Page 20 of Eternal Thorns (The Feybound Chronicles #1)

19

DANGEROUS HEARTS

T horne paced his sacred grove, trying and failing to dissolve back into his usual ethereal state. His form remained stubbornly solid, skin still warm from where Silas had touched him. Every attempt to fade into shadow met resistance, as if his body remembered what it felt like to be seen and refused to hide again.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, catching himself touching his cheek where Silas's fingers had traced the luminous patterns. The contact point tingled with remembered warmth, sending ripples through the surrounding forest magic.

The twilight flowers around him pulsed in perfect rhythm with his unsettled emotions. Their soft light caught the silver markings across his skin. Even his crown of twisted branches refused to fade, marking him unmistakably as something more than just the stern guardian he'd portrayed for centuries.

“You know,” Briar's voice came gently from nearby, “it's okay to admit you're happy.”

Thorne turned to find his apprentice hovering with uncharacteristic care, a crystal vial of moonflower essence held out like a peace offering. Her knowing look suggested she understood far too much about his current state.

“I'm not” he started, then stopped at her raised eyebrow. “This is dangerous.”

“More dangerous than centuries of isolation?” She pressed the vial into his hands.

New growth sprouted around his feet. Night-blooming flowers opening months before their season, luminous vines reaching toward Thornhaven's distant lights. His own magic had taken on warmer tones, frost giving way to something that felt suspiciously like spring.

“You're different with him,” Briar continued, her freckles pulsing with gentle light. “Not just your form, though finally seeing you without all that dramatic shadow is nice. But your whole energy has changed. You're more like... you.”

“That's what worries me.” Thorne uncapped the vial, grateful for something to do with his hands. “I haven't been that person in centuries. Haven't wanted to be.”

“Haven't let yourself be,” she corrected. “There's a difference.”

The moonflower essence should have helped settle his magic, but instead it seemed to enhance every sensation.

“He touches me like I'm not something to fear,” Thorne said quietly, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. “Like centuries of bitter history don't matter.”

“Maybe they don't. To him.” Briar settled on a nearby branch, watching more flowers bloom out of season. “He sees you now, not who you were or what happened before.”

Thorne's form flickered slightly, but even this attempt at hiding failed. His true nature remained stubbornly visible, refusing to be concealed behind frost and shadow any longer.

“The Elder Willow says this was always possible,” Briar ventured. “That the prophecy wasn't just about healing the breach between realms, but about healing hearts that forgot how to trust.”

“Since when do you listen to prophecies?”

“Since they started making you smile again.” She grinned at his startled look. “Oh yes, I noticed. We all noticed. The whole forest is practically dancing because its guardian finally remembered joy exists.”

As if proving her point, more vines spiraled up nearby trees, their flowers glowing with colors Thorne hadn't manifested in centuries. His own magic responded unconsciously, adding warm gold to his usual silver patterns.

“I'm scared, Briar,” he admitted finally. “Not of him, but of how easily he breaks through every wall I've built. Of how much I want to let him.”

“Good.” She darted closer, her glow brightening. “Being scared means it matters. Being vulnerable means it's real.” Her expression softened. “And for what it's worth? He looks at you like you're something precious, not just powerful. That's worth a little fear.”

The grove's magic swirled around them, carrying echoes of that earlier connection. Thorne caught himself touching his cheek again, remembering how naturally Silas had reached for him, how completely he had understood.

After Briar left, Thorne tried to fall into his usual meditation routine. But every time he closed his eyes, Silas filled his thoughts - not as a shadow of Marcus anymore, but vibrantly, uniquely himself.

He saw again how Silas's eyes had lit up examining the sacred chamber's symbols, wonder untainted by any hunger for power. The careful way he'd handled ancient texts mixed with unexpected flashes of humor. That unconscious grace in working with forest magic, as if his soul remembered what his mind was just beginning to understand.

Most dangerous were the memories of how Silas looked at him. No one had looked at him that way in centuries, seeing past the powerful guardian to the being beneath.

“You're going to wear a path through my roots if you keep this up,” the Elder Willow's amused voice drifted through his consciousness.

“This isn't funny.” His form flickered between light and shadow, unable to settle.

“Isn’t it?” Her presence brushed his mind like gentle leaves. “Or are you simply unused to feeling something beyond duty and bitterness?”

Before he could respond, darkness gathered at the grove's edge. The shadow entity had arrived, drawn by his emotional turmoil.

Such precious vulnerability, it whispered, wearing Marcus's voice like an ill-fitting mask. He makes you weak Every touch, every moment of understanding, creates new ways to hurt you.

