Page 54 of Marked By the Enemy
“For this.” He snapped his fingers.
Three of the riders moved. They closed in on the woodcutter twins—boys barely past seventeen, with one circle each burned into their palms.
“Wait—“ I stepped forward.
Too late.
The riders surrounded the twins in a perfect triangle. One dropped to a knee, pressed a palm to the dirt. The other two raised their hands. Purple glimmer pulsed from the second circle on each rider’s wrist.
The bond lashed through me, unsure and confused. Purple light shot outward in a jagged ring, catching both young men mid-step. They didn’t fall. They froze. Turned gray. Crumbled. No blood. No scream. Only ash.
I heard the howl of wolves echo through the trees, low and mournful. Two ghostly princes appeared where the twins’ ash had fallen. They stood barefoot upon it, veiled in moonlight, flanked by three translucent wolves. Three falcons perched on spectral arms.
The princes kneeled in the cinders. Their shoulders shook with grief too old for words. With a final cry from the wolves, they vanished—swallowed by mist, leaving only silence behind.
I stumbled back, choking on the dust. The bitter taste of scorched magic filled my mouth. Willow shrieked. A mother with bobbed black hair collapsed to her knees, clawing the earth where her sons had stood.
Branwen lunged forward, but Darian grabbed her arm. “No. Not yet.”
Another rider screamed—one of the remnants. His third circle flared brightly and imploded. Flesh cracked. Skin blackened. His whole body collapsed in on itself like a burned husk. Ash Gone.
Five others surged forward, targeting villagers with only one circle. A little boy with black curly hair was gone in seconds. He can’t have been more than six years old.
The bond inside me flared, wild and horrified. I opened my mouth to stop them, but Willow was faster.
She raised her arm. “Stop!” The voice wasn’t hers. I recognized it but couldn’t place it, and it echoed across the valley, spilling over the hills. The bond flared purple through her. “We were never yours to lose!”
A shockwave ripped through the courtyard, flattening grass and lifting the forge ash in a halo. The advancing remnants collapsed mid-step. Some screamed. Some didn’t.
The Bone Seat’s eyes narrowed. Ultraviolet turned searing. He took one slow step toward Willow and shouted, “What did it show you?! How did you do that?!”
Her voice was her own again. Small. Angry. Shaking. “I won’t tell you how. You’re evil! It didn’t show me anything. It asked.”
“Asked what?”
“That’s none of your business! You’re evil! Are you aware of that?!”
Around us, the villagers reeled—ten gone, others on their knees, stunned. The courtyard stank of scorched magic and old grief.
The Bone Seat turned his gaze to me. “This is your army?”
“No,” I said, voice hollow. “This is what comes after one.”
Darian stepped beside me. His hand found mine. I gulped. Perhaps we weren’t enemies anymore, and he was on my side. But what had that been about a treaty? My hand didn’t fit in his.
The Bone Seat’s gaze lingered on us, and when he left, his remnants followed. They vanished into the night, leaving only dust behind. The circle didn’t hold silence. It held the sound after it. The kind that came when you wanted to scream but didn’t know where to start.
A woman with raven black hair, cut short under the ear, pushed forward through the knot of villagers. Her face was wet with tears and streaked with ash. The scarf around her shoulders had fallen, and she left it there unattended. A small boot lay in the dirt. Warped. Half ash.
“You brought this,” she spat. “You. You stood there and let him come. Let them come.” Her voice cracked, but her rage didn’t. “We followed dreams and songs and threads and promises, and now my son is smoke.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came.
The woman turned to the others. “You saw it. You saw what they did. It will happen again. Next time, it’ll be your children. Your kin. Go.”
Others followed her gaze. Five moved first. Then three more. Then a pair of sisters who hadn’t spoken since arriving.
Branwen joined my other side. Her hands stayed loose, but her mouth was drawn. “Let them go,” she said quietly. “It doesn’t mean they won’t come back. Fear runs, but it can circle back.”
