"Jonna!" Oriana jogged after her sister, branches clawing at her sleeves as she plunged deeper into the damp tangle of trees. Her boots sucked against the mud, each step leaving a dark print in the sodden earth where Jonna had passed before her. "Jo-" She called, breathless.
"Jonna! Show Warren the sand trick." A familiar voice called out, stopping Oriana in her tracks. By the water, Warren kicked aimlessly at a scatter of stones, sending them plunking into the shallows. Beside him, Silvan shifted in his chair, his bald head glistening with sweat in the sunlight, though the rest of him sagged with age. He turned slightly, as if he sensed her sister approaching.
"It's why I'm here, isn't it?" Jonna snapped, glaring at the old man.
Oriana stayed hidden in the trees as Jo crossed the distance between her and the men sitting on the river bank. Sunlight caught in her golden hair as she crouched beside them. Between her palms, sparks guttered to life, knitting themselves into a molten orb that pulsed with heat. The fireball hummed, its edges wavering like the surface of boiling water, before she pressed it down into the sand. Rising up, she used her weight to stamp it down. Then she stood, wiping the sweat from her brow, and gestured toward the sand. "Check it."
Warren scrambled forward, his dirty hair hanging limp in his face, and dug in the sand, yanking his hand back. "It's hot!"
"It's melted glass, Warren," Jonna smirked before returning to Silvan. "You promised you'd speak with Squire for me, and yet I just left his office and-"
"I did promise, but that was before you told me what you wanted me to speak with him about, Jonna."
"Silvan-" She kneeled beside his chair. "The Elders won't even grant me a meeting without your support." Oriana shifted closer, keeping her steps light. For Jonna to go before the Elders wasn't unusual; she had always been vocal about her opinions, but for her to need Silvan's support was new. She must have asked for something big.
"I can't back your proposal." Silvan's tone hardened like stone. "It's madness."
"It's not mad. It's what we should have done ten years ago when that fat cow climbed off her throne and started a war against our people."
"You speak of our Queen, Jonna. Have some respect." His voice was low, laced with anger.
"I will not." She shook her head, clearly frustrated. "Aren't you tired of running? We build a home for our people, and she sends more soldiers to slaughter us. We flee and start over, and she finds us again."
"We haven't had to run in years, Jonna. We are safe here. The woods hide us. The Sisters protect us. Are you saying your prayers?"
"The Sisters don't care, Silvan!" Jonna lurched to her feet, sending a spray of sand scattering as her voice cracked. Her cheeks burned crimson, and the tendons stood out sharp in her neck. "Our people pray for their protection, but we are ignored. Still, Una hunts us down like dogs. Our people go missing or are murdered. We are starving inside these walls." Jonna shook her head and crouched back down beside him. "Soon, there won't be enough of us left to fight back. Unless we-"
"We fight back by surviving." Silvan reached out for her hand, but she pulled away. "As long as a single Blessed survives, magic survives. That is the goal."
"I'm tired of surviving. I want to thrive." She begged, her voice breaking. "I want to bring our people back to their former glory. Back when we ruled this land, and we knew true peace."
"You speak the fantasies of a child."
"I'm not alone in my beliefs, Silvan." She snapped, but he barely cast her a glance. "The younger citizens are tired as well. If we pull the Guardians home, we'll have the numbers we need to take-"
"No." Silvan waved her away. "Warren, pull it from the sand."
"Silvan, please-"
"No!" Silvan's roar rattled the stillness, carrying through the trees like a whipcrack. Birds shrieked into the air, branches trembling in their wake. Oriana flinched, her breath catching as the old man's fury filled the clearing. "The Guardians look for survivors. I won't pull them from their task and leave our people out there undefended." Jonna shook her head, her eyes beginning to tear.
"Jonna!" Oriana stumbled from the trees, plastering a fake smile on her face. "Mama sent me to- Oh, hello." Jonna stared at her wide-eyed, her gaze sweeping over her mud-caked clothes. Oriana jogged to their sides and gave a small wave at Warren. "Did you find sand glass?"
