Page 16 of Eternal Thorns (The Feybound Chronicles #1)

15

WATCHING AND WANTING

A crow landed beside him, offering its enhanced sight. Through its eyes, Thorne caught the first clear view of what had his forest spirits chirping with such excitement - the bracelet. His bracelet. The one he'd personally woven with magic to mark trusted human allies, now sitting on Silas's wrist as if centuries of division meant nothing.

“This wasn't part of the plan,” he told the crow, which clicked its beak in what might have been agreement.

Ancient trees bent ever so slightly toward the young noble, their magic recognizing something that Thorne himself refused to acknowledge. Even the twilight flowers, traditionally loyal only to their guardian, turned their faces toward this intruder as if he carried the light they craved.

“He approaches differently,” the Elder Willow's voice drifted through his consciousness. “Surely even you must see that.”

“I see a threat we're allowing to walk freely through our defenses.” But the words felt hollow even as he spoke them.

Because she was right. Where Marcus had moved through the forest with entitled confidence, Silas stepped carefully, each movement a request rather than a demand. The magical pathways responded to this approach, offering clearer routes when met with genuine respect.

“Your form betrays you, old friend.” Rowan materialized from a nearby oak, gesturing at Thorne's shifting appearance. “You can't even maintain a single shape while watching him.”

Thorne forced his power to stabilize, but the effort cost him. Every time Silas interacted with forest magic, every time the bracelet flared with recognition, Thorne felt his carefully maintained barriers crack just slightly.

“Shut up,” he growled at Rowan's knowing look.

Thorne tracked their progress deeper into the forest. His sprites had already abandoned any pretense of hiding, drawn to the combined resonance of key and bracelet. Their light-speech carried clear impressions of excitement back to him.

“You chose to observe rather than interfere,” the Elder Willow reminded him. “Though I suspect that choice grows harder with each moment.”

Every fiber of Thorne's being yearned to manifest fully, to confront this intruder who dared awaken such dangerous hopes. But he'd already made his decision.

The evidence kept mounting in Silas's favor. The way he responded to the sprites' presence with genuine wonder rather than calculation. How naturally he adapted to the forest's shifting paths, reading intention in every altered route. Even the protective magic woven into the grove's heart responded to him as if recognizing an old friend.

“The bracelet shouldn't accept him,” Thorne said, more to himself than his observers. “Those spells were tied to specific bloodlines, specific intentions.”

“Perhaps it recognizes both,” the Elder Willow suggested. “He’s an Ashworth, Thorne. Blood and intention aligned properly for the first time in centuries.”

A burst of silver light drew their attention. The key around Silas's neck had flared in harmony with the bracelet, creating patterns of power that made Thorne's ancient heart ache with recognition. He'd woven those very patterns with Marcus, back when trust between realms had seemed not just possible but inevitable.

“He's going to find the journal.” Thorne's voice came out rougher than intended. “The bracelet will lead him right to it.”

“As it was meant to.” The Elder Willow's presence brushed against his consciousness like leaves in wind. “The real question is whether you're ready to face the truths it contains.”

Before Thorne could respond, shadow spilled into the grove like ink through water. The entity had arrived, drawn by potential ripe for corruption. But something unexpected happened as it reached toward Silas with tendrils of borrowed memory.

“Now that's interesting,” Rowan observed as the shadow entity withdrew in apparent frustration. “It can't seem to twist his perceptions the way it did with Marcus.”

“Because he's not looking for power or validation,” Thorne clenched his jaw as he realized. “He's just trying to understand.”

The forest paths shifted again, guiding Silas toward the ancient oak where the second journal lay hidden. Toward truths that could either heal or shatter what remained of Thorne's carefully maintained defenses.

The dryads spoke of how their trees swayed toward Silas's passage like flowers tracking sunlight. Earth spirits reported the very soil responding to his steps, ancient magic stirring in recognition. Even the typically aloof stone guardians sent impressions of something long missing finally returning to its proper place.

“He's doing it again.” Rowan observed.

“I'm doing no such thing,” Thorne snapped, but the evidence betrayed him. Branches had shifted to create clearer passages, roots had smoothed their tangles, even thorny undergrowth had drawn back slightly from Silas's chosen route.

A burst of familiar magical signature made him focus through a particularly attentive crow's eyes. Briar had abandoned all pretense of stealth to dart closer to Silas. Her freckles strobed with excitement as she examined the bracelet, her light-speech spilling recognition and joy into the forest's awareness.

“Traitor,” Thorne muttered, but the word held no heat. How could he blame her when the forest itself betrayed similar enthusiasm?