“No,” Thorne said quietly, surprising himself with the certainty in his voice. “He makes me remember what strength felt like before fear twisted it.”

Then you are a fool, the shadow snarled. Connection breeds vulnerability. Love makes even ancient powers blind.

The word 'love' destabilized his form completely, power scattering like startled birds before reforming.

“That's not-” he started, but couldn't finish the denial. Because wasn't that exactly what terrified him? Not just growing trust or attraction, but the possibility of something deeper. Something that could shatter him more thoroughly than any betrayal.

The Elder Willow's presence wrapped around him like a protective embrace. “Some risks are worth taking twice,” she said softly. “Some wounds can only heal through daring to feel again.”

And when he breaks you? The shadow pressed. When trust shatters and takes your heart with it?

But even these warnings felt hollow now. Because Thorne had felt the difference through their growing connection. His genuine desire to understand went soul-deep, carrying none of Marcus's subtle hunger for control.

Still, the entity's warnings about vulnerability couldn't be entirely dismissed. What was growing between them went beyond any magical bond, creating connections that could be used against them both.

“I can't protect him if I'm compromised,” Thorne argued, more to himself than his observers.

The Elder Willow's laugh rustled through his grove. “Perhaps protection isn't what he needs from you. Perhaps what you both need is simply courage to trust again.”

“I'm in trouble, aren't I?” Thorne asked the night air.

The Elder Willow's manifestation took solid form beside him, her bark-skin glowing softly in the darkness. “That depends entirely on your definition of trouble, dear Guardian.”

“You know what I mean.” His form flickered with agitation. “This wasn't supposed to happen.”

“And instead?” Her roots shifted beneath her, amusement clear in her ancient voice.

“Instead he sees right through every defense I've built. Walks past centuries of careful barriers like they're nothing.” Thorne ran a hand through his silver-white hair, still unable to dismiss his solid form. “He touches me like it's natural. Looks at me like-”

“Like you're worth knowing?” the Elder Willow suggested gently. “Worth caring for?”

“Worth risking everything for,” Thorne corrected quietly. “That's what terrifies me. I see it in his eyes, feel it through our connection. He'd tear down every wall between realms if it meant healing what's broken. Including me.”

“And this is trouble because?”

“Because I want to let him.” The admission cost him, but there was no point hiding from her wisdom. “Every time he reaches out, I want to reach back. Every time he understands something new about forest magic, I want to show him more. It's like watching spring return after endless winter, and I”

“You're falling in love with him,” she finished simply.

Thorne's power scattered like startled fireflies before reforming. “That's not-”

“Oh please.” She actually rolled her eyes, an expression that looked bizarre on her ancient face. “I'm old, dear one, not blind. The forest itself blooms with your awakening heart. Even the youngest sprites can see how you look at him.”

“This is serious,” he protested.

“Yes, it is. That's precisely why you should stop fighting it.” Her expression softened. “Love isn't weakness, Thorne. It's the strongest magic we know. Why do you think the shadow entity fears it so much?”

She gestured at the grove around them, where new growth continued sprouting with every pulse of his unsettled emotions. “Look what merely accepting these feelings has already done for the forest. Imagine what might be possible if you actually embraced them.”

Unable to find peace in his grove, Thorne threw himself into preparations for tomorrow's lessons. But each choice he made betrayed his shifting priorities. Instead of the usual testing grounds, he found himself selecting locations of particular beauty - the crystal falls where morning light created rainbow paths through the mist, the ancient hollow where bioluminescent flowers created patterns like fallen stars.

“The moonweave glade would be perfect for teaching resonance theory,” he muttered, arranging magical currents to flow more visibly. Then caught himself imagining Silas's face lit by the ethereal glow, how his eyes would brighten with understanding and wonder.

“You're fussing,” Rowan observed, materializing beside him. His moss armor gleamed with pre-dawn dew.

“I'm preparing,” Thorne corrected, though he couldn't quite meet his old friend's knowing gaze. “These concepts require proper demonstration.”

“Mhmm.” Rowan watched him carefully align another magical current. “And the fact that this particular arrangement will create beautiful light patterns around anyone working with forest magic is purely educational?”

Thorne's form flickered with embarrassment, but he didn't stop his adjustments. Each preparation served dual purpose now - to teach essential concepts, yes, but also to share the forest's wonders with someone who truly appreciated them.

