Page 34 of Marked By the Enemy
Darian was crouching by the stream, one hand resting in the water. His sword was sheathed. He remained there when I stepped into view and didn’t ask what I’d seen. “Let’s stop testing the bond.”
I nodded. “You’re right. We need to start training it instead.”
“And we should train together.”
Morning heat pressed low and still across the courtyard. I woke to the scent of ash and warm air—and the sound of dripping water.
Darian stood near the fire ring, shirtless, toweling his arms with a cloth that had seen better years. His skin caught the light in clean lines. His back was broad, shoulder blades sharp like wings tucked tight against muscle. His waist narrowed beneath, forming the shape of an inverted triangle carved in motion—built for speed and control.
He didn’t look surprised to see me watching. “Didn’t think you were a morning person,” he said.
“I’m not.” I sat up and pulled my braid loose. “But you’re loud.”
“That river’s colder than it looks.” He tossed the cloth over a stone and crouched to turn the flatbread warming on a hot stone by the coals.
“Is that breakfast?”
“Unless you want raw roots.” He gestured to the rabbit meat he’d salted the night before, now sizzling softly over the fire.
I crossed my legs, knees drawn in. The dirt was already warm under my skin. He passed me half a strip of meat wrapped in flatbread. Our fingers brushed. I didn’t thank him. The bread was dense, tough at the edges, but the meat inside still held its juices.
Smoke clung to the fibers, sweetened slightly by the herbs he must have tucked into the pack days ago. The first bite filled my mouth with salt and ash and something faintly spiced—like dried mint or ground pine. It stuck to the roof of my mouth, rough at first, before melting.
“Did you dream?” he asked once I swallowed it down with water.
“I didn’t,” I said.
“Is that a good or bad thing?”
“I’m not sure. I had hoped to ask that creature more questions about what it meant by a forgotten kingdom and sacrifice.”
We ate in silence, the kind that didn’t grate. The bond was quiet and attentive. It was waiting for something.
After a while, Darian set his food aside and stood, brushing crumbs from his hands.
I rose, wiping my palms on my tunic. “Let’s see if it’s ready.”
We moved into the center of the ring without weapons. Just open ground and sky, and the stone beneath our boots. The vow-magic felt different. It had steadied overnight and had stopped tightening without cause. It had direction.
I took my place at the northern edge of the ring. Darian stood across from me in the south, his stance grounded. We didn’t bow. We didn’t speak until it mattered.
The sun broke fast over the trees to my left and his right, casting long stripes of gold across the ring. It warmed one arm while the other stayed cool. Dust lifted in the breeze and glowed midair for a breath before falling still again.
“Begin,” I said.
He raised a hand. The tether between us wavered. One thread, clean and singular, lifted in the air.
“Now split it,” I said.
He tilted his head. “Into what?”
I met his gaze. “Truth. And resistance.”
A flicker of doubt crossed his brow. “You want it to hold both?”
“I want it to learn contradiction.”
He nodded and narrowed his focus. The thread shimmered as it levitated a couple of feet above the ground. Then it split—first into two, then into a pair of opposites: one bright, sharp-edged and clean like a blade forged from clarity, and the other dark, a strand of grit and recoil, wound tight as memory withheld. They hovered between us like options, unchosen. I stepped forward.
