Page 39 of Marked by the Enemy (The Binding Vow #1)

Chapter twenty-seven

The Break Between

F rost arrived early. To preserve wood, we kept fires low inside the keep and around the camp. But no one complained. Those marked spoke less, even though they had been kept busy in the cellars storing grains from Lord Fen’s carriages the previous day.

Astrid found ancient hieroglyphs in the basements and became obsessed with mine and Darian’s vision of geoglyphs. She proposed that the fae, or the humans before, had erected the Keep on top of one.

She thought the Keep may have been a burial site or a place of worship for those more ancient than the ancestors in the Corridor, and that there would be ley lines running through the land to other important sites marked out by temples, castles, stone circles—built on top of geoglyphs.

But despite the elders’ excitement, most marked ones remained quiet at meals and gatherings. Their bond resided in stolen glances, the quietude of shared silence, and the shared truth of the Fifth mark, now runes linking them to their ancestors.

I walked the perimeter before first light while everyone else slept. The ridge remained empty after the skiffs had vanished the night before. But the absence pressed. I stood at the edge of the rise, with the vow-magic curling low in my chest. I closed my eyes.

The tether stretched towards the area under the Keep, where a red fissure in the earth was held shut by a magical sealant. It looked like Caldaen itself had been wounded, and that sticky crimson substance was all that held it together, preventing a catastrophic release.

The closer one got, the more obvious the raw, untamed power emanating from the sealed wound became, a pressure that pressed against the mind as much as the body.

Darian’s steps broke the frost behind me. “Good morning.”

I didn’t turn. “It’s not like before.”

“No.” Dampness clung to his hair; his collar stayed wrinkled. But his eyes were clear. The crescent mark of the Moon Court on his palm was skin-colored now. It had set.

“At least the Bone Seat has gone.”

Hid cloak brushed mine as he stood beside me. “The Bone Seat didn’t retreat. He circled.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know. But he’s waiting.”

“We’ll gather tonight,” I said.

“Why?”

“To speak.”

“We haven’t done that in days.”

“Exactly.” I wanted to hear him say my name, like it meant something more than strategy.

We gathered at dusk without being called. The courtyard was too small to fit three-hundred, so we met in the largest fighting ring instead, around the memory stones.

Willow and Rainer arrived first, cloaks wrapped tightly.

Branwen and Lina came next, sleeves dusted with flour, hair pinned back like they’d come straight from kneading dough.

Nessa Tidehook. Then Astrid, Jack, and Ruen in heavy conversation.

The smugglers came with Lord Jeyin and Lord Fen.

Ulric and Lymseia had become more friendly with time.

The twins never came. They were already ash.

Jack, Ruen and Ulric were discussing the fact their iron seats may have been twin sisters, for they had both looked identical, despite one being from the Verdant Court and the Storm Court.

Ruen said he’d seen a flash of her memory, where she and a twin sister had been torn apart in a cave and taken away by the fae Royal Guard.

They noticed everyone else was standing silently, and stopped talking, too.

They formed a rough circle. Darian stood at the edge, arms folded, his gaze sweeping over them as if counting what couldn’t be counted—each memory, each vow, each name.

I stepped into the center, but I didn’t raise my voice. The bond had already done that for me. Every body was listening. “I saw a crack in the earth under the keep, sealed by something magic. I think it’s a doorway to another realm, not only the corridor.”

They didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“Where did it lead?” the blind boy, Ben, called out.

“I didn’t step through.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t know if it was mine.”

Lina exhaled loudly and rubbed her hands on her apron. “Was it the Bone Seat’s?”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t open doors. He breaks them.” I paced the circle. The frost had melted in the courtyard, but the air still held that strange quiet that came before thunder. “Something’s changed,” I said. “Here and beyond.”

Nessa Tidehook combed fat fingers through her thin, grey hair. “The corridor ain’t called in days.”

Branwen nodded. “The bond perceives still.”

Willow nodded. “It’s wound tight and waiting.”

“It’s counting on us to break apart,” Darian grumbled.

“But we haven’t,” Willow said.

“Not yet,” I replied.

A few heads turned.

“We’ve been building from within,” I said. “Holding the memory, protecting the weave. But he’s coming to seed doubt.”

A murmur rippled. I didn’t interrupt it. I let it grow and fall quiet.

I peered at the rune on my palm, though it didn’t shimmer silver for me. “So tonight, we speak.” I turned toward Nessa. “What do you fear most now?”

“I am fearful I’ll forget who I was before I came here with my friends, Ruen, Astrid, and Jack. I fear I’ll forget the good times I had with my husband before his life was taken by thieves.”

I turned to Astrid. “And you?”

“That you’ll be taken. And we’ll follow someone else.”

I nodded. “Good. Hold that. Speak it. Burn it.”

I stepped back.

“The vow-magic doesn’t reward silence. It survives it. But only if we name what waits beneath.”

One by one, they spoke. Some offered words. Some placed tokens again—smoke-touched cloth, stone buttons, names whispered into fire.

Darian didn’t speak until the end. He stepped forward last, slow and solid.

I hated that his silence still stirred something warm beneath my ribs. Even now, even here.

His eyes were fixed on the surrounding air. On the bond. Finally, he said, “I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of forgetting why we started. ”

A ripple ran through the ground—through the stones, through our skin, through whatever root system the corridor had threaded into this place. The mark on my chest warmed in confirmation. The door was still open.

After midnight, I stood at the northern tower with Darian beside me.

Our shoulders didn’t touch, but the tether felt louder in that space between us—like it was asking me to close it.

We hadn’t spoken in hours. Below us, the keep was lit from within.

