Page 10 of Broken Fates (Severed Flames #3)

Chapter 10

Xavier

M y hold tightened around the reins as we rode through the ruins, my teeth grinding with every breath I took.

I should have felt relief at seeing Vale alive and whole, but relief meant trust, and I didn’t trust my mate. Not after she broke her promise.

Not after I’d felt our bond fray to the breaking point. Not after I’d spent hours chasing the ghost of her magic, gripping the reins so tight my hands had gone numb, waiting for the moment it would vanish completely.

For the moment she would vanish completely.

I blinked hard, shaking it off, but my hands still ached—like they were still holding nothing.

Vale was behind me—close enough that I could hear the soft rhythm of her horse’s hooves, but not close enough that I had to look at her. Because if I did, I didn’t know whether I’d kiss her or start yelling, and I wasn’t sure which would be worse.

She left me. She chose to leave.

I exhaled sharply, the rage coiling tighter inside me. I’d spent hours tracking her, hours wondering if she was alive or if I’d be too late. And now here she was, riding behind me like nothing had changed. Like she hadn’t ripped my fucking heart out and taken it with her.

I couldn’t speak—couldn’t even look at her.

Because I knew if I opened my mouth, I wouldn’t stop. And I wasn’t sure she could handle what I had to say.

The air changed as we crossed the temple’s ruins into Sevilava. The crumbling building stood on the border, but it wasn’t a lone place of worship out in the middle of nowhere. Once upon a time it had been a city, a place for Luxa to live and breathe without fear of the Waking world.

But that was before Idris’ curse and Zamarra’s wrath.

Beaten buildings lay like burned out carcasses across the border, and we picked our way through them. It was slow going, but Vale’s horse held up, carrying her over the detritus as if she’d been bred for the task.

Wind howled as we rode across the blackened ground, the ruins of the temple fading behind us. Vale now rode beside Kian, just close enough that I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept sneaking glances at me when she thought I wasn’t looking.

The bond between us still ached, raw and stretched thin after hours of silence. She had shut me out. Not just Idris. Not just Kian.

Me .

And gods, it hurt.

I’d thought I was finally part of something, part of them. But when it mattered most, she left.

I hadn’t said much since we found her—not because I wasn’t angry. Because I didn’t know if I could say what I needed to without breaking something between us that we wouldn’t be able to fix.

The air grew heavier the farther north we rode, the temperature shifting into something that wasn’t exactly hot or cold—just searing.

Not from the sun. From the ground.

Volcanic rock stretched for miles, black and jagged, some places still glowing faintly red from lava that had cooled centuries ago. The wind carried the scent of ash and something metallic, but what struck me most was the sky.

It was like the world was on the edge of an eternal dusk, clouds thick and streaked with crimson fire from distant eruptions.

And as we approached Shavrik, the largest city in Sevilava, the red glow of the lava rivers running through the streets cast eerie shadows on the obsidian buildings. The people here didn’t cower. They walked with purpose, with weapons strapped to their backs, with eyes that measured a threat before it could reach them.

A place of sharp ridges and red-hot rock that would split open beneath your feet if you stepped in the wrong place. It was a land that tested you—and if you weren’t strong enough, it fucking devoured you.

And the people were no different.

Their faces were marked with ash-streaked tattoos, their clothes lined with woven fire-resistant threads. Some carried obsidian-bladed weapons strapped across their backs, others wore thick wraps to shield them from the heat that still pulsed from the ground.

And every single one of them looked like they could kill a man and keep right on walking.

It was not a welcoming place. But Idris—Idris fucking belonged here. He wasn’t just comfortable, he was commanding. Like the fire in this land answered to him and only him. He rode ahead, barely sparing the city a glance.

We followed him through the twisting alleys, the lava-glow casting long shadows against the black stone buildings. The deeper we went, the less I liked it. Not because of the city—because of the eyes. People watched us.

Measuring.

Calculating.

It had been years since Idris had been here, and still, it was as if the city knew him. As if the heat in the stone itself bent toward him. People didn’t bow, didn’t greet him like a ruler. But they moved out of his path without question.

Kian rode close to Vale, his hand resting on his sword hilt. I kept my grip on my own weapon, scanning every darkened corner, every stall, every open window.

Idris turned sharply down an even narrower passage, leading us into what looked like a dead-end courtyard. But then, with a flick of his wrist, the rock groaned. A section of the wall shifted, revealing a hidden entrance.

A burst of hot air swept out as the door opened, exposing a cavernous stone stable inside the cooled lava ridge. It wasn’t large, but it was fortified. The moment we stepped inside, I saw why.

Weapons lined the walls. A well-worn forge sat in the back. And the smell of ash and horse filled the air.

Not just a stable. A hidden armory.

Idris dismounted first, rubbing his horse’s neck before leading it to an open stall.

I arched a brow. “You have your own fucking stable here?”

