Page 5 of Eternal Thorns (The Feybound Chronicles #1)

4

NIGHT VISIT

S ilas sneezed for what felt like the hundredth time as another cloud of dust erupted from the sheet he was pulling off an ancient sideboard. The manor's main hall was gradually emerging from decades of neglect, though “habitable” might be a generous term for their progress.

“If I die of dust inhalation,” Kai called from across the room, “I want you to tell everyone it was something more heroic. Like fighting a dragon.”

“Sure. I'll say you died saving orphans from a dragon. While doing backflips.” Silas paused, studying the newly revealed sideboard. Beneath years of grime, intricate carvings decorated the dark wood. He ran his fingers along the patterns, feeling something strange in their repetition.

“I do love a good backflip,” Kai said. “Speaking of heroic deeds, this fireplace is being a real pain in the ass.” The sound of flint striking steel punctuated his words. “Wood's dry as bones but won't catch.”

The key around Silas's neck had been growing steadily warmer as darkness fell. Now it practically burned as he approached one of the hall's stained glass windows. The colored panels depicted forest scenes that seemed to shift when viewed from different angles - or was that just his tired mind playing tricks?

“Maybe we should look for different wood,” Silas suggested, turning away from the window. But as he walked past the fireplace, the key flared with sudden heat. The kindling Kai had been fighting with burst into flames.

They both stared at the fire. Neither spoke.

Finally, Kai cleared his throat. “So we're not going to talk about that?”

“About what? The perfectly normal fire that's definitely supposed to be that color?”

“Right. Totally normal. Like those windows that keep changing when I'm not looking directly at them.” Kai stood, brushing off his knees. “Want to help me find the kitchen? I'm starving, and weird magic fire is hungry work.”

As they explored deeper into the manor, Silas noticed more odd details. Sections of wallpaper peeled away to reveal murals underneath. Figures with antlers dancing under moonlight. Trees with faces in their bark. And everywhere, that same architectural motif of intertwined branches and leaves, like the house had grown rather than been built.

The key led them to the kitchen, growing warmer whenever they took the correct turn. Silas didn't mention this to Kai, who was busy commenting on the mansion's “horror novel aesthetic.”

“At least the kitchen's not too bad,” Kai said, already rummaging through their supplies. “Bit dusty, but the stove seems solid. You should check out that fancy library we passed while I make dinner. Just try not to disturb any ancient curses or vengeful spirits.”

“Your confidence in this situation is inspiring.”

“Hey, I've read books. Never investigate the creepy noises, don't split up, and don't make deals with mysterious strangers. Basic survival stuff.”

The library doors were made of the same carved wood as the sideboard, but these patterns made Silas's eyes hurt if he looked at them too long. Inside, the room smelled of old leather and secrets. Tall windows let in the last rays of sunlight, dust motes dancing in the beams like lazy fireflies.

But something was off about the bookshelves. Silas had grown up in a library much like this one, had practically memorized how books settled over time. These gaps weren't natural - someone had removed volumes recently, and in a hurry judging by the dust patterns.

The key grew almost painfully hot as he approached one particular shelf. His fingers found the hidden catch almost instinctively, as if they remembered a pattern his mind never learned. A panel clicked open.

Inside lay a leather-bound journal, its pages yellow with age. The inscription on the first page made his breath catch: “Property of Marcus Ashworth, 1824.”

Lord, help me, for I fear what we have awakened in our pride and ambition. The forest keeper warned us, but we would not listen. The ritual was meant to bind our worlds, to create lasting peace between human and fey.

The handwriting grew more erratic with each entry.

The price was too high. They trusted us, and we betrayed that trust for power. The keeper's eyes when he realized what we'd done - I will never forget that look as long as I live. Which may not be long, given what now stalks the borders of our land.

The key must be hidden. The knowledge must be buried. Let no Ashworth ever again

A gust of wind whipped through the room, though all the windows were sealed. Silas's lamp went out, plunging him into total darkness. The key burned against his skin.

When he managed to relight the lamp with shaking hands, the journal had vanished. Only a single page remained, floating to the floor like a fallen leaf. On it, someone had drawn a figure that made Silas's heart stutter.

Tall and otherworldly, with antlers of shadow and eyes like stars. Markings swirled across its skin like flowing moonlight. It looked both beautiful and terrifying, ancient and alien. And Silas could have sworn he'd seen something just like it watching from the forest's edge as they'd arrived.

“Dinner's ready,” Kai called from down the hall. “I made do with what we had, so don't expect anything fancy.”

Silas quickly folded the drawing and tucked it into his pocket. The library suddenly felt colder, and he could have sworn he heard whispers in a language he almost understood.

