Page 49 of Duskbound

"Since he pulled me out of prison five years ago." A wry smile crossed her lips. "I thought he was there to execute me, actually. Instead, he offered me a place in the Umbra. Said my skills could be put to better use than arming assassins."

"You were in prison?"

"Oh yes. Got caught selling spelled weapons to an illegal guild." She laughed, but there was an edge to it. "Not my finest moment, but when you grow up alone in Eastern Umbrathia, you learn to take whatever opportunities you can get. And I was always drawn to sharp things."

Vexa guided Draug into a gentle turn, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "The thing about desperation is it makes you forget there might be other choices. I learned to forge weapons because I had to survive, and because my tether allows me to imbue them. The illegal dealings..." She shrugged. "They just seemed like the next logical step. Until they weren't."

I watched a group of Vördr glide in the distance. "What happened?"

"Got sloppy. Started drinking too much. Made deals with thewrong people." Her voice held no self-pity, just a matter-of-fact acceptance. "Ended up in a cell wondering if execution might be better than rotting away. Then Aether showed up, offering redemption in the form of military service." She shot me a knowing look. "Sound familiar?"

My heart stuttered. "More than you know." I took a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs. "I nearly killed two noble girls almost a year ago. I couldn't control my abilities—my focus, as we called it. One moment they were taunting me, the next..." I swallowed hard. "A General in the Guard found me. Said I had a choice–join them or face the consequences."

"Some choice," Vexa muttered.

"Yeah." I adjusted my grip on the reins, remembering Laryk's face that day—how his emerald eyes had seemed so dark that night. But I couldn't tell Vexa that part. Couldn't explain how that initial coercion had transformed into something else entirely. "The Guard became everything after that. My purpose. My home." The words tasted bitter now.

Vexa tilted her head, considering my words. "You know, I used to think redemption meant erasing who you were before. Becoming someone new." She glanced toward Ravenfell, barely visible through the mist. "But sometimes it's about accepting all of it—the mistakes, the choices, even the parts that shame us."

The words hit closer than I expected. I thought of the shadows that had emerged in Emeraal, how I'd tried so hard to deny that part of myself. Even now, knowing what I was, accepting it felt like another matter entirely.

"When did you know?" I asked. "That the Umbra was actually where you wanted to be?"

A smile tugged at her lips. "Well, probably when a certain noble decided my charm was irresistible."

"Effie?" I couldn't help but smile. "That must be quite a story."

"Oh, it is. She was absolutely horrified by me at first. Called meuncouth, barbaric—" Vexa's eyes softened at the memory. "Now look at her, sneaking down to the forge just to watch me work, pretending she's not completely smitten."

A sharp cry from Draug cut through our conversation. The Vördr's head snapped toward the ground, wings going rigid. Beside me, Tryggar tensed, a low warning sound rumbling in his chest.

"What is it?" I whispered, but Vexa had already raised her hand for silence.

She guided Draug lower, careful to keep us within the cover of clouds. That's when I saw them—figures moving along a narrow road that wound through the wasteland. Even from such a distance, their movements were unnaturally graceful—uniform.

"Damphyre," Vexa breathed, her earlier warmth completely gone. "At least a dozen. Headed to Draxon."

"Why would they be out here?" I asked, noting how far we were from the main roads.

"That's what worries me." Vexa's eyes narrowed. "This route... it's old, barely used. The only reason to take it is if you're trying to avoid being seen from Ravenfell." She watched the group for a moment longer. "And it leads straight to the rip."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The ceremonial blackleathers felt stiff against my skin, new and difficult to move in. Effie circled me like a predator, adjusting straps and smoothing nonexistent wrinkles.

"Stop fidgeting," she scolded, batting my hands away from the collar for the third time.

"You're the one shoving me around." I shifted again, just to watch her eyes twitch.

Vexa lounged on my bed, absently tracing the void burns that spiraled up her arm. "Let her be, Effie. We all fidgeted before our ceremony."

"Ididn't fidget," Effie sniffed, but her hands went gentle as she adjusted my sleeve.

"No, you just threw up in the waiting chamber."

"I did not!" Effie spun to face her, color rising in her cheeks. "I was... momentarily overwhelmed."

"Right." Vexa's lips quirked. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

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