The second dawn outside Bravhessa felt cleaner than the first.
No street noise, no market bells, no stink of the river's rot. Just the thin hiss of wind through leaves and the slow, patient crackle of our fire.
Sel had managed to snare a rabbit last night. What was left of it roasted on a stick, spitting fat into the coals. She crouched with her chin on her knees, hair tangled from sleep, eyes half-lidded but still sharper than any blade I'd ever touched.
"You stare like that," she said without looking up, "and I'll start thinking you've fallen for me."
I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders. "You talk like that, and I'll start thinking you've forgotten what silence is."
She grinned—quick, sly. Then she tossed me the stick. "Eat before you faint again. You're still thin as a crow's shadow."
I tore off a piece, chewing slow. The meat was stringy, burned at the edges, but warm. Better than bread gone stale. Better than the broth at the inn that never stopped tasting of onion.
"It's getting colder, huh?"
Selaithe looked at me and shrugged, "Hibernal season is near."
For a while we didn't speak. Morning light filtered pale through the trees, and the world felt… almost bearable. My chest still ached when I thought of Bravhessa, of the letter under my pack, of the woman who wasn't a friend or foe. But the ache was quieter now.
Sel broke the silence.
"You know the village ahead?"
I shook my head.
"It's small. Fields, a well, shrine to the river-god no one prays to anymore. Good place to lie low, if we don't look too shiny." She poked the fire with a stick, eyes faraway. "Folk there don't ask questions. Not unless you smell like coin."
I frowned. "How do you know all that?"
Her grin tilted, almost sheepish. "I ask the right ears. Even rocks gossip if you know how to listen."
I wanted to press her. To ask who told her, or when she'd learned. But before I could, the wind shifted.
And I heard it.
Voices. Faint, muffled, carried through trees. More than two. Maybe five. Boots crunching undergrowth, leather creaking, the faint jangle of iron.
Sel's head snapped up. Her smile vanished like a candle in rain.
We froze.
The voices grew louder. Male, rough, laughing at something sharp-edged. I caught fragments—"load," "coin," "slower next time"—words carried and broken by wind.
Sel's hand slid to her knife. She mouthed, bandits.
But I heard something else. A softer sound, hidden under the laughter. Chains. The slow drag of metal links through leaves.
My stomach turned cold.
Slave merchants.
Sel shifted closer, her shoulder brushing mine. Her whisper was barely a breath:
"Kaelen. We move, or we watch. Your choice."
⟡
We crept low, skirting the brush until we found a hollow between roots. From there, we could see them.
Five men. Scarves drawn high, leather mismatched and torn, blades at their sides. Their horses stood restless, reins tied to a leaning oak. And behind them—gods.
Children. Six at least. Small. Some younger than me. Bound at the wrists, bare feet muddied and raw. One stumbled, and a man yanked the chain so hard she fell. He laughed.
Sel's nails dug into the bark at our hiding place. Her breath went sharp through her teeth.
"Kids," I whispered, though the word tasted like ash.
Her mauve eyes flicked to mine—question, challenge, fury.
I swallowed. My hands were shaking. "We can't just—"
"Then we don't." Her knife caught the light like a fang.
I thought of Nareva's voice. Don't drown it. Don't force it. But there was nothing gentle in me now. Only a knot, tightening.
Still—I stepped out first.
The men looked up as I pushed from the trees. I raised my palms, empty. Ashriven was strapped across my back, hidden.
"We'll buy them," I said, surprised at how steady my voice sounded. "All of them."
One of the men spat. "With what? That ragged cloak?" His eyes roved over me, then toward Sel slipping from the shadows. "Or the girl? Pretty trade, that."
Heat flared in my chest. "We have coin," I lied. "Enough for all of them."
The leader smirked, brown teeth showing. "Then toss it here, boy, and maybe I won't take your bones for firewood."
Sel moved before I could stop her. She launched from the brush like a spring loosed, knife flashing, teeth bared. Her first slash tore across a throat, spraying red into leaves. She spun, drove her blade up into a second belly, ripped it free. The third barely had time to shout before her knee broke his jaw and her knife found his heart.
Three bodies hit the dirt.
The last two men shouted, dragging a boy forward. Beastfolk—wolf ears matted with blood, eyes wide and wet. A knife pressed to his throat.
"Stay back!" one screamed, his voice cracking. "One step closer, he dies!"
Sel froze, chest heaving, blade slick with blood.
My pulse roared. The boy's small chest rose and fell like a bird's. My own hands clenched so tight they ached.
Not again.
I reached back. Ashriven slid free, heavy and cold in my grip.
The world narrowed. The Waeve throbbed, threads flickering wild around me, begging to tear loose. My aura burned against my skin—white, suffocating.
Beast Style. Instinct more than thought. Veilstep—a breath, a slip, a cut through the seams of air itself.
One heartbeat I stood ten paces away.
The next, the world blurred.
And I was behind them.
⟡
First slash cut his hand off, and before I knew it, both men were already dead.
Not my job though—Selaithe got them.
She moved past me like water through stone, blade quick and merciless. The man with the knife to the boy's throat didn't even have time to scream. His eyes widened, then Sel's dagger opened his neck. The last one stumbled back, clutching the stump of his wrist, and she buried steel in his chest.
Silence fell hard. The children didn't cheer. They didn't move. They just stared at us, eyes too wide for their small faces. One little girl's lip trembled, but no sound came out.
Most of their eyes lingered on Sel, clinging to her voice and her arms. When they looked at me, it was different—hesitant, like they weren't sure whether I was a sword or a hand.
I lowered Ashriven, cloth-wrapped blade still humming with the weight of what I'd almost done. My aura still pressed hot against my skin, threatening to spill if I didn't push it down. My chest still burned where the aura had pressed to get out, like something alive caged beneath my ribs. It didn't fade quickly this time. I swallowed hard and sheathed the sword.
Sel wiped her knife on the grass, then crouched before the wolf-eared boy. She tilted her head, hair falling wild across her cheek, and offered him her hand. "It's done. You're safe."
He blinked at her fingers, then at me. Slowly, he reached out.
The others followed when we knelt by their chains. Rusted iron, badly riveted. It took effort, but with Ashriven's edge I severed the links one by one. They flinched at every spark, but they didn't run. Too tired. Too hollow.
When the last chain fell, Sel sat back on her heels. "That's all of them." Her mauve eyes flicked to me. "What now?"
I looked at the children. Thin wrists, bruises on their ankles, dirt caked into their skin. Most couldn't be older than six. My stomach knotted.
"We take them," I said, before I could think better of it.
Sel raised an eyebrow. "Take them… where?"
"The village you mentioned. Two days north, that is." I tried to sound steady. "We can't leave them here."
She studied me for a long, sharp moment. Then she shrugged, a half-smile curling at her mouth. "Soft heart. Dangerous thing, Kaelen," Then added, "shame there's no place for me in it, or is it?"
I ignored her teasing. She pulled one of the smaller girls into her arms, muttering something soft in elven tongue, and the child clung to her like a shadow.
I gathered the rest, herding them away from the bodies. They wouldn't look at the corpses. Neither would I.
As we set off back toward the road, Sel whispered close to my ear, low enough only I could hear:
"Guess we're parents now," As she bit my cheek.
I jerked at the sting, scowled, but she only grinned wider. I didn't give her the satisfaction of rubbing the spot.
Her grin was wicked, but her grip on the little girl was careful, almost tender.