He didn’t look at me. “I have a lot of things here.”

Vale slid from her saddle, barely catching herself before she stumbled. Kian was there before I could move, gripping her elbow, steadying her.

She muttered something under her breath, her fingers brushing against Kian’s arm for just a second longer than necessary before she pulled away. Not because she didn’t want to hold on—because she wasn’t sure she still could.

I swallowed hard and turned back to my horse, gripping the reins tight. Not the time. Not the place. But it still felt like something inside me had come loose.

The moment the last horse was settled, Idris was already moving. He didn’t check the street. Didn’t look back at us. Just strode to the far side of the stable, gripping the heavy metal door set into the stone wall.

He pressed his hand against it, his magic bleeding into the iron.

A low hum rippled through the room. The door’s runes flared to life, shifting and rearranging as if the metal itself was breathing.

Vale stiffened beside me. She recognized that magic.

So did I.

The metal groaned. Locks clicked free. And then, the door swung open on its own.

Idris glanced back at us. “Inside. Now.”

By the time Idris locked the door behind us, exhaustion weighed on all of us. No one had spoken since we crossed the threshold, but I could feel the tension buzzing under our skin, too sharp, too raw to ignore.

Vale stood near the center of the room, arms wrapped around herself like she was trying to hold herself together. She looked too damn pale, too damn small.

Kian leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes shadowed. He had been quiet since we got inside, and that wasn’t like him. His usual easy humor, his snark—it was gone. A muscle in his jaw ticked, but he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just watched.

Idris finally broke the silence. “Eat. Now. And when you do, I want to hear everything you’re not telling us.”

Vale flinched, her lips parting like she was about to argue, but Idris was already pulling a bundle of wrapped food from his pack and tossing it onto the table.

She hesitated.

Kian pushed off the wall, grabbed a knife, and started cutting into the bread and dried meat with more force than necessary. His movements were sharp, controlled, like he needed something to do with his hands or he might lose it.

Vale sat down last, her movements slow, like her exhaustion had finally caught up with her. She reached for the bread, took a single bite, then stopped.

She wasn’t going to eat. Not if someone didn’t make her.

I clenched my jaw and shoved my portion toward her. “Eat it, Vale.”

Her brows furrowed. “Xavier?—”

“You’re shaking.” I cut her off. “You can barely keep your head up, and you’re bleeding magic like a fucking beacon.” I nudged the hunk of dried meat again, harder. “Eat. Or I swear to the gods, I will make you.”

Silence stretched between us, and then, finally, she tore off another piece of bread, forced herself to chew, and swallowed.

Kian’s gaze flicked toward me, something unreadable passing through his expression before he turned away. Usually I could read him, but I was at a loss.

Vale pushed her food away, barely half-finished. She didn’t say anything, but her fingers clenched on her lap.

She was debating, holding something back. I knew the look, knew the way she curled into herself when she didn’t want to speak—when she was afraid of the words once they were out.

The silence stretched too long.

Kian exhaled sharply, pushing his own food aside. “Vale?—”

Her shoulders tensed. Then, finally, she spoke.

Slowly. Cautiously. Like saying it aloud made it real.

She told us about Rune—how she’d failed in merging him with Idris, how she’d died before it could be completed. About Zamarra—how she was looking for a vessel, how she seemed to lurk in every corner of Vale’s mind.

Then she told us about Nyrah and what Zamarra planned to do with her. About how the Dreaming was pulling her in, dragging her deeper every time she closed her eyes.

How she didn’t know if she’d wake up again.

Kian muttered a curse. Idris’ jaw tightened. And me? I just listened. Because for all my anger, for all my fucking hurt—I saw what she was really afraid of. She wasn’t just shutting us out. She was terrified at what she’d done. Her magic crackled at her fingertips, light pulsing weakly before flickering out.

“I don’t want to fall asleep,” she admitted, her voice barely there. “If I do… I don’t know if I’ll wake up.”

The words hit like a fucking blade. The room went silent. Then Idris stepped forward, not hesitating for once. “Then I’ll keep you here.”

Vale looked up, startled.

He crossed his arms. Steady. Unshaken. Certain. “You forget, my brave one, what I said to you.” His voice was soft, but final. “If you can’t control your dreams, the only place you’re dreaming is next to me. It’s just another realm. I can keep you safe.”

Vale’s breath shuddered out of her. For the first time tonight, she looked relieved. And gods, I hated that she had been carrying that fear alone.

The silence stretched, thick but not uncomfortable. For once, there were no immediate threats. No fights. Just exhaustion pulling at every muscle, every frayed nerve.

“We rest here,” Idris said finally. “Tomorrow, we decide our next move.”

No one argued. There was nothing left to argue about.

Kian rolled his shoulders, tension still coiled tight in his frame. He reached into his pack and pulled something free—a dagger. Her dagger.