"Your sister made it." Silvan smiled up at her, his green eyes milky with blindness. "I was having her show Warren what just a few months of practice can do. He's recently discovered an affinity with fire, and I was hoping that showing him what another could do would motivate him to work harder."
"That's amazing, Jonna." Oriana reached out, brushing her fingers down her sister's arm. "Have you shown Mama?"
"Not yet." She snapped, her gaze riveted on Silvan.
"We should go show her now. I'm sure she'd love to see it." Jonna ignored her.
Silvan beamed up at Oriana. "You're such a breath of fresh air, Oriana." Silvan pushed himself up, and out of his chair, his spine bent with age. "Always a joy to have you near. You should take a page from your sister's book, Jonna. Always kind, her voice full of laughter." He grabbed his cane to lean on and turned toward Jonna, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I heard from Squire that a young man petitioned to marry her just this morning." Oriana flinched, her head snapping toward Silvan. "A beautiful girl deserves a great man to settle down with. Start a family. Carry on our blood."
"Half-blood," Warren whispered, and every head turned to him. His eyes widened, his face flushing red. "I didn't mean no offense." Oriana held his gaze until he looked away, uncomfortable.
"You know our gift isn't tied to our blood." Jonna barked, but they both ignored her.
"Even half-blood is better than no blood." Silvan reached out, fumbling to pat Oriana's arm.
"Oriana doesn't need the Blessing; she more than makes up for it with a blade." Jonna snapped, pulling her sister from his reach. "There isn't a better fighter in camp. Godram agrees. Sometimes, people can have more than one purpose, Silvan. She can have a family and defend our people. And so can I. If that's what I want."
"Perhaps a bit more energy on the family front and see where it leads us. Hm? We must all do our part to ensure our people survive." He turned and started back towards the trees. "Warren, come along. Let's get out of this rain. And bring the glass."
Both women stayed rooted in place until Warren and Silvan disappeared into the trees. When they were sure the men were out of hearing, Jonna growled, slamming her fists into the sand. Oriana felt the heat blast as she released her magic. She waited, heart pounding, while Jonna slowly stood.
She looked Oriana up and down, grimacing, but said nothing. "Why'd you come looking for me?" Oriana stared back at her, confused. "You said something about Mama?"
"Right. It's almost supper time. It's your turn to help Mama cook."
"Of course." Jonna sighed, and it was like all the life had left her. Her shoulders slumped, and the fire always in her eyes dimmed. "Walk home with me. Perhaps some of your constant laughter will rub off on me." Shemumbled but forced a grin.
Oriana snickered. "Don't forget my kindness. One of my more attractive traits, to be sure."
"Of course. Perhaps it will help me find a husband as well. Then, we can both have our own crumbling homes. Where we can raise starving children and sing them beautiful lullabies when they wake from their sleep crying out in fear." She reached for her sister's arm, then grimaced and dropped her hand.
Realization hit Oriana like a physical blow. "You weren't in your bed this morning when I woke. You stayed in the nursery with Elis last night, didn't you?" Only now did she notice the dark hollows under Jonna's eyes, the way her skin had lost its warmth, gone pale as milk.
Jonna nodded, her gaze trained on her feet. "Elis always stays in the nursery. Every night, she's there with them." Slowly, she lifted her head, and Oriana recoiled at the haunted look in her sister's eyes. "How do you think she does it?"
Oriana reached out to take her sister's hand. "Does what?"
Jonna shook her head, lips pressed tight, and turned to stare into the distance as though searching for courage in the treeline. Oriana waited, the silence stretching long enough to make her heart ache. "How does she keep smiling and laughing when everything around us falls apart?"
Oriana stared back at her sister, at a loss. Elis was a Blessing in human form. She was always joyful. Oriana couldn't remember a single time she had seen her anything but upbeat. Even when enraged, she radiated light. "Because she has to?" Oriana tried, her voice small. She lifted one shoulder in a helpless shrug. "Because if she didn't… then the children would never know joy at all."
"But it's not real."
Oriana's throat tightened. She wanted to argue, but there was no denying the truth in Jonna's voice. "I don't think it matters, Jo," she said at last. "They don't know. And if they don't know, then it's real enough to them."
