Page 34 of A Dagger in the Ivy (Blade Bound #1)

C Hapter

The morning breaks with a soft, golden hue filtering through the small cabin windows. I squint against the light, listening for the remnants of the storm. Relief fills me at the absence of rain and wind.

I turn my head to the space on the floor where Dante slept, but he isn’t there. The fire in the fireplace is out. Dante’s clothes are gone from the hearth, and mine are folded in a tidy pile near my feet.

He folded my clothes?

I sit up, holding the blanket to my chest. I’d almost forgotten that I’d slept in the nude, and for a minute, I wonder if, during my tossing and turning in the night, Dante might have seen more of my skin than I’d intended to reveal. The thought sends a flush of warmth up my neck.

Did he see anything? Would he say anything if he had?

I suddenly remember the display I performed on my balcony. That seems so many moons ago. It’s so strange when I compare the foolish games of revenge Dante and I played to the seriousness of the situation we’re in now.

Grabbing my clothes, I scan the room to find him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I doubt he would simply leave me here to search for his brother himself. Maybe he’s checking on the horses .

As I dress, I listen. I haven’t heard from my uncle in a while, and I can’t tell if the lack of word from him is a good thing or a bad one. Though I suppose if there had been an issue, my squad would have brought it up when we met.

The door creaks open just as I tug my second boot into place. Dante steps inside, his tall frame blocking out the light for a moment. He’s holding something in his hands: a cooked rabbit, skewered on a stick, its skin already stripped away. The smoky scent of roasted meat fills the cabin, making my stomach growl.

“I wondered if you had abandoned me.” I make sure to keep a playful tone to my voice.

“It crossed my mind.” He brings the rabbit to the table, where I find two plates he must have set out earlier. Was he so confident he’d return with a meal? Or did he arrange the flatware while the rabbit was roasting? Did I really sleep through all of that?

As he cuts pieces of meat off the skewer, I slip into one of the chairs. “You’ve been busy.”

“I figured full bellies would be more practical than empty ones.” He places a slab of meat onto the plate in front of me. “We should head out soon before any sign of Torbin’s whereabouts disappear. We’ve already got our work cut out for us because of the storm.”

His words bring a heaviness with them, the weight of our mission settling upon my shoulders. He sits across from me, and we eat in silence. I’m certain his determination to find Torbin matches mine. There’s a quiet strength in his presence, a resilience forged amidst the trials of the night.

Once we’ve cleared up any mess we’ve made and gathered our things, we head out to begin the next leg of our journey. Dante sheathes his falchion, and I make sure my sword and dagger are in place. Outside, dew-kissed grass glistens like scattered diamonds beneath the tentative rays of sunlight. The air carries a crisp freshness, cleansing the earth of the tempest’s fury and leaving behind a sense of renewal.

Together, we mount our horses and head north into the dawn-lit horizon, the rhythm of hoofbeats a steady cadence that propels us forward into the unknown. With each passing mile, a renewed sense of purpose courses through me. The landscape unfolds before us in a tapestry of breathtaking beauty. The scent of pine mingles with the faint aroma of damp earth, while birdsong fills the air with a melody that rings of hope and possibility.

We ride in silence for a long time, the rhythmic thud of hooves on the dirt road the only sound between us. The morning mist is still thick in the air, clinging to the trees and making everything feel heavy, like the world is holding its breath. I steal a glance at Dante. His eyes are focused ahead, but there’s a tension in his posture that hasn’t eased since we left the cabin.

I steel myself to speak, anxious about speaking with the man who fights with me at every turn, but also too curious to remain silent. “You’re going to great lengths to find Torbin. I’m sure he’d do the same for you, but… I didn’t realize you two were so close.”

He doesn’t respond at first, and I wonder if I’ve overstepped. But then he sighs, a low sound, like it’s coming from somewhere hidden deep inside of him.

“He’s my brother.” His voice is low, almost lost to the sound of our horses. “More than that, he’s the reason I have a place in this world.”

I frown, turning my head to face him more fully. “What do you mean?”

Dante’s eyes flick to mine, then back to the road ahead. He grips the reins tighter, as if bracing himself. “You were friends with him when he was young, so you know I didn’t always live in the castle. My mother—she was a commoner, a widow with little more than a name to her. I grew up in a small village in Messanya, far from all of this. But when I turned fifteen, she brought me to Ivystone.” He pauses, and I see the way his jaw tightens. “She marched right up to the citadel and demanded an audience. Told them that I was King Silas’s son.”

I blink in surprise. I’d known Dante was a bastard, and I know sirens hail from the islands of Messanya, but I hadn’t known how he’d come to live in the castle. “What did the king say?”

Dante’s lips twist into something between a smirk and a grimace. “ At first? Nothing. He was… shocked, I suppose. And the queen—” He shakes his head. “She wasn’t pleased. A bastard son showing up out of nowhere? It hadn’t exactly been part of their plans. They didn’t know what to do with me.”

