Page 9 of Eternal Thorns (The Feybound Chronicles #1)

8

ECHOES OF TRUST

T he ancient oak embraced Thorne's shadow form as naturally as it held its own leaves, centuries of partnership making them nearly one entity. From this vantage point, he had a perfect view of Thornhaven's front gate and the figure now approaching it with determined steps.

“Right on time, Agnes,” he muttered, watching the witch's steady progress. Her arrival was inevitable as she'd played bridge-keeper between the realms since before his hair turned silver. But something about her purposeful stride set his teeth on edge.

Through the enhanced sight that came with his guardian powers, he watched magical currents shift around her. Her basket radiated traces of forest magic, herbs and roots still singing with power borrowed from his realm. But it was the reaction of Silas's key that made his form waver between shadow and light.

The moment Agnes crossed the property line, the key's power flared visible to his magical sight. Golden light spiraled through the air in patterns he hadn't seen in centuries.

His control slipped. The oak's branches creaked in protest as his form flickered, shadows bleeding into substance and back again. He forced himself still, but the damage was done. The ancient tree's wood had absorbed his distress, and now its own magic hummed with discordant notes.

Inside the manor, Agnes was unpacking her basket. Thorne didn't need to be closer to know what she'd brought. As if anything could soothe the storm that raged beneath his carefully maintained control.

But it was Silas's reaction to the witch's offerings that truly threatened Thorne's composure. Silas handled each item with unconscious grace, an innate understanding of their power that was painfully familiar. The way his fingers traced the silver bindings, how he inhaled the herbs' essence with quiet appreciation.

Every gesture echoed movements Thorne had watched another Ashworth make in what felt like another lifetime.

The oak's branches groaned again as Thorne's form destabilized. Past and present began to blur, memories rising like flood waters. Teaching Marcus which herbs held power, watching his face light up when he first managed to blend human craft with forest magic. The way he'd handled every magical thing with that same gentle reverence, that same quiet joy of discovery.

“Stop,” Thorne commanded himself, but his power was already responding to the memories. Frost crept along the oak's bark despite the morning warmth. Nearby saplings bent away from his turmoil, their young magic recoiling from the chaos in his ancient spirit.

Through it all, Agnes continued her careful instruction. Thorne could practically hear her measured words, the same lessons she'd helped teach generations of magic-touched humans. But her body language told a different story. The way she watched Silas handle the herbs, her satisfied nod when the plants leaned toward him of their own accord.

“He's nothing like Marcus,” Thorne insisted to the watching trees. But even the forest seemed to doubt him, its magic stirring with recognition whenever the key's power pulsed.

The oak, tired of his emotional turbulence, finally had enough. A branch shifted deliberately, nearly dislodging him from his perch. The message was clear: get your shit together or find another tree to torment.

“Traitor,” Thorne muttered, but the rebuke helped him focus. He forced his form to stabilize, though the effort cost him more than he wanted to admit. The burns from the key's light still marked his spectral flesh, a constant reminder that some powers didn't care about centuries of carefully cultivated bitterness.

Inside the manor, Agnes was sharing her infamous tea with the young men. Thorne remembered its taste - sharp and sweet and ancient, like drinking liquid starlight. He remembered sharing cups of it with Marcus in this very garden, planning their grand experiment in blending magics. Remembered how the steam had risen in patterns just like the ones forming now above Silas's cup.

The oak creaked a warning before his control could slip again.

Right. Focus.

He was here to observe, to assess potential threats. Not to lose himself in memories of shared tea and broken promises.

But as he watched Silas's hands cup the warm mug, saw how the key's power harmonized with the forest-touched herbs, a treacherous thought slipped through his defenses: What if Agnes was right? What if some magics really were older than vengeance, some bonds deeper than betrayal?

The question burned worse than the key's light had. Thorne retreated deeper into shadow, letting the oak's ancient strength steady him. He had a forest to protect, barriers to maintain, darker powers to watch for. He couldn't afford to wonder about might-have-beens or what-ifs.

Even if every gesture Silas made struck chords in magic older than his guardianship, older than his grief.

Even if the forest itself seemed to hold its breath, watching and remembering and hoping.

The oak's branches swayed in a nonexistent wind, and Thorne could have sworn the ancient tree was laughing at him.

Unable to trust his own direct observation, Thorne extended his awareness through his forest network. A sparrow perched in the kitchen window gave him a clear view of the scene. Mice in the walls carried whispers of conversation. Even the ivy creeping up the manor's stones served as his eyes and ears, its leaves trembling with each revelation Agnes shared.

“Your family wasn't meant to rule the forest or fight it - you were meant to bridge the gap between human and fey realms.”

Each word felt like a thorn in his spectral flesh. Centuries of careful burial, of histories deliberately forgotten, undone by an old witch's loose tongue. His anger flared hot enough to wither a patch of wildflowers near his perch, their petals blackening and curling inward.