Jonna's lips twisted into a smirk, but it was brittle, without humor. "If what these people didn't know could fill our empty stomachs, we'd all be fat," Oriana smirked before breaking away and heading toward the river. "I thought you were coming home with me?"
"I want to, but I'm needed at the wall. You'll bring me dinner later, though?" Jonna sighed and turned away, but not before Oriana saw her roll her eyes. "You can't brag about me defending our people one moment and then scoff the next," Oriana said softly, frustration bleeding through.
"It's pitiful, Ori. You run around giving all of yourself to these people, and half of them wouldn't give two figs if you fell off a cliff."
The words landed like stones in Oriana's stomach. She frowned, forcing out a grumble that sounded thinner than she intended. "I'd like to think they'd care a little. Besides… I'm just doing my part. We're family, Jonna."
"This isn't a family." Jonna shook her head, then stopped. "Just be careful. And maybe dunk yourself in the river. If Mama sees you like this, she'll keel over." She touched her sister's shoulder briefly before following the path the others had taken away from the river. Oriana stayed where she was, watching until her sister's figure dissolved into the shadows of the trees. Only then did she turn toward the river, her chest heavy, her feet dragging through the sand as if weighted down by every word Jonna had spoken.
Oriana stomped down the bank until the water lapped at the top of her boots. Then she crouched, reaching out to run her fingers through the icy water. "How could it be so hot and the water still so cold." With a sigh, she rose quickly, pulled her boots off, and then stepped in before she could change her mind. It rose up her pants legs, instantly freezing her skin. At its deepest point, the water only rose to her hips, so she had to sink down, letting the water rise up and over her head.
The world above vanished. The roar of water filled her ears, pressing in on her skull. She held her breath, eyes squeezed shut, and let the shock wash through her body. For a heartbeat, memory threatened—half-remembered rushing currents, the weight of water dragging her down, but she forced it back, shoving the fear into the farthest corner of her mind. Not now. Not today.
Breaking the surface, she dragged in a sharp breath and set about her task. She untucked her tattered smock and wriggled out of her trousers, scrubbing them against the rocks until her knuckles ached. When they were as clean as she could manage, she flung them onto a cluster of dry stones. Stockings followed, slapped wetly against the shore. Finally, she loosened her braid, freed her hair from its ribbon, and worked her fingers through the tangles while the current tugged the strands away like trailing ribbons of ink.
When she was as clean as she could get without soap, she stood laid back in the water with a sigh. Oriana let her body become weightless, herdark hair fanned out around her head. She watched the clouds drift by overhead, listening to the muffled sounds of the world under the water.
The sea had always unnerved her; dark, fathomless, hiding what her eyes could not pierce. Drowning or being dragged into the unknown, she couldn't say which frightened her more. But the river was different. Here, she could see the bottom. Here, she could stand. The river did not demand her fear.
When the cold began to seep into her bones, Oriana rose, wringing out her heavy hair, twisting it down until droplets trailed across her smock. She worked the water from her sleeves, her hem, shivering as she waded toward the stony shore. She reached for her pile of clothes, then froze.
A sound cracked through the stillness. Like a branch snapping back into place after being bent too far. Her hand hovered in the air. The forest held its breath. Slowly, she turned. And from the shadow of the trees, he stepped into the light.
His hair had grown long in the months since he'd gone, wild strands falling into his face. His clothes hung in tatters, caked with grime, and the sword dangling loosely from his hand was stained with what looked like dried blood. Her gaze climbed to meet his, and in an instant, the cold riverwater clinging to her skin seemed to vanish. His eyes dragged over her in a slow, unhurried sweep, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, as though the air itself had shifted to fire. Slowly, his gaze drifted up to meet hers.
"Emrys?" The name slipped out rougher, huskier than she meant, and her cheeks flamed with the betrayal of it. It wasn't fair that she had this reaction to him every time he made his way back to them, and he remained completely unbothered.
He shut his eyes, drawing in a breath so deep his chest strained against the filth of his tunic. When they opened again, Oriana staggered back a step. They were the same warm chestnut brown she remembered, but something had shifted—hollowed, darkened, as though he carried shadows behind his gaze. He looked wilder. Untethered.
