar's jaw flexed. "Numbers?"
"Close to five hundred total. They'll hit the outer ridge in three days if they march straight."
The hall went dead quiet for a beat. Five hundred. We had maybe a hundred and twenty fit fighters left after the valley.