“Your magic keeps reaching for him.” the Elder Willow noted.

Thorne caught himself unconsciously adjusting the forest's defenses, making them more permeable, before wrestling his instincts back under control. The grove seemed to share his ambivalence, alternately welcoming and warning the intruders.

Through it all, shadow gathered at the edges of his awareness. The entity waited, patient as poison, feeding on his emotional turmoil. Every crack in his carefully maintained indifference gave it new strength.

Such delicious conflict, it whispered. The great Guardian, undone by an echo of old trust.

“Get out,” Thorne snarled, but the shadow only laughed.

We are what you made us, it reminded him. Born from your pain, shaped by your bitterness. And now Its presence coiled with anticipation. Now we shall show young Silas exactly what his ancestor's betrayal created.

The attack came without warning. Shadow spilled across the forest floor like spilled ink, surrounding Silas with twisted memories. Thorne felt the assault's nature - not simple illusion but corrupted truth, showing real moments between him and Marcus distorted by fear and suspicion.

Before he could stop himself, Thorne's protective magic surged outward. His power cut through the shadow's influence, creating a brief shelter around Silas and his companion.

“Well,” Rowan said into the ringing silence that followed, “so much for passive observation.”

The shadow entity seized on Thorne's instinctive response, using it to deepen its assault. More memories crashed through the grove - teaching Marcus forest magic, sharing ancient secrets, building trust that would eventually shatter. But now each scene emphasized moments of doubt, lingering on subtle signs that had predicted betrayal.

See how trust blinds? The shadow's whispers carried triumph. How hope makes fools of even the wisest spirits?

But something unexpected happened. Instead of succumbing to the corrupted memories, Silas faced them with steady clarity. The key around his neck flared with protective light while the bracelet pulsed. Together, they created a kind of truth-sight that separated genuine memory from shadow's manipulation.

“Fascinating,” the Elder Willow murmured. “He doesn't reject the darker elements entirely. He simply refuses to let them overshadow the whole.”

“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” he admitted as his form fluctuated between shapes.

“Perhaps that's the point.” Rowan moved closer, his moss armor catching filtered sunlight. “Maybe true judgment requires closer understanding, not careful distance.”

The shadow entity retreated, but its frustration lingered like frost. It had expected to find weakness in Silas's response to corrupted memories. Instead, it had revealed more about his own vulnerability.

Silas’ magical signature remained steady, unmarked by the bitterness that had tainted Marcus's power after similar challenges. If anything, the experience seemed to have strengthened his resolve.

“He's nothing like Marcus,” Thorne said quietly, the admission costing him more than he wanted to acknowledge.

“No.” The Elder Willow's voice held ancient certainty. “He's what Marcus might have been, had fear not poisoned possibility. What your partnership could have created, had trust been maintained.

The forest paths shifted once more, responding to this subtle change in their guardian's heart. As Silas reached the ancient oak, Thorne felt centuries of careful distance begin to crumble.

The real test, he realized, might not be of Silas's worthiness to access forest magic. It might be of Thorne's own ability to risk trust again, knowing exactly what such vulnerability could cost.

The journal waited within the oak, its truths ready to either heal or shatter what remained of both their defenses.

The pull of converging magics finally proved too strong to resist. Thorne materialized near the ancient oak, maintaining just enough shadow-form to remain undetected. The tree's presence in his awareness felt like a reprimand - its age-old power remembering what he'd chosen to forget.

“You couldn't stay away, could you?” Rowan emerged from a nearby trunk, his voice low enough not to carry.

“Someone needs to make sure he doesn't corrupt the sacred spaces.” But the excuse sounded weak even to Thorne's own ears.

This oak had stood for over a thousand years, its branches witnessing countless meetings between human guides and forest spirits. The symbols carved into its bark marked it as neutral ground, a place where wisdom could be shared freely between realms.

Now those symbols pulsed with renewed power as Silas approached. The tree's own magic reached for him like an old friend welcoming home a long-lost child. Branches swayed without wind, leaves whispered ancient greetings, and the very air seemed to sharpen with possibility.

He watched as the silver threads of forest magic visibly connect the young noble to his surroundings. Such bonds typically took years to develop, if they formed at all. Yet here they were, manifesting in hours as if they'd always existed, just waiting to be remembered.

“Quite the natural, isn't he?” Rowan's knowing tone made Thorne's form flicker with irritation.

“Or the most skilled deceiver we've ever encountered.”

“Is that what you truly believe?”

