Page 48

E ventually, the carriage slowed, pulling up to a building set back from the road. Through the window, I could make out a two-story structure—not grand enough to be a proper inn but too large to be a private home. Warm light spilled from a few windows on the ground floor.

"Ah, here we are," Gavriel said, leaning forward to look outside. "A place to rest for the night."

The carriage door opened, and Gavriel stepped out first, then offered his hand to help me down. I took it mechanically, allowing myself to be guided onto the packed dirt of a small courtyard.

Up close, the building revealed itself as a roadside waystation—the kind that catered to merchants or aristocrats who wanted privacy during their travels. No signboard hung above its door, just a simple lantern burning on a hook. A place that worked on discretion and coin rather than reputation.

"Come," Gavriel said, his hand settling on the small of my back, guiding me toward the entrance.

A man waited at the door—a wiry fellow with the tense expression of someone being paid very well to ask no questions. He gave a quick, deferential bow as we approached.

"Your accommodation is prepared, sir," he said, not quite meeting Gavriel's eyes. "As requested."

Gavriel nodded curtly. "We'll retire immediately. We're not to be disturbed until morning."

"Of course, sir." The man handed Gavriel a key, then stepped aside, allowing us to enter.

Inside was a sparse common room—a few tables and a small hearth, presently unlit. A staircase at the far end led to the upper floor. No other guests were visible.

We climbed the stairs in silence, his hand never leaving my back, a constant reminder of his presence. At the first door on the landing, he stopped and unlocked it, gesturing for me to enter first.

The room beyond was small but well-appointed—a wide bed with a dark coverlet dominated one wall while heavy velvet drapes covered the windows.

A hearth stood cold and empty. A single chair and a small table completed the furnishings.

No personal touches. Nothing that would mark it as a place where people actually lived.

Gavriel closed the door behind us, the soft click of the lock sliding home unnaturally loud in the quiet room. He moved to the bedside table and lit a single candle, casting the room in dim, flickering light.

"We'll rest here tonight," he said, his voice gentle, reasonable. "Then make for Riverbend at dawn. I have arrangements there—a house, not unlike the one we had in Elarion. You'll be comfortable."

I said nothing, standing motionless near the door.

"You're so still," he observed, studying me with a tilt of his head. "So different from the Isolde I remember. Always moving, always questioning." He crossed back to me, reaching out to brush my hair from my shoulder. "But perhaps this is better. Simpler."

His fingers trailed down my arm, and it took everything I had not to pull away. To remember who I was supposed to be right now: docile, enchanted, his.

"I've missed you," he murmured. His hand came up to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his. "It feels good to have you back where you belong."

Then he was leaning in, his lips seeking mine.

I turned my face at the last moment, his lips landing on the corner of my mouth instead. It was a small rebellion, but even this slight resistance made Gavriel pause. His fingers tightened on my jaw—not painfully yet, but with warning.

"Still shy?" he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. "After everything we've shared?"

I kept my expression neutral, fighting the revulsion rising like bile in my throat. "I'm tired," I said flatly. "The journey."

He studied my face for a long moment, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. Something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of suspicion quickly masked.

"Of course," he said, releasing me with a small step back. "It's been an eventful day for you. For us both." He gestured to the bed. "Rest, then. We have an early start tomorrow."

I moved stiffly toward the bed, perching on its edge. I didn't lie down. Couldn't bear to be that vulnerable with him watching.

Gavriel remained standing, studying me with that evaluating look I remembered all too well. The look that always preceded correction.

"You know," he said conversationally, removing his jacket and draping it over the back of the chair, "I've wondered what changed you. What turned my obedient, devoted wife into..." He gestured vaguely. "Whatever you became in Everwood."

I kept my face blank, but my mind was racing. He was testing me. Probing for weakness, inconsistency.

"Was it the pregnancy?" he continued. "Some women become unstable after childbirth. Or perhaps it was that place itself." His lip curled. "Everwood, with its mongrel population and progressive nonsense."

I said nothing, hands folded in my lap. Waiting.

"Or perhaps," he said, voice hardening ever so slightly, "it was the orc."

My pulse jumped at the mention of Uldrek, but I forced my face to remain still.

