Page 134 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
Jason settles across from me, a faint weariness on his face betraying the long hours he’s spent with his father discussing council matters. He doesn’t speak immediately, instead taking a moment to adjust the map he carries, spreading it across the seat. The soft rustle of paper fills the silence, and though he says nothing at first, his presence shifts the atmosphere in the small space.
His gaze finally lifts to meet mine, warm and searching.
“How are you?” There’s no pretense in his tone, no formality—just genuine care.
I hesitate, caught off guard by the tenderness in his question.
“I’m fine,” I say, though the words feel empty as I speak them. I shift my focus to the map, tracing the outlined routes with my eyes, desperate for something else to anchor me.
Jason doesn’t press, but his brow furrows slightly as he studies me.
“We’ve been traveling for over half a day's ride,” he says softly, almost to himself. “The caravan will stop soon, near the river. It’s a good place for the guards to rest and regroup before the final stretch.” His fingers brush the edge of the map as he speaks, tracing the route with precision. “Two more days,” he adds, glancing back up at me. “And we’ll reach Striden territory.”
Two more days.The words settle heavily in my chest, but I nod in response, unwilling to voice the unease twisting inside me. Jason’s gaze lingers, and his next words are careful, as though he can sense my discomfort.
“When we set up camp tonight… we’ll need to share a tent.” He pauses. “I just thought you should know.”
I stiffen slightly. It’s not unexpected—we are husband and wife, after all—but the reality of it feels far more complicated.
My silence must speak louder than words because Jason quickly adds, his voice quieter now, “I can ask for another tent if you’d prefer. I just want you to be comfortable, Lailah.”
My heart is conflicted. His sincerity is undeniable, the concern inhis eyes genuine. Jason has always been this way—thoughtful, kind, steady in a way that should put me at ease.
“No,” I say finally. “You’re my husband. It’s our tent.”
The words are a weighty reminder of the roles we are meant to play. Jason’s expression softens, and he nods slowly, his golden-brown eyes never leaving mine.
“All right,” he says quietly. “Our tent.”
For a moment, I feel the faintest pang of guilt. Jason is trying—truly trying—to be the man I need him to be. And if that means anything at all, then I owe him the same effort in return. There’s a pause, the kind of silence that feels full, heavy with everything unspoken. Jason shifts, his hand brushing the map as he gathers it. Then, he moves toward the carriage door, his actions unhurried but deliberate.
“Wait,” I say suddenly, my voice cutting through the quiet. “Where are you going?”
He glances back at me, his lips curling into a faint, boyish smile.
“Your husband is a very busy man,” he jokes lightly, his tone warm, but there’s no mistaking the sincerity beneath it.
I roll my eyes, unable to stop the faint smirk tugging at my lips. Jason chuckles softly at my reaction, low and genuine, before he steps out of the carriage and closes the door behind him. I feel his absence immediately as the carriage lurches forward again, its wheels groaning under the weight of this monotonous confinement. Each jolt sends my frustration rising until it threatens to boil over. I can’t bear it any longer.
Without hesitation, I reach for the latch, throw the door open, and step out onto the rain-soaked earth. The cold mud swallows my feet as the downpour soaks through my cloak, plastering it to my skin. I don’t care how unseemly it looks—decorum be damned. The chill biting at my cheeks is far preferable to the oppressive stillness of the carriage.
Behind me, the caravan jerks to a halt, startled by my sudden rebellion. The horses stir, their restless neighing echoing through the rain as Callum’s steed turns to face me. He sits tall in the saddle, hisscarred brow lifting in mild amusement as though he finds my defiance both admirable and predictable.
“I would like a horse,” I demand, leaving no room for negotiation.
Callum’s grin deepens, a dark, knowing chuckle escaping him as he studies me. Rain drips from the brim of his hood, but his demeanor remains infuriatingly calm. Before he can respond, the sound of hooves approaches. I turn to see another rider emerging from the mist—Casper, astride a black stallion that moves with quiet power. My breath catches in my chest as I recognize the horse.
Zander.
The same stallion I saw in the forest, watching me from between the trees like a shadow. I haven’t forgotten his eyes, the way he held still as if deciding whether I was friend or foe. And now, here he is, bearing Casper with the ease of a creature that has already chosen.
They are companions.
And I’m not sure why that unsettles me.
Then—like a crack in the present—something shifts.
A memory rises to the surface, unbidden and jarringly vivid. A veiled stranger, his silhouette outlined by the sun, stands quietly as I reach for Zander’s velvet-soft nose, offering no objection. I am so small, my hands dirty and sunburnt, but the kindness in that moment stays with me.