But it was Agnes' mention of the other journals that truly shattered his control. Power leaked from him like sap from a wounded tree, causing nearby shadows to writhe. Those books were meant to stay hidden, sealed away with all the other remnants of that doomed experiment in trust.

He'd personally concealed them in the forest's deepest reaches, protected by wards that should have lasted millennia.

Through the sparrow's eyes, he watched Silas handle the bark-bound journal. His touch wasn't possessive or triumphant - instead, his fingers traced the living cover with gentle reverence, the same way Marcus had once handled sacred texts in Thorne's own grove. The parallel struck too deep. Thorne retreated further into shadow, letting the darkness cool his burning thoughts.

“Some magics are older than vengeance,” Agnes was saying, and Thorne wanted to scream at the hypocrisy of it. What did she know of vengeance? Of watching everything you'd built together crumble under the weight of human ambition?

But his bitter thoughts scattered as something else brushed against his magical awareness. A presence that didn't belong to his forest, that felt wrong in ways that made his ancient power recoil. It lingered at the edges of his perception, watching Silas with an interest that sent warning signals through every fiber of Thorne's being.

When he tried to focus on it directly, the presence slipped away like oil on water. But it left behind impressions that made his form destabilize completely.

The sensation tugged at his memory, reminding him of that final confrontation when everything fell apart. There had been something else present that night, something born from the breaking of sacred oaths and the shattering of trust. A consequence he'd thought safely contained by the very wards now failing around Thornhaven.

Horror crept through him like frost. The weakening barriers weren't just awakening old forest magic - they were creating gaps where older, darker things could slip through. Things that remembered the first betrayal, the first breaking, the first price paid.

Shadows that weren't his gathered at the forest's edge. They moved wrong, felt wrong, whispered in voices that sounded disturbingly like his own grief given form. But twisted, corrupted, turned to purposes that had nothing to do with justice or protection.

This was why the Elder Willow had urged caution. Why the prophecy spoke of either healing or final breaking. The very power he'd used to seal the forest after the betrayal had created something unexpected.

And now it watched Silas with calculating patience, as if he was the final piece in a game Thorne hadn't even known was being played.

The shadow's presence seemed to mock his growing concern, whispering in voices that echoed his own bitterness back at him.

Did you think you were the only one shaped by betrayal, Guardian? The only one who remembered the taste of broken oaths?

Through his forest network, Thorne watched Silas touch the key that should have been destroyed centuries ago. Watched him handle forest magic with innate understanding that should have been lost to his bloodline. Watched him unknowingly step closer to a destiny that suddenly seemed far more complex than simple vengeance or redemption.

The oak's branches swayed with his unease, and for once, the ancient tree offered no rebuke. It felt the wrongness too, the sense of ancient powers stirring that cared nothing for the delicate balance between human and fey realms.

Thorne had intended to test Silas, to judge whether this Ashworth might be different from his ancestor. Now he wondered if they were both being tested by something far older and darker than mere family legacy.

The shadow's whispers followed him as he withdrew deeper into his forest.

Watch carefully, Guardian. Your grief gave us form, but his choice will give us purpose.

For the first time in centuries, Thorne felt something dangerously close to fear.

Thorne materialized in the Elder Willow's grove already preparing his arguments. The dark presence he'd sensed should take priority over any discussion of Silas Ashworth or ancient prophecies. But the words died in his throat at the sight of what awaited him.

The Elder Willow stood in her most ancient form, bark-skin gleaming with inner light. Beside her, Rowan held something that made Thorne's power pulse with recognition - a mirror of polished obsidian, its surface rippling like black water. He hadn't seen that particular artifact since the night of the betrayal.

“Look,” the Elder Willow commanded, no trace of her usual gentle wisdom.

Thorne wanted to refuse, but ancient magic compelled him forward. The mirror's surface cleared, and he nearly recoiled at what it showed.

“Interesting,” Rowan said, studying the reflection. “Your true self bleeds through more strongly each time you interact with young Ashworth.”

“He's nothing like Marcus,” Thorne snapped, but the words sounded hollow even to him.

“No?” Rowan's moss-covered armor clinked as he shifted. “I watched him through the forest eyes too, old friend. The way he handles magical artifacts with instinctive respect. How he approaches power with determination tempered by compassion. Even that stubborn set to his jaw when faced with impossible tasks.”

“Coincidence.”

“You know better.” The Elder Willow's roots shifted beneath her. “The resemblance goes deeper than mere features. Or have you forgotten how Marcus was before ambition poisoned everything?”

Thorne's form wavered again, and the mirror caught the change - moments when his power shimmered with colors beyond shadow and frost, when ancient joy threatened to crack through his carefully maintained bitterness.