The question forced Thorne to confront an uncomfortable truth - either this was an act of unprecedented sophistication, or the forest's patient waiting was finally over.

Silas’ magical sensitivity had grown strong enough that his emotional state broadcast clearly to any spirit paying attention. Wonder rolled off him in waves as he traced the carved symbols, followed by deep respect for their meaning. The pure sincerity of his reactions triggered memories Thorne had thought safely buried.

“Each mark tells a story,” he heard himself explaining to Marcus. “Not just of power, but of partnership. Of trust freely given and honored.”

Marcus's eager face turned up to his, gray eyes bright with curiosity. “Show me how to read them properly?”

The memory twisted something in Thorne's chest. Because where Marcus's enthusiasm had always carried that subtle undertone of ambition, that hunger to possess rather than understand, Silas approached each discovery differently. His wonder came paired with scholarly humility, every revelation met with a healer's instinct to comprehend rather than control.

Twilight painted the grove in shades of purple and silver, highlighting how thoroughly Silas had become entangled with the forest's magic. Each breath he took synchronized with the oak's ancient rhythms. Every gesture harmonized with the natural flow of power through the sacred space.

Such beautiful symmetry, the shadow entity whispered, its presence seeping through the gathering dark. Guardian and heir, both afraid to trust what they recognize in each other.

Thorne growled at the voice, but the shadow's laughter only grew.

We are what your bitterness made us, it reminded him. Every choice to isolate, every wall built against connection, gave us strength. And now Its presence coiled with anticipation. Now you watch another Ashworth awaken old possibilities, and your heart betrays you with hope.

“You can't hide forever,” Rowan said softly. “The forest itself responds to him as if remembering its true nature. How long before you must do the same?”

The ancient oak's branches shifted again, creating patterns of shadow and light that emphasized its carved symbols. Silas studied them with unchanged reverence, each discovery met with genuine appreciation rather than calculation.

“He's going to find the journal,” Thorne said, his voice rough with suppressed emotion. “All those memories, all those truths I tried to bury.”

“Yes.” The Elder Willow's presence brushed against his consciousness. “The question is, are you ready for him to understand not just what was lost, but how it was lost? To see past the bitter guardian to what you once were?”

Such precious hesitation, it whispered, curling through Thorne's fluctuating form. The mighty Guardian, afraid of his own recorded truths.

The mockery struck home because it was accurate. The second journal contained more than mere historical accounts. Within its pages lay Thorne's personal recordings of trust given and ultimately betrayed - every hope, every moment of connection, every sign he should have recognized but chose to ignore.

“He'll see everything,” Thorne said quietly, watching Silas study the oak's entrance. “Not just what happened, but how it felt.”

“Yes.” The Elder Willow's voice carried ancient certainty. “That's rather the point, isn't it?”

Thorne felt Silas's steady resolve. Silas had already sensed the journal's presence, his enhanced awareness telling him exactly what waited within the tree. Yet he approached with neither Marcus's entitled confidence nor a conqueror's determination.

Let him read, the shadow taunted. Let him see how thoroughly trust can shatter. We'll feast on both your pain.

But something in the entity's eagerness gave Thorne pause. It wanted him to prevent this discovery, to choose fear over possibility. Which meant.

“It's afraid,” he realized, his form stabilizing with sudden clarity. “Not of Silas reading the journal, but of how he might understand it.”

Rowan's moss armor clinked as he shifted. “The entity feeds on misunderstanding, on trust corrupted by fear. But if someone were to read those memories with true empathy”

“They might see past the betrayal to what was worth betraying.” The Elder Willow's roots pulsed with approval.

Silas raised the key, its silver light harmonizing with the bracelet's glow. Together they created patterns that made the oak's entrance shimmer with awakening magic.

Remaining hidden meant letting fear win again, choosing bitter safety over the very possibility of healing he claimed to be testing for. Yet revealing himself meant risking everything.

The shadow entity surged forward, desperate to influence this crucial moment.

Remember how trust feels when it breaks, it hissed. Remember what hope costs when it shatters.

This Ashworth had already proved different in every way that mattered. His every action demonstrated not worthiness to be trusted, but worthiness to understand trust's true nature.

“Well,” Rowan said quietly, “what's it going to be?”

Instead of answering, Thorne took action. He stepped partially out of the shadows, allowing his form to become visible while maintaining enough insubstantiality to retreat if needed. The move caught Silas's attention immediately.

Their eyes met across the clearing - storm gray finding ancient green. In that moment of mutual recognition, understanding passed between them without need for words. Whatever came next would change everything. The only question was whether that change would heal or break what remained of both their hearts.