“Coming,” he called back, trying to keep his voice steady. But as he reached the door, movement caught his eye. His reflection in the window showed him pale and tired. But for just a moment, something else seemed to be reflected there too.

When he looked again, only darkness stared back. But the key still burned against his chest, and somewhere in the depths of Thornhaven Manor, a door creaked open on its own.

Dinner was a quiet affair, both of them focused more on their bowls of simple stew than on conversation. The drawing from the journal burned in Silas's pocket like a guilty secret, and every shadow in the dining room's corners seemed to hide watching eyes.

“Right,” Kai said finally, pushing back from the table. “I'm taking the blue bedroom down the hall. You know, the one with minimal creepy decorations and only one suspicious-looking mirror.”

“Thanks for dinner,” Silas managed. “And for, you know. Coming with me.”

“Someone has to make sure you don't get eaten by whatever lives in this place.” Kai paused at the door. “Try not to do anything stupid before morning, okay?”

The master chamber waited at the top of the grand staircase, its double doors carved with those same twisting forest scenes. Inside, moonlight spilled through frost-touched windows, creating shadows that didn't quite match the room's architecture. The space felt wrong somehow, too vast and too empty at the same time, like a cathedral long abandoned by its gods.

The key refused to cool against Silas's skin. When he tried to remove it, the cord seemed to tighten, almost like a warning. He left it where it was.

From these windows, the Eldergrove stretched out like a wall of darkness. But there - a flicker of light between the trees. And another. Like lanterns carried by invisible hands, or stars that had fallen to earth and learned to dance.

“No one lives in that forest,” Kai had said earlier, too firmly. “That's what everyone knows.”

The ancestral bed dominated the room, its four posts rising like ancient trees. The wood was pristine despite decades of neglect, carved with scenes that echoed those downstairs - figures dancing through forests, ceremonies beneath moonlight, bargains struck between human and otherworldly beings. As Silas changed for bed, the carved eyes seemed to follow his movement.

Sleep came reluctantly, filled with half-formed dreams of antlered shadows and burning stars. In that space between waking and dreaming, the carved figures on the bed posts definitely moved, twisting in their wooden dance to watch him with sightless eyes.

The key's sudden cold against his chest yanked him back to consciousness. Silver light flooded the room, though the moon had long since passed his windows. Frost spiraled across the glass in impossible patterns - branches, leaves, text in a language that hurt his eyes to look at. The fire still burned in the grate, but it might as well have been painted for all the warmth it provided.

Move , his instincts screamed. His sword lay within reach beside the bed. But his body wouldn't respond, held motionless by an invisible force that felt like winter wind given form.

The shadows near his window began to coalesce, drawing in threads of moonlight like a spider spinning darkness into form. Silas's heart stuttered as a figure emerged - tall and otherworldly, exactly like the drawing in his pocket. Antlers of shadow crowned its head, shifting and reforming with each movement. Markings like liquid starlight flowed across skin that seemed made of twilight and tree bark. But its eyes - gods, its eyes burned green and gold, ancient as the forest itself and filled with a rage that made the air crackle with frost.

The temperature plunged so low that Silas's breath came out in white clouds. When the figure spoke, its voice held whispers of rustling leaves and the rumble of distant storms.

“So,” it said, each word dripping with centuries of bitterness, “an Ashworth dares to return.”

The key flared with sudden warmth, fighting against the winter cold that filled the room. The figure's eyes narrowed, fixing on Silas's chest where the metal burned beneath his shirt.

“And bearing stolen power, no less.” The being moved closer, each step leaving traces of frost on the floorboards. “Tell me, little lordling, do you even know what you carry? What blood price was paid for that key?”

Silas tried to speak, but the cold had frozen his voice. The carved figures on the bed posts writhed faster now, their wooden faces twisting in silent warning.

“Your ancestor wore that same look of innocence,” the figure continued. “Right before he shattered everything we built. Everything we-” It stopped, power flickering like northern lights beneath its skin. “No matter. I did not come to discuss ancient history.”

The invisible force holding Silas eased slightly, enough that he could draw a proper breath. “Who are you?”

“I am Thorne, Guardian of the Eldergrove,” the figure said, frost spreading from his feet with each step closer. “Keeper of ancient oaths and protector of powers your kind abandoned. And you, Ashworth, are trespassing.”

The key against Silas's chest pulsed with warmth, fighting the supernatural cold. Light began to leak from beneath his nightshirt, and Thorne's fluid movements faltered.

“I don't understand,” Silas managed, finding his voice stronger as the key's warmth spread through him. “What oaths? What powers? I was sent here as punishment, nothing more.”

“Punishment?” Thorne's laugh held no humor. “You think your petty family squabbles compare to what was broken here?” His form flickered like a candle in wind, showing glimpses of something vast and ancient beneath the humanoid shape - branches that moved like limbs, eyes that held entire constellations.

