Chapter 4 The path of Ash and Thorn

The forest didn't welcome them.

It watched.

The trees of the Shadow Vale loomed taller than any Mari had ever seen, their bark black-veined and glistening as if the roots bled from old wounds. Fog clung low to the ground like something alive, weaving between their legs as they moved through the underbrush.

The deeper they went, the quieter the world became.

No birdsong. No wind.

Just breath. Steps. Memory.

Thorne limped between her and Liora, his arm slung over Mari's shoulder. His weight wasn't heavy-not to her, not anymore. The bond made him feel... *right*. Like the missing note in a melody she hadn't realized was off-key until it resolved.

But he was still bleeding.

And Mari was beginning to feel everything.

Every tremor in his muscles. Every throb of pain behind his gritted teeth. Every spike of heat when her hand brushed against his ribs.

It wasn't just proximity. It was connection.

Threaded. Fused.

She didn't say a word about it.

Liora led the way, silent, eyes scanning the trees like they might reach down and grab her. She had changed since the ritual chamber-her calm sharper, her posture tense, as if she expected something worse than Corvin to step from the shadows.

"This path," she finally said, voice low, "is warded."

"Against what?" Mari asked.

Liora hesitated. "Us."

"Meaning?"

"Old blood walks here. Old truths. The kind the Tribunal buried centuries ago."

Thorne groaned softly. Mari stopped and crouched beside him, pressing a hand to his chest. "We need to rest."

"No," he said. "We're not safe yet."

"We won't be safe *anywhere* unless you can walk tomorrow."

Liora turned. "There's a hollow just ahead. An abandoned camp. It belonged to my sister once."

Mari blinked. "I didn't know you had a sister."

"She died. Years ago."

The way Liora said it made Mari's stomach twist. Like the words still tasted like ash on her tongue.

They followed her deeper into the trees until they reached the hollow.

It wasn't much-just a ring of scorched earth and moss-covered stones, with the remnants of a collapsed tent and a few long-dead charms buried in the roots. But it felt...still. Watchful, yes-but not hostile.

Thorne eased down onto a stone. He didn't speak, but the tension in his jaw told her the wound was worse than he'd let on.

Mari knelt beside him. "Lift your shirt."

He smirked. "Forward."

She gave him a look. "You're bleeding into your pants. Humor me."

He obeyed, grimacing as the fabric peeled away from the gash. The cut was deep, angry, red-raw around the edges. It looked like more than just a blade had torn him.

"It was enchanted," Liora said, appearing at her side with a small satchel. "Tribunal steel. Cursed to fester."

"Lovely," Mari muttered. She took the satchel and opened it. Herbs. Powdered roots. Moonsalt.

She didn't know how she knew what to do.

She just *knew*.

The bond didn't just connect hearts. It unlocked blood.

Memory.

Ancestry.

She crushed the herbs together, added water from her flask, and spread the paste gently across the wound. Thorne hissed, then stilled as the pain receded.

"You have healer's hands," he murmured.

"I don't," she said, binding the gauze around his ribs. "But I have yours."

His eyes flicked to hers, that lazy warmth behind the pain.

Mari looked away too fast.

She stood and turned to Liora. "Tell me the rest."

Liora leaned against a twisted tree. Her face was pale in the silver-filtered light, her eyes distant.

"My sister's name was Caela," she said. "She was a seer. Marked like you-but not with fire. With shadow. The moon touched her in dreams. Spoke to her."

"What did it say?"

"That someone like you would come. Someone bound not just by fate, but by *choice*. That the Tribunal would try to kill you. That the world would end-unless you ended something first."

Mari stepped closer. "Ended *what*?"

Liora's voice turned brittle. "The bloodline."

"Whose?"

Liora didn't answer.

But Thorne did.

"The Highbloods."

Mari froze.

"Corvin's line?" she asked.

"All of them," Thorne said. "Every name in the Tribunal ledger. Every house that signed the original Blood Accord."

