“She… she crossed the border,” he gasped, clawing at the empty air around his throat. “Master… the law…”
“The law is mine,” Talon hissed.
He brought his boot down on the man’s wrist. The wet crunch of breaking bone echoed through the clearing, followed by a stifled wail. Talon leaned in closer, his shadow stretching over the guard.
“If you ever touch her again, I will not send you to the Thrynn Chambers. I will unmake you piece by agonizing piece, stripping the marrow from your bones until there is nothing left for the crows to find. Do I make myself clear?”
The guard could only nod frantically, tears of pain tracking through the dirt on his face.
I watched the display, my hands still stinging from the struggle.
I did not even blink. I knew I should have been sickened—that any sane person in Haelen would have been halfway down the mountain by now—but as I looked at the dark arc of his silhouette, the fear simply did not come.
Talon turned his gaze to the shorter Veythar, who was trembling so violently his armor rattled. With a flick of his wrist, the man was hauled upward by a thread of smoke, his boots dangling inches above the loam.
“Stand when I speak to you,” Talon commanded.
“Sir,” he croaked, a bead of sweat carving a path down his temple. “We believed—”
“You believed incorrectly,” Talon spat. “You will withdraw. Now.”
He released the pressure, dropping the man. The guard’s legs buckled, his knees hitting the dirt with a hollow thud.
“Get up!” Talon roared, and even I stopped breathing at the command.
They scrambled to their feet, offering a shaking bow before disappearing into the treeline.
I watched the treeline where they had vanished, my mind spinning. He had broken the bone of his own kin—men who were technically doing exactly what they were trained to do. I had crossed the border. By every law in Haelen, they were within their rights to seize me.
Yet Talon had dismantled them as if they were nothing more than a nuisance.
He turned to me.
“You should not be here,” he deadpanned. “Not alone, and not this close to the border.”
“I was gathering moss,” I managed, voice raw. “I did not expect—”
“You should have.”
It snagged on the reddening handprints I could feel blooming across my throat, and I saw his jaw lock so tight the bone seemed ready to snap. His eyes dropped lower, tracking the scratches on my chest where the tunic had been snagged, then down to my hands.
My palms were slick with a mixture of dirt and deep, crimson smears from where I had clawed at the guard’s glove.
“You are aware of the patrols in this area,” he said. “You visit this pass weekly but never this late.”
I frowned. “You have been watching me?”
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped to my chin, his pupils blowing wide until his eyes were nothing but twin pits of ink.
I felt the warmth there—a stray smear of crimson—and reached up to wipe the side of my face with the back of my hand. My skin came away stained with a wet red.
“It is not mine,” I whispered
“Good,” he grumbled.
He took a large step forward, invading my space until the scent of ozone and smoke overwhelmed the smell of the forest.