“This meeting isn't about him,” Thorne tried. “There's something darker awakening”

“All things connect.” The Elder Willow gestured, and the grove's canopy parted to reveal the heart of the forest. There, set in living stone, the prophecy rocks pulsed with silver light. “The stones wake for the first time in centuries. Their message is clear, for those willing to see it.”

Thorne approached despite himself. The glowing symbols carved into ancient rock spoke of twin paths. But new marks had appeared, patterns that made his power resonate with uncomfortable recognition.

“This changes nothing,” he insisted. “His resemblance to Marcus makes him more dangerous, not less. History repeating itself”

“Then explain this.” The Elder Willow's power flowed outward, connecting them to every root and branch in the forest. Through their shared sight, Thorne saw how the forest itself responded to Silas's presence. Young saplings leaned toward Thornhaven like flowers tracking the sun. Ancient trees stirred with recognition, their magic singing notes that hadn't been heard since before the betrayal.

“The forest remembers,” Rowan said quietly. “Not the betrayal, but what came before. The harmony that once existed between our realms.”

“The forest is deceived by his appearance,” Thorne argued, but his voice lacked conviction.

The Elder Willow's laugh rustled like autumn leaves. “The forest sees more truly than you, Guardian. It remembers what you've forced yourself to forget - that before there was betrayal, there was trust. Before vengeance, there was love.”

The word struck Thorne like a physical blow. His form destabilized completely, showing what he truly looked like beneath centuries of carefully constructed walls. The obsidian mirror caught it all - the pain, the longing, the fear of hope that hurt worse than any betrayal.

“The prophecy speaks of choices,” the Elder Willow continued, gentler now. “Not just his, but yours as well. The path forward requires both guardian and returner to choose differently than their predecessors.”

“And if we choose wrong?” Thorne forced his form to stabilize. “If history truly does repeat itself?”

“Then what waits in the shadows will devour both realms.” Rowan's bluntness was almost welcome after the Elder Willow's riddling. “The darkness you sensed today? It's what happens when grief and betrayal are allowed to fester for centuries. What your pain and Marcus's broken oaths created between them.”

The prophecy stones pulsed brighter, casting Thorne's shifting reflection across their surface. In each flash of light, he caught glimpses of what he'd been, what he could be again. The forest's magic swelled around them, carrying echoes of songs long forgotten - harmonies that had once bound human and fey magic together.

“The choice was always going to come,” the Elder Willow said. “We merely didn't know it would wear such a familiar face.”

Thorne touched the burns on his spectral flesh where Silas's key had marked him. They no longer hurt, instead pulsing with a warmth that felt disturbingly like possibility.

“I have a proposal,” he said, the words emerging before he could reconsider. Both ancient spirits turned to him with identical expressions of careful interest. “Instead of waiting for Silas to blunder through the forest hunting those journals, risking both his life and our secrets...”

“Yes?” The Elder Willow prompted when he hesitated.

“I'll test him directly. Through dreams.” Thorne began pacing, his form shifting between shadow and substance as he worked out the details. “I can show him selected memories - what we built together, what trust looked like before betrayal shattered it.”

“Dream-walking is dangerous magic,” Rowan warned. “Especially with one who carries such strong echoes of the past. The connection it creates could be exploited.”

“By the darkness gathering at our borders?” Thorne's laugh held no humor. “That's exactly why we can't wait. Something older than my grief is stirring, drawn by his presence and the key's power. At least this way, I control what he learns and how he learns it.”

But even as he spoke, Thorne recognized another truth beneath his practical arguments. Part of him needed to understand - to know if this Ashworth was truly different or just another verse in an endless tragic ballad. The burns on his flesh pulsed in agreement, betraying desires he'd thought long buried.

The Elder Willow studied him with ancient eyes. “You wish to show him memories of Marcus.”

“I wish to show him truth,” Thorne corrected, though his form flickered at the name. “Let him see what partnership between realms truly meant. What it cost when that trust was broken.”

“And if seeing those memories awakens something in you as well?” Her roots shifted beneath her. “Dream-walking flows both ways, Guardian. He will see your pain as much as the events that caused it.”

The obsidian mirror caught Thorne's reflection again, showing how his power rippled between past and present at the very thought. But he held firm. “Better that than watching him walk blindly into dangers he doesn't understand.”

“Very well.” The Elder Willow's consent carried the weight of prophecy. “But hear my warning, Thorne - in seeking to test him, take care you don't reveal too much of your own heart. Some wounds, when reopened, bleed both ways.”

Thorne's burns tingled with phantom warmth, as if the key's power already reached for him across the distance. Tonight, he would enter Silas's dreams, would share memories he'd locked away for centuries. Would discover whether this Ashworth could face the past without repeating it.

He just hoped his own heart remembered how to handle truth without shattering all over again.