“The forest approaches balance differently with each generation,” Rowan said cryptically, watching Thorne fuss with the arrangement of some luminous vines.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Figure it out, old friend.” Rowan's smile held centuries of wisdom. “Though I suspect you already have.”

Thorne just grumbled in response.

He circled Thorne slowly, moss armor catching moonlight as he studied the guardian's transformed appearance. “I'd almost forgotten what you really look like. Been a few centuries since you've let the frost melt enough to show your true form.”

“Stop staring,” Thorne muttered, but his power flickered with something like pleasure at his oldest friend's obvious approval.

“Can't help it.” Rowan grinned. “It's like seeing spring return after endless winter. Next thing you know, you'll be dancing with the dryads again.”

“I never danced with the dryads.”

“Oh really?” Rowan's laugh rumbled like distant thunder. “Shall I remind you of that midsummer festival when you got into the fermented moonflower nectar and decided to teach everyone the proper way to greet the dawn?”

Thorne's form scattered briefly in embarrassment. “That was six hundred years ago.”

“And I've been waiting six hundred years to see you this alive again.” Rowan's teasing tone softened to something more genuine. “Your hair moves like moonlight on water again. Your eyes hold forests instead of frost. Even your magic feels warmer.” He gestured at the silver patterns flowing across Thorne's skin. “Though I notice certain marks glow brighter where someone's fingers recently traced them.”

“I will freeze your moss solid.”

“Worth it.” Rowan settled against a nearby tree, looking enormously pleased with himself. “Besides, your threats lack bite when you're practically glowing with happiness. Does your human know what it means when forest spirits manifest their heart-form around someone?”

“He's not my human,” Thorne protested automatically, then caught himself as Rowan's grin widened. “And this isn't my heart-form, it's just-”

“Just the form you take when you feel safe enough to be real again?”

The accuracy of that observation hit deeper than Thorne wanted to admit. But looking at his oldest friend's obvious joy in his transformation, he couldn't maintain his usual defenses.

“I've missed you,” Rowan said quietly. “The real you, not the bitter guardian you've been pretending to be. Welcome back, old friend.”

“I haven't gone anywhere.”

“Haven't you?” Rowan raised an eyebrow. “The Thorne I used to know loved teaching, loved sharing forest magic with anyone who showed genuine interest. He laughed at sprite pranks and danced with dryads and let himself feel things without fear.” His smile turned gentle. “That Thorne is standing right here, crown of branches and all, because someone finally reminded him it was safe to exist again.”

Thorne's power rippled with emotion he couldn't quite contain. “When did you get so annoyingly wise?”

“About the same time you got so annoyingly stubborn.” Rowan pushed off from the tree.

“I hate you.”

“No you don't.” Rowan's eyes twinkled. “You're literally glowing with joy right now. Can't hide anything in that form, remember?”

And really, what could Thorne say to that? His oldest friend had always seen through his defenses. The fact that he was choosing to drop them anyway felt like its own kind of healing.

Left alone again, Thorne continued his preparations with almost desperate energy. He found himself choosing phenomena that would challenge Silas's quick mind while rewarding his natural insight. Places where their magic might need to work in close harmony, requiring those moments of physical proximity that sent silver sparks dancing through the air.

“This is ridiculous,” he told a particularly knowing oak tree. “I'm acting like some young sprite with their first crush.”

But he didn't stop. Each location he prepared felt like a gift he couldn't wait to share, a chance to see that pure wonder light up Silas's face again. Even his magic had taken on an eager quality, responding more warmly to each adjustment.

Thorne found himself drawn inexorably toward Thornhaven's boundary. Light moved in an upper window that he knew must be Silas's room.

He realized that he had begun thinking of Silas as his human. The possessive thought should have terrified him more than it did. Instead, he found himself hoping Silas felt the same growing sense of rightness in their connection.

“You're mooning about like a lovesick fool,” he chided himself. But his true form remained stubbornly visible, crown of branches catching starlight while patterns of warmth and longing played across his skin.

Mine, some ancient part of him whispered. Mine to teach, to protect, to cherish.

“Guardian?” Briar's voice came softly from nearby. “The shadow entity grows stronger near the eastern borders.”

“I know.”

Each deepening of his bond with Silas gave the entity more power to potentially corrupt. Yet the thought of pulling away, of rebuilding those careful walls, felt like trying to force spring back into winter.

“You've made a decision,” the Elder Willow observed, materializing beside him. “I can feel it in your magic.”

“Yes.” Thorne's form settled fully into its true nature, crown of branches catching dawn's first light. “Though it's probably going to get us all killed.”

“Or save us all.” She smiled gently.