The marked hadn’t gone to sleep. A few walked down the outer paths.

Others rested in twos against the stone.

Willow kneeled near the copper bowl, hands open, eyes closed.

The ring inside the bowl gave off a faint red shimmer.

Darian shifted his weight beside me. “It changed when the vow stilled.”

“When?”

“When the frost broke. It didn’t vanish. It stepped back.”

“For what?”

His eyes tracked me. “You.”

The quiet stretched. The air between us cracked like ice underfoot. If he had touched me, I might’ve shattered. I had a strong awareness of his heartbeat and my own. Weakness overcame me. I needed to touch him and explore.

Then a call came from the southern wall. We moved at once: past the inner gate, past the corridor’s rim. The stones didn’t flare. The wards didn’t rise. But something in the air shifted with each step—like the corridor was listening again, close and coiled.

Lord Jeyin and Holt pointed toward a lone figure in a cloak.

I was relieved it was not the man with horns who wanted to use the same gateway as the demons.

This person looked like he was from this world.

He walked with the help of a twisted staff that bent at its midpoint like it had grown around something that refused to break.

The mist parted for him like it agreed .

The bond stirred low in welcome. Darian stepped in front of me. I let him. The man stopped at the edge of the stone ring. I noticed a presence behind us. It was the ash-man who had insisted he was one of the first—though I didn’t know how even a pure fae could live that long.

Fae lived to eight-hundred without accident or disease. They rarely lived longer than that. But had that been one for the Bone Seats’ many lies? Quite likely.

The new arrival lowered his hood. He was an old man with bark-like, creased skin across his jaw, stood there. His eyes were black from memory. He raised one hand, and I saw the sigil of two fish on his palm. “I walked the corridor.”

I exchanged a look with Jeyin and Holt, and they nodded back at me. The bond thinned and reformed. From behind us there was a metallic vibration, and when I turned my head, the ring in the bowl was shaking and sparking, and Willow was looking up at us wide-eyed.

I swallowed. “Are you alone?”

“No, I believe you may have met my dear friend, another pilgrim. He likes to walk about bare.”

His voice was much younger than I expected, considering how wrinkled he was. I smiled at him for his friendly ways. “Yes. We call your friend the ash man.”

“Oh yes, hahaha. He does like to rub his skin with ash. He’s unaffected by cold, even in the most freezing conditions. We are men of magic, you see. We are more ancient than the vow, and we want to help you, Talia of Tarnwick.”

Darian’s Moon Court rune lit across his palm. Lord Jeyin’s hand flashed red, too, and the tree mark growing up Holt’s neck swayed, casting a shadow in the moonlight beside his own.

“Why have you come?” I asked.

“Because a spiral returns. That’s what it does.” He peered past me at Willow and the ring, still vibrating in the bowl. He peered at the mark on my palm, glimmering silver. “You are the point the spirals have folded around.”

Darian’s voice came low. “Do you mean to fight?”

“No.” The man grimaced at the ridiculous idea. “I mean to witness. ”

The copper bowl rang out louder. A twinkling thread of memory floated out of his mouth and eyes and passed through him into the keep.

I stepped aside. He crossed the wardline.

No force pushed back. No flare burned. The stone circle recognized him.

He entered slowly, leaning heavily on his stick.

The bond made space for him. And under my skin, the Fifth mark warmed in welcome.

In the early hours of the morning, I felt that even though the corridor’s light had gone, its presence hadn’t.

It dwelled within our marked hands and bodies.

It was deeply ingrained in our hearts and spines.

Our glances held the unspoken vow-magic, each of us wondering if our connection would rekindle, or if someone would reveal a lie.

I stood near the forge ruins with Branwen. The torches were almost out, but the marked weren’t sleeping anymore. I think they were waiting to be named again or remembered.

Branwen absently rubbed the Summer Court rune inside of her left wrist as she peered out over the skiffs still lined along the ridge. “He’s waiting for us to fracture.”

“He always was,” I said, peering at the marked ones who remained awake, even at this ungodly hour.

“He doesn’t know how we’re held together.”

Darian crossed from the wall. His cloak dragged in the mud. His face was taut and watchful. “We need to gather again.”

Branwen looked at me. I nodded.

By the third torch, most had come. Some stood. Others kneeled. Holt had said little since meeting his great-grandfather, the Wind Seat of the Shadow Court, in the corridor. But now he stood near Lina and Nessa. They didn’t speak either. But the past had marked their hands .

Carrying a second bowl, the three elders brought a candle standing in ash inside of it.

Seeing the newcomer and the ash man side-by-side, I pondered their connection.

I trusted the bond because it appeared at ease with them.

Sael arrived last. She moved past Jack, Ruen, and Astrid, and paused beside Willow.

Willow didn’t blink. Sael didn’t speak. They understood something. The knowing that doesn’t need words.

I caught Darian’s eye. He held my gaze longer than usual. He wasn’t hiding. But he wasn’t asking.

“We name the bond too often as a tool,” I said. “We forget it was once a witness.” The air shifted in response. “The vow didn’t make us,” I said. “We remembered each other first.”

Lina stepped forward, kneeled, and dipped her fingers into the ash. She drew a line down her arm. Nessa came next. She tied a thin reed around her wrist. Then Holt, with his burned face and quiet hands. He touched the soil to his sleeve.

One by one, they followed quietly. Threads tucked into seams. Ash rubbed into palms. Nothing to call magic. Everything to call memory. We remembered the ones who tried to shape power before us.

I glanced at Darian again. “It’s strange. Astrid’s sigils are Summer Court green. She glows when