"Emrys?" She whispered again, forcing herself to take a step towards him.
But he moved back, raising his sword like a barrier between them. The motion was sharp, practiced, instinctive. Behind him, shapes stirred in the trees—men stepping into the clearing, burdened under the weight of a body slung between them.
"Tell Squire we've returned. We need a healer." His voice was deep, roughened as if long unused, and something about the sound of it made her chest ache.
Her gaze roamed over him, searching for the boy she knew. He was thinner now, his unshaven jaw cutting his features sharper, harsher. The sun caught his hair and turned it nearly black, though she remembered it the warm shade of polished mahogany the traders carried from the north. He was Emrys. And yet… not.
"Now!" His voice snapped like a whip, dragging her back to herself.
Oriana flinched, heat rising to her face. Without another word, she spun on her heel and darted for the trees, her heart pounding against her ribs like a caged bird.
She cut across the shorter path, sprinting past the Great House with its looming stone façade and the neat row of guest houses. Her bare feet slapped against the packed earth, and when she reached the tents again she slowed, lungs heaving, as she caught sight of Bradan. He was kneeling beside an elderly woman she didn't recognize, his hands steadying her thin shoulders.
"Have you seen Squire?" Oriana gasped.
Bradan's head snapped up, his gaze flicking in surprise—then lingering, startled, on her bare legs. Color rose to his cheeks. "Uh… he just went hurrying toward the main gate. What's wrong? Is it Estia?"
"Mama's fine. Get to the river. The Guardians have returned." The words tumbled out clipped and urgent. She didn't wait for his answer, already tearing off between the tents, her braid thumping against her back as she made for the gate.
No sign of Squire. Her chest tightened. She lunged up the stairs two at a time, weaving side to side in the narrow switchbacks until she burst onto the wall-walk. Her palms smacked against the railing, the force nearly pitching her forward into open air.
"Oriana!"
She turned at the sound of her name. Devlin was striding toward her, worry etched across his face. His blue eyes swept down her frame, then back up, locking onto her face. His black hair was combed as neatly as ever, grazing just above his ears, and his jaw was freshly shaved—save for a stubborn patch just beneath his chin. Somehow, the small imperfection made him seem even more solid, more real.
"What's happened?" he asked, closing the space between them. His hand lifted to her cheek, calloused thumb brushing against her chin in a way that was far too gentle, far too intimate. "You're freezing."
Oriana's heart stammered. The heat rushed to her cheeks, betraying her, and she saw his grin spark at the sight.
"And you're filthy," he teased, brushing at a streak of mud on her jaw.
"I—" She shook her head, stumbling over her own breath. The touch rattled her. He had never touched her like this before. Not with such easy familiarity, not with such… intent.
"Oriana?" His voice softened, dipped almost to a whisper. His eyes narrowed with concern—and something else she couldn't place. Something that made her heart kick faster against her ribs.
"I was at the river. The Guardians have returned." The words tore free, rushed and embarrassingly breathless.
Devlin's gaze darted over the wall toward the path she'd come from. He nodded once, then turned back, expectant.
"I've already sent Bradan," she added quickly. "I need Squire."
"Always one step ahead of the rest of us." His smile broke through the worry, warm and infuriatingly steady. He brushed his knuckles along the underside of her chin, the casual gesture making her flush so hot she thought her skin might ignite. "Don't you worry about a thing. I'll take care of everything."
Then, without hesitation, he spun on his heel, calling over his shoulder as he disappeared down the stairwell.
Oriana crossed to the far side of the platform, the wood groaning under her boots, and leaned against the railing. From here she could watch Devlin's retreating form, tall and wiry as he cut a swift path toward the river. The fading sunlight caught on his damp hair, and the fabric of his trousers clung to his legs with every stride—until a low voice startled her.
"I don't like the way he talks to you."
She spun around, heart lurching, and found Erik propped lazily against the opposite railing as if he'd been there all along, shadows cutting sharp lines across his face. His eyes, though, were fixed on her.
She blinked at him, then flicked her gaze past him down the length of the platform. "Where'd you come from?"
"And sometimes," he added, ignoring her question, "I don't like the way he looks at you either."