"That's hundreds of people."

"Hundreds who chose power over peace," he said. "Who murdered and enslaved and erased anyone who didn't fit their vision. They've ruled by blood and fear for a thousand years."

Mari's chest went tight. "So I'm supposed to *kill* them?"

"No," Liora said softly. "You're supposed to *undo* them."

"How?"

"By becoming what they fear most."

Thorne's voice was a whisper. "A sovereign."

The word echoed inside her like a stone dropped into water.

"Sovereign," she repeated.

"The last one was your ancestor," Liora said. "A woman named Naera. She united the broken bloodlines, shattered the original Tribunal, and bound the moon to our realm. But she died sealing the Rift. No one's carried the bloodmark since."

"But I do."

"Yes."

Mari stepped back, palms cold.

"And if I *don't* become this... sovereign?"

"Then the Tribunal wins," Thorne said. "They use your blood to anchor a new Accord. One they control. Forever."

"And if I *try* and fail?"

Thorne met her eyes. "They kill you."

No choice, then.

Only cost.

Mari sat beside him. The fire Liora started crackled softly, throwing shadows on the trees.

"You said your sister died," Mari said to Liora. "How?"

"She *saw* too much. Tried to warn others. The Tribunal branded her a heretic. They sent a warden pack."

Liora's jaw clenched.

"I found her here. Torn in half."

Silence.

Then Thorne asked, "Why follow us?"

Liora stared at the fire. "Because if you fail, she dies again. And if you win-she's finally free."

Mari said nothing for a long time.

Then: "What now?"

"We head west," Liora said. "Through the ruins. There's someone there who might help. Someone who knew Naera. Someone who may still carry the first flame."

"Who?"

Liora looked up.

"Your mother."

Mari's breath caught.

"My mother *died* in the fire."

Liora's eyes didn't waver. "That's what they told you."

The fire flared.

Mari stood abruptly. The trees seemed to lean in around her, their leaves whispering in a language she almost understood.

"She left me," she said.

"She hid you," Liora corrected. "Because she knew what was coming. She chose to burn the manor rather than let them take you. She gave her life for yours."

"And she's *alive*?"

"Not quite," Liora said. "But not gone either."

Thorne pushed himself upright. "If we go to her, we'll draw attention."

"We already have," Liora said.

Mari looked back into the woods.

"Someone's coming."

Not a threat. Not Tribunal.

Something older.

"Stay here," she said.

"Mari-"

"I'll be fine."

She walked into the trees.

The fog parted.

A figure waited in the clearing.

A woman.

Draped in robes the color of dried blood, her hair silver as ash, her eyes dark and patient. She didn't speak. She didn't move. But she *radiated* presence.

Mari stopped a few paces away. "Who are you?"

The woman tilted her head.

"I was a sister once. A daughter. A flamebearer. I was *her* blade."

"Whose?"

"Naera's."

Mari's pulse skipped.

"I've waited three centuries for you."

"Why?"

The woman stepped forward.

"To give you this."

She pressed something into Mari's hand.

A medallion. Worn. Carved with the lunar crest and a blade through a crown.

Mari looked up. "What is it?"

"The key to the last door."

"What door?"

The woman's eyes gleamed.

"The one that only opens when the moon bleeds."

A wind rushed through the clearing.

When Mari blinked, the woman was gone.

But the medallion was warm in her palm.

She turned back toward the camp-and froze.

Smoke.

Firelight.

Screams.

"No," she whispered.

She ran.

Branches slashed her arms. Her feet slammed stone and moss. Her lungs burned.

She burst into the hollow-

It was empty.

The fire was out.

Blood smeared the ground.

Thorne's blade lay broken beside the stone where he'd sat.

Liora's satchel was torn open, its contents scattered.

And scrawled in ash across the tree trunk-

**"She's ours now."**

Mari stood still.

Then the medallion in her hand pulsed once.

And she knew.

They hadn't taken Liora.

They'd taken *Thorne*.