Vale’s breath hitched.

“Figured you’d want this back.”

Kian turned the dagger in his palm, the flickering firelight catching on the edge of the blade. Then, without hesitation, he held it out to her, jeweled hilt first. No words, just a quiet promise.

Vale sucked in a staggered breath as she took it, her fingers curling tight around the hilt—slow and reverent.

“Thank you,” she whispered. She’d left it behind when she ran. Now, Kian was giving it back—not as a warning, but as a promise.

Kian only nodded, his gaze steady. “Always.”

Idris didn’t wait for Vale to change her mind. He turned toward the far end of the safe house, toward the heaviest door—the one lined with reinforced metal. Without hesitation, he pressed his palm to the iron, his magic sinking into the locks.

A low hum rippled through the air. Runes flared along the doorframe, shifting and rearranging, unlocking something ancient, something unseen. The lock clicked free, and the door swung open.

The walls were obsidian, lined with shelves of books, weapons, and supplies. A single fireplace burned low in the corner, casting flickering light over the one massive bed in the center of the room, large enough to accommodate all of us. This wasn’t a house meant for guests—only Idris.

Vale hesitated at the threshold.

“I told you,” Idris murmured. “You don’t dream unless you’re next to me.”

A muscle in her jaw ticked, but she didn’t argue. She was fraying at the edges, her magic weak, her pulse too damn faint against the bond.

It took forever, but she finally peeled off her armor, every movement slow and deliberate. Kian handed her a damp cloth, and she used it to scrub the dirt and blood from her arms, her hands. A quiet ritual of survival.

No one spoke. Even Kian, normally the first to fill a silence, only stood nearby, watching.

I hated this—hated the way she curled in on herself, like she was still carrying something too heavy to share.

She rummaged through a trunk at the end of the bed, pulling free an oversized tunic—one of Idris’ old shirts, probably. The moment she touched it, she hesitated, fingers tightening around the fabric.

She turned toward Idris, her voice quieter than I’d ever heard it. “You won’t let me slip?”

It wasn’t a question. It was a plea.

Idris—who had been watching her, silent and unreadable—exhaled softly. “Never.”

Vale nodded once, then stepped away, retreating behind the dressing screen. The fire crackled low, filling the silence.

Kian rubbed a hand down his face, then turned, dragging one of the chairs closer to the bed before slumping onto it. “I’ll take first watch.”

Idris didn’t argue. He sat on the edge of the bed, one boot resting on his knee, fingers tapping against his scabbard in quiet thought.

I paced. I couldn’t sit. Couldn’t sleep.

Because this—this quiet, this stillness—felt like the end of something I couldn’t name.

When Vale finally reappeared, her face was scrubbed clean, her hair still damp from where she’d run wet fingers through it. She was drowning in Idris’ tunic, the hem brushing her knees.

And gods help me, even like this—especially like this—she was still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

She didn’t say anything. Just climbed into bed, her body giving out the second she hit the mattress. She exhaled once, long and slow, her fingers curling into the sheets like she was trying to keep herself anchored.

I couldn’t look at her anymore.

I turned back toward the fire, raking a hand through my hair, my pulse still too fucking erratic, my thoughts a mess.

Time passed. The fire burned lower. The sound of Kian’s chair creaked as he shifted.

Then, Vale whimpered.

A small, broken sound. Barely audible.

I let myself look. She was shifting in her sleep, her breath coming faster, fingers twitching against the blanket like she was reaching for something—someone—who wasn’t there.

I turned to Idris, who sat at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

“She in the Dreaming?” I asked, my voice rough.

He shook his head. “No.” His gaze swung to Vale, lingering for a beat before he exhaled. “Just a regular nightmare.”

That should have been enough to keep me where I was.

But it wasn’t.

Vale shifted again, her breath uneven, her whole body curling in on itself, like she was trying to shield herself from something.

I gritted my teeth. My fingers balled into fists. I should’ve stayed exactly where I was—left her alone. But then she whimpered again—soft, broken, like she was drowning in something she couldn’t escape.

Fuck. Fuck.

I moved before I could stop myself. In an instant, I was across the room, lowering onto the bed beside her. I didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. My body acted on its own, as if it had always known where I belonged.

I slid in behind her, curling around her, my arm slipping over her waist. She was so damn small like this, fragile in a way I never let myself see.

She let out a long, shaky breath. Then her body melted into mine, the tension draining from her limbs as her breathing steadied. Like even in sleep, she knew me. Trusted me.

Like she still belonged to me—to us .

My throat tightened. I let my forehead rest against the back of her neck, my fingers clutching her tighter. Not enough to wake her. Just enough to hold her there.

She’d left, but gods help me—I couldn’t leave her. Not even now.

I exhaled, my breath warm against her hair, and let my eyes close. I wasn’t ready to forgive her—not yet.

But letting her go had never been an option.