"What an amusing charade that was," Gavriel went on, unbuttoning his cuffs with precise movements. "The claiming mark. The testimony. All those tender looks you exchanged." He shook his head. "As if a creature like that could ever truly understand someone like you."

The claiming mark pulsed faintly, warm beneath my skin. Not gone. Still there.

"You belong in civilization, Isolde," Gavriel said, rolling up one sleeve to reveal the silver bracer with its embedded Seal. "With your own kind. With me."

He approached again, standing over me. "But perhaps some part of you is still confused. Still resisting." His expression darkened. "I can fix that."

He raised his hand, and the Seal flared to life—a cold pulse of silver-blue light that hummed with power.

"Obey," he commanded, his voice resonating with unnatural force.

The magic reached for my mind—tendrils of cold that sought purchase, that wanted to rewrite my thoughts, my will.

But it failed.

It hit something burning beneath my skin, something that flared to life at the intrusion. The claiming mark ignited, spreading like embers through my chest. Not just protection. Defiance.

I stood slowly, facing him. "You don't own me anymore, Gavriel."

Shock flashed across his face, followed quickly by fury. "Impossible," he snarled, staring at the Seal, then back at me. "The bond is broken. I broke it myself!"

"You tried," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "You failed."

His eyes narrowed to slits. The Seal pulsed again, brighter this time, casting his features in sharp relief.

"Kneel," he commanded, the word layered with magic.

I felt the press of it against my mind, but the claiming mark burned hotter, a shield of warmth radiating outward from my collarbone.

I didn't move.

Rage contorted his face. "This is impossible," he repeated. "I severed the bond. I felt it break!"

"You don't understand what you're dealing with," I said, thinking of Rowena's words. The claiming bond isn't really about magic. The real bond is what you choose every day.

He lunged forward with unexpected speed, grabbing my shoulders, the Seal blazing on his wrist. "You will obey me," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You will remember who you are. Who we are."

The magic surged again, stronger this time—a relentless pressure that made my vision blur. For a moment, I felt my resolve waver.

But then I thought of Ellie, safe in Tinderpost House. Of Hobbie's fierce protection. Of Gruha's gruff kindness. Of Edwin and Fira at the Archives, who'd given me purpose beyond survival. And of Uldrek, who'd shown me what choice really meant.

The claiming mark flared so hot it almost hurt, pushing back against Gavriel's magic. I met his gaze steadily.

"No," I said.

With a roar of frustration, Gavriel shoved me backward. I stumbled, hitting the wall, but managed to stay upright. As he advanced on me again, I dodged sideways, putting the chair between us.

"You've always been difficult," he snapped. "Always requiring more correction than you should." The Seal's light was constant now, pulsing like a heartbeat. "But I always bring you back. Always."

I glanced around frantically, looking for anything I could use as a weapon. My gaze landed on a small iron poker leaning against the cold hearth.

"Not anymore," I said, and lunged for it.

My fingers closed around the metal just as Gavriel caught my arm, yanking me backward. I twisted, using my momentum. Gavriel stumbled, surprised by the maneuver. I broke free and swung the poker, connecting with his shoulder. Not a solid hit, but enough to make him recoil.

"You fight like a savage," he sneered, circling me warily. "Is that what he taught you? Your orc?"

My heart hammered in my chest, blood roaring in my ears. “He did,” I said. “Because he wanted me strong. Not afraid.”

Gavriel's hand shot out, the Seal blazing. "Drop it," he commanded, magic rippling outward.

This time, I felt the pressure but barely even had to fight it. The claiming mark was a steady warmth, a shield around my thoughts.

"It won't work," I said, advancing a step. "Not anymore."

His face contorted with frustration. "Why?" he demanded. "Why you? What makes you so special that you can resist?"

"I'm not special," I replied. "I just know the truth now. Your kind of control isn't love. It's poison."

With a snarl, he closed the distance between us, grabbing for the poker. I ducked under his arm and kicked at the back of his knee. He grunted, staggering, but didn't go down.

Before I could dart away, he caught my hair, yanking me backward with one hand while the other, still bearing the Seal, pressed against my throat.

"Enough games," he growled. The Seal flared blindingly bright, magic pouring from it in waves. "Sleep," he commanded, his voice echoing strangely in the small room.

The pressure was overwhelming, a crushing weight on my consciousness. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision. The poker slipped from my fingers, clattering to the floor.