I can imagine the scene, the tension in the air, the queen’s disapproving gaze, the king’s uncertainty. Dante doesn’t seem the type to stick around where there’s so much adversity. Somewhere where he’s sure to be judged. He’s got too much pride for that. “But you stayed,” I say gently. “Why?”

Dante’s eyes soften, just a fraction. “Because of Torbin. He was there that day, standing behind his parents. I remember it like it was yesterday. He didn’t care about the politics, didn’t care that I was a bastard. All he saw was that he suddenly had a brother. He begged our father to let me stay. He wouldn’t stop until the king agreed.”

I grin at the thought of a young Torbin, stubborn and determined. The Torbin I knew once upon a time. “He really stood up to his father like that?”

Dante nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “He did. And it didn’t stop there. He made sure I wasn’t treated like an outsider. Introduced me to the court, trained with me, fought for me, even when others didn’t think I belonged. I know he has a temper at times—no doubt inherited from our father, but Torbin has always been the best of us.”

There’s a warmth in his voice now, a fondness that I haven’t heard before. It catches me off guard, how much Dante cares for his brother. I knew they were close, but this… this is deeper than I realized.

“You two must have forged quite a bond.” I try to imagine what it must have been like, two boys thrown together by fate.

Dante’s smile fades, replaced by something more serious. “We did. And that’s why I can’t let anything happen to him. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

I nod, understanding more now. It’s not just duty or a promise that drives him—it’s loyalty, love, and the memory of the boy who fought to give him a place in the world .

“We will find him.” I lift my chin, determined to keep my promise. And for the first time, I feel like we’re truly on the same side.

Dante looks at me, really looks at me, and nods. There’s no need for more words. We both know what’s at stake, and we’ll do whatever it takes to bring Torbin home.

The forest stretches out before us like an ancient sentinel, its towering canopy shrouded in a veil of mist that clings to the gnarled branches like ghostly fingers. The icy air is thick with an oppressive stillness, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the eerie creaking of branches swaying in the wind.

The trees seem to close in around us, casting twisted shadows that dance upon the forest floor. The dense undergrowth is a tangled maze of thorns and brambles, reaching out with grasping tendrils that threaten to ensnare us at every turn.

Even our horses seem to sense the foreboding atmosphere of the forest, their ears pinned back and eyes wide with unease. The silence that surrounds us is deafening, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl or the occasional scuttling of unseen creatures in the underbrush.

The forest begins to thin, the dense canopy overhead giving way to skeletal branches that reach out like gnarled fingers grasping at the darkening sky. As we emerge from the woods, a blast of cold air hits us like a physical force, stealing the breath from my lungs and sending shivers racing down my spine. The chill bites through my layers of clothing, sinking into my bones with a relentless ferocity. Each breath feels like daggers of ice piercing my lungs, leaving me gasping for air. I pull my cloak tighter around me, trying in vain to shield myself from the biting cold.

Dusk settles around us. A vast expanse of snow-covered plains stretches on endlessly to the horizon. Our horses move with a nervous energy, their hooves echoing hollowly against the forest floor. They toss their heads and snort, their breath visible in the frigid air. A sense of unease settles over me, a prickling sensation that digs into my skin like icy tendrils.

Dante’s features are set in grim lines as he surveys the desolate landscape before us. Even he seems affected by the bone-chilling cold, his breath coming out in white puffs of vapor that hang in the air like ghostly apparitions.

As Dante and I crest a rise in the snow-covered plains, a sprawling campsite comes into view below. The air is heavy with the stench of smoke and unwashed bodies, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.

My heart hammers in my chest as I take in the scene before me. The valley appears to be set up in some kind of tribal camp. There are three tents, and a few wooden posts stand tall among a number of metal cages. The cages seem full, though I can’t make out what or who they contain. Carnoraxis are being led through the camp, restricted by metal collars around their necks attached to thick chains. Their gaunt forms cast long shadows in the dim light. Men move about with purpose, some tending to the creatures with whips and spears, while others stand guard with weapons at the ready. They wear Dulcamaran uniforms of red and black, representing the army of the Shadow Tsar.

What the hell?

With a silent understanding, Dante and I dismount. We draw closer to the edge of the valley, taking cover behind some large boulders to scan the camp.

Then I see him.

Oh, shit!

Torbin’s figure stands out amidst the chaos as he is led, shirtless, through the camp by a group of armed men. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of him, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Oh gods, they’ve captured him.

Dante’s hand tightens on the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixed on the scene below. I can see the tension in his muscles, the coiled readiness that speaks of years of training and discipline. We exchange a wary glance, wordlessly communicating our shared apprehension.

But as I turn back toward the camp, a realization dawns upon me like a bolt of lightning. Torbin’s movements, the rigidness of his back and shoulders, the determined expression on his face. He is not a prisoner here. The men surrounding him move with deference, their actions guided by his silent commands.

He is their leader.