Her laugh burst sharp and unguarded, echoing into the open air. Down the platform, two guards leaned out of their post and cast her a glare. Oriana lifted a hand in apology before turning her scowl back on Erik. "How does he look at me?" She waggled her brows in mock invitation.
The corner of Erik's mouth tugged upward. "Like you're a project he can't put down."
That stopped her—because he wasn't wrong. But Devlin hadn't always been that way. When they'd first found him here, he'd been timid. The week Una declared war on the Blessed, Devlin and his family fled their home in Vale and traveled South to Greenwall. A journey of nearly two dozen people ended with just Devlin and his two young cousins, Atalante and Drac.
He had survived a year alone with them before her family had found him—ragged, quiet, but curious enough to ask a question or two if she was patient. Three days it had taken her to coax words from him, and once the dam had cracked, she could barely get him to stop. That had been the boy she'd known. But something in him had shifted since. She realized with a start the look she couldn't identify was desperation. He looked at her like he was drowning, and only she could save him. Which was ridiculously flattering and completely unnerving.
"Ori." Erik's throat cleared, tugging her back. She startled at how close his voice was, then forced her attention to him. He studied her with that familiar, unshakable patience, waiting for her to fill the silence. Instead, she changed the subject.
"Mira's throwing a party for Evander tonight."
"I know." He pushed off the railing, his boots thudding softly. "Everyone does. She told us all at least three times."
"She's excited."
"I don't like the idea of everyone being down in those tunnels. They're dirty, and some of the survivors have started living down there already."
Oriana smirked. "You used to love the tunnels. We ran them together. You, me, and Dev. You gave me my first kiss in those tunnels."
Color rushed to his ears. He looked away, suddenly fascinated with the railing. "On the cheek. And only because he dared me."
"It counts." Her grin widened, delighting in his discomfort. "You should come. She'd like that."
He shook his head, reaching up to rub the spot at the base of his skull that he rubbed when he was anxious. It seemed like he was always worried these days. "How about you stay with me tonight? We can stay up all night telling jokes and harassing Godram. You love that."
She nodded. "I do love that. Godram showed me a new way to disarm an attacker yesterday, and he nearly dislocated my shoulder. Tossed me on my bottom a dozen times before I got it right. He deserves to be tortured." She sighed. "But I can't miss it. And neither can you. Mira will never forgive us."
"They'll just light some pretty candles, throw around some flowers, and drunkenly dance to Albo's drums. No doubt there will be massive orgies all over."
Oriana snickered. "I can't wait…" His eyes went wide as she chuckled again. "For the drums." He looked away, his hand rubbing that spot again. Oriana turned to search the sky, watching the dark clouds move away. She moved a step closer to him and lowered her voice. "Is it the darkness?"
He scoffed, the sound carrying over the wall and sending a nest of birds scattering. They both froze, searching the trees until everything grew still. "I'm not afraid of the dark." He snapped, his voice just above a whisper.
"I'll be with you. I won't leave your side." She reached over to take his hand. "The darkness fears me."
He grinned but pulled his hand away. "I don't want to be around while you're thrusting your hips and jabbing your elbows about. Don't look at me like that. I've seen you dance. Just give her my regrets. I'll come see the boy in the morning. Besides, she will be very excited to see you. Rumor has it someone has asked for your hand in marriage."
Oriana smirked. "Says Silvan."
"Says Aldo and Godram. I heard them discussing it while walking the perimeter."
She whipped her head around so fast, herwet hair flicked Erik in the face. "Did you hear who it was?"
He chuckled. "You do care!" He inched closer. "Who do you want it to be?"
"Ah." She groaned and waved him away. "I don't know."
"How do you not know? Is there no one you enjoy just a little?"
"Here? No. I don't know. How would I even know?"
"I knew, the moment I saw you, that I would marry you." Oriana glanced up, startled. "You dusted the dirt off my nose, and I was smitten. Then I got to know you and realized we'd kill each other, so I turned my attention to Mira." Oriana smirked and turned back to the sky. "I realized I never loved you like that and that clearly Mira was the one for me."
"Then she married Aldo."
