Page 33 of Marked by the Enemy (The Binding Vow #1)

The old man spoke instead. “This one,” he said, pointing to the first rune, “is Earth Seat of the Summer Court. The square symbolizes Mother Caldaen, the Goddess of our world, with Caldaen’s four corners, her four elements of Earth, Water, Fire, and Air.

The square is a stable shape which symbolizes the Earth Seat.

It’s grounding and protective, like the fertile soil we live on and like Mother Caldaen.

But this rose here.” He pointed. “This rose symbolizes the Summer Court. ”

Astrid gave a slow nod, but said nothing.

He traced the next rune. “Same tribe as Talia’s—Valari. From Lunegard. Eight-petalled water lily.”

Then the third. “Marriage.”

My gaze bounced between Astrid and me. “So we share two?”

“Yes,” he said. “But hers… hers are older.”

“It isn’t just a water tribe,” the man said. “It’s a water-moon tribe.”

Astrid finally looked up. “The runes remember what I forgot.”

The man turned to scan the gathered faces. “And where is Branwen?”

“She stayed behind,” Darian said. “To keep watch.”

The man reached into the satchel at his hip and pulled another comb. “I have one for her.”

“Where did you get them from?” I asked.

“I stole them from a collector,” he said. “I stole them for you and your Vowbearers.”

“What is your name?” Darian asked him.

The man looked up. A smile touched the corners of his lips, soft and cracked from the wind. “Call me Holt. ”

By then, the circle had changed. The meal had grown rich and loud. They set spits across the fire, and the smell of venison—fat, salt, and woodsmoke—soaked into the air. There was bread too—dark and heavy, full of oats and seeds, crusts still warm from stone ovens.

Someone passed around a thick wedge slathered with wild-honey butter, and I tore off a piece and let it melt in my mouth, sweet and smoky and better than anything we’d eaten in weeks.

The ale was darker than the bread, frothy in earthen jugs passed between strangers who spoke like kin.

No one asked for anything. Everything was given.

A boy with a fiddle began to play near the edge of the ring.

The strings were worn, but the notes held, light and steady.

Another joined in—pipes carved from bone or reed, I couldn’t tell—and soon a third voice followed on a low drum tapped with bare fingers.

Music spilled like light into a forgotten chamber—faint, but holy.

Children danced. Even the wolves relaxed, their bodies long and curved in the dust, ears twitching to the rhythm.

The falcons perched on the rafters of a nearby shed, heads tilted, watching with gold-ringed eyes.

I leaned back on my elbows beside the fire, ale in one hand, and let the sound roll over me.

Warmth seeped into my skin from the flame, and laughter flickered around us like fireflies.

For once, the bond didn’t stir with warning. It hummed like it wanted to stay. Willow was helping a boy and a girl roast roots wrapped in clay. Astrid had found a place by the music, tapping her stick to the rhythm, eyes bright.

Even Lymseia smiled—just once, but I saw it. Darian was standing again. Watching, always watching. But his shoulders had softened. Ash from the fire dusted his cloak, and when I caught his eye, he gave the smallest nod of acknowledgment.

I sat beside strangers and didn’t feel strange.

I didn’t need to speak. Their presence did the work.

Memory wasn’t always pain. Sometimes, it was this—bread and song and light on skin.

And for the night, we weren’t walking toward war.

Maybe we were coming back to something that had always been ours .

By the time the stew pots were scraped clean and the last song faded into silence, the air had cooled and the sky was dark. I pulled my cloak tighter, but not out of discomfort—more out of habit.

The young woman with pale brown skin and a cloud of black hair down to her hips stepped forward, silent but smiling, a bundle of folded cloth in her arms. “Yours,” she said, placing it in my arms. “We washed and dried what we could. Traded out the rest.” She motioned to the others. “Your friends too.”

“Thank you…”

“Colleen. My name’s Colleen.”

“Thank you, Colleen.” I held the fabric up to my nose and inhaled.

It smelled of smoke and crushed sage. Unlike our travel clothes, it wasn’t patched together.

Linen, wool, even soft leather bindings for feet still sore from the hike.

I found Darian slipping into a clean tunic nearby, the edge of it still steaming from the heat.

His hair was damp. He looked taller in dry clothes. Lighter, too.

“They have hot springs,” someone whispered behind me. “Close enough to walk, deep enough to sink.”

Willow tugged on my sleeve. “They’re letting us go in groups. Women first.”

I didn’t argue. We followed a narrow trail lit by torches jammed into the ground.

The grass along the path had been flattened by time.

The further we went, the more the bond settled, content.

Steam rose ahead, curling in ribbons against the dark.

The pool opened like a basin carved straight into the land, lined with pale stones and woven with veins of quartz that shimmered in the moonlight.

And it was a full moon. Round and quiet.

Watching. The women disrobed behind a curtain of reeds, their laughter soft but real.

I stepped into the water and nearly dropped from relief.

Warmth closed around me like a second skin, and the moon hung there, bright and unbothered, mirrored on the still surface.

I didn’t speak for a long while. Just listened to the trickle of water between stones and the low murmur of others. Willow hummed to herself as she braided strands of her wet hair. Astrid sat in the shallows, her stick propped beside a flat rock, her feet bare and her chin lifted toward the sky .

Later, when we’d wrapped ourselves in clean cloaks and pulled on the new clothes they’d left folded nearby, the men took their turn. Darian met my gaze as we passed them by. He looked at me long enough to leave my chest unsteady.

I slept that night inside one of the stone houses on a pallet of straw and wool. Willow curled near the wall. Rainer by the door. I could hear snoring outside and imagined it to be the wolves. Above us, the moon still hung.

The bond didn’t speak. It didn’t need to. It knew. We were clean, fed, watched by the sky. And tomorrow, we would carry the memory forward.