The key's light grew brighter, and Silas felt its power resonating with something in the room, in the very walls of Thornhaven. “I swear, I don't know what you're talking about. My father never-”

“Your father,” Thorne spat the word like poison, “knows nothing of true power or true betrayal. But your blood remembers, doesn't it? That key wouldn't respond to you otherwise.”

Silas looked down at the glow emanating from his chest. “My grandmother gave it to me. She said-” He hesitated, remembering her cryptic warnings.

Thorne went very still. “What did Lady Evangeline tell you?”

The use of his grandmother's name startled Silas. “She said the forest remembers the Ashworth name, and not fondly. She said there were old stories about ancestors who ventured too close and never returned.”

The room's shadows writhed like living things. Thorne's eyes blazed, green bleeding to molten gold. “She dares speak of remembrance? She, who helped bury the truth?” The temperature plunged so low that frost crackled across Silas's skin. “Your grandmother knows exactly what price was paid for your family's ambition.”

The spirit moved with inhuman speed, reaching for Silas with hands that shimmered between flesh and shadow. But the key flared with sudden, blinding light. A barrier of pure radiance burst between them, forcing Thorne back.

The forest guardian snarled, a sound like breaking branches and winter storms. His true form showed clearly now. Antlers that branched into infinity, skin of ancient bark, robes woven from shadow and starlight. But in his eyes, behind the rage and power, Silas caught something that looked almost like pain.

The key's light held steady, creating a dome of warmth in the freezing room. Where its radiance touched the carved figures on the bed posts, they danced faster, as if celebrating some victory. Thorne watched it all with an expression Silas couldn't read.

Sudden pounding on the bedroom door broke the tension. “Silas? What the hell is going on in there?”

Kai's voice seemed to come from another world entirely, so removed from the supernatural standoff that Silas almost laughed. The door handle rattled, but whatever power filled the room held it shut.

Thorne's form wavered, drawing back toward the shadows, but his eyes remained fixed on Silas. “So the Ashworths truly have forgotten. How convenient.” His voice took on a formal cadence, power threading through each word. “Know this, then. Your family broke a sacred covenant with the Eldergrove. Blood oaths were shattered, trust was betrayed, and a price was paid - though not by those who earned it.”

“What covenant? What price?” The key pulsed against Silas's chest like a second heartbeat.

“Your return to this place can mean only one thing - the time of reckoning has come. The old magic stirs, demanding either restoration or destruction.” Frost patterns spiraled across the walls as Thorne spoke. “If you truly know nothing of your family's crimes, I grant you until the next full moon to discover the truth.”

More pounding on the door. “Silas, I swear to god, if you're dead in there”

“And then what?” Silas demanded, finding courage in Kai's familiar voice and the key's steady warmth.

“Then you have a choice.” Thorne's form began to dissolve, moonlight showing through his increasingly transparent shape. “Step into the forest willingly to face judgment, or wait for the grove to claim what it is owed. The old powers are waking, Ashworth. They remember what your blood forgot.”

The temperature dropped further, frost crackling across every surface. Yet Thorne's next words carried a heat that made Silas's skin prickle: “The key you wear was forged in trust and broken by betrayal. Its power recognizes both its master and its thief.” His eyes flared like trapped stars. “Choose wisely which you will be.”

The door burst open with a crash, Kai stumbling through with a candlestick raised like a weapon. “I swear if some ghost is eating my friend”

But the room held only Silas, frost-covered furniture, and the lingering scent of winter woods. The key's light faded slowly, leaving bright spots dancing in his vision. Outside, the Eldergrove loomed darker than before, its ancient trees standing like sentinels beneath the moon.

“Holy shit,” Kai breathed, taking in the ice-covered walls and the unnatural cold. “What happened? I felt something wrong, like the whole house was holding its breath, and then your door wouldn't open, and” He stopped, finally registering Silas's expression. “Are you okay?”

Silas looked down at the key in his hand, still warm despite the freezing air. Terror and determination warred in his chest as Thorne's words echoed in his mind. A sacred covenant broken. Blood oaths shattered. A price still unpaid.

“No,” he said honestly. “I don't think I am. But I need to tell you what just happened, and then I need your help finding some answers.” His fingers closed around the key, feeling its power respond to his touch. “We have until the full moon to uncover what my family tried to bury. And I have a feeling we're not going to like what we find.”

Kai lowered his makeshift weapon, his usual humor replaced by rare seriousness. “Start from the beginning. And maybe we should build up that fire again, because whatever was in here left one hell of a chill.”

As Silas began to explain, the carved figures on his bed posts settled into their original positions. But now, in the corner of his eye, he could swear they were smiling.