"Despite my heavy wooing, yes." He sighed, looking pathetically disappointed. "And I realized once more that she wasn't the one for me. Now I'm in the process of wooing Elis, but I digress. My point is, there is always someone that makes your heart beat harder."
Oriana thought of Emrys, but said nothing. "Makes your stomach flutter like butterfly wings?" She teased.
"Makes your private parts stand at attention." He waggled his own eyebrows at her as she cackled and quickly covered her mouth. "There has to be someone you're even remotely attracted to. Everyone has a type, Oriana. Clearly, mine is-"
She turned to him. "Unavailable?"
He smirked and slugged her in the arm. "Beautiful brunettes?"
"Elis is blonde. Perhaps your type is just women that you know? A girl who talked to you once?"
"Beautiful women?" He stared into the distance and grinned. "Obnoxious women, very much out of my league?"
"No. Definitely not. You're worth at least two and a half me's." They both fell silent. Oriana reached out to slide her hand into his. "I've known since I was a small child that I would marry Uncle Rafa." Erik chuckled, squeezing her hand. "Then, when I knew that could never happen, it was every member of the Guardians since they were founded. Oh, and once, before that, it was Leeto and his butterscotch candies." She sighed and brought his hand to her lips. She pressed a kiss there and shook her head. "We are children, Erik. I don't see how we can be expected to choose the person we will spend the rest of our lives with. Not yet, at least."
"We aren't so young, Ori. When my father was my age, he had already sired two babes, with a third on the way."
"That's gross."
"My sister was three years older than I am now with a husband and a babe. How can I honor their lives if I don't continue our bloodline?" He hung his head and sighed. "Your problem is that you live in your head too much. I think when you meet the one, you'll know. Something inside your cold, dead heart will twitch, and you'll realize that this person is the person for you." Oriana grimaced and started shaking her head before he pinched her. "All I ask is that you give them a chance and not just brush them off because it doesn't make sense up there." He gestured to her head before he brought her fingers to his lips and pressed a kiss there. "If it makes you feel better, I also thought I would marry the Guardians. Just Emrys, though. It's his eyes. They're soulful."
Oriana smirked. "They're haunted. And he's a jerk."
"He's a haunted soulful jerk." Erik sighed, holding her hand to his heart. "I think it's the way he's so detached from all human emotion."
"Or that he's covered in muscles." She admitted.
"His muscles have muscles."
"You know, he yelled at me at the river just now, and for a moment, I thought, Saints, what would he do to me if I didn't obey his orders."
Erik snorted and shoved her away. "You do have a type!"
Oriana chuckled before pushing away from the railing. "I should run home and bathe. Change into clean clothes. Then I'll be back and cover your break."
Erik stepped back and looked her over. "I wasn't going to ask. It seemed rude. But what happened to you? You have dirt in your ears. It's not attractive."
She smirked. "I fell."
"Into the earth?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm running home to change."
"Thank the Saints." He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I'm exhausted and starting to see things." She frowned as she searched his face. Now that she got a good look at him, he didn't look so great. His face was unshaven, his eyes rimmed in red. "Don't say it. I look amazing. I know."
"Like dog vomit. Just go. I'll be fine."
"You are pantless and soaking wet, Ri. You will not be fine."
"Sure I will. Just leave me your pants and I'm covered."
He smirked but then seemed to think it over. "You sure?"
"Yeah. It's just dirt."
He nodded and shimmied out of his pants. When he stood before her in just his underwear they both froze before falling into giggles. "The things I'd do for a few hours of sleep."
She took the pants from him and pulled them on. They swallowed her, but the warmth they provided made the entire experience worth it. "Hopefully these have been washed recently."
Ignoring her comment, he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it to her. Then he cuffed her arm and started around her. "You're the best, Ri."
"Mama said to stop by for dinner. You can rest in my bed after."
"The Hearth women are too good for this world." He blew her a kiss. "Are you sure I can't convince you to marry me? Instead of your mystery man?"
She looked him over, seeming to think about it. Then, she sighed and shook her head. "I'm not sure I could stomach the sight of you naked, Erik."
"Agreed. We could get his and her bags. Put them over each other's heads." Oriana snorted and flipped him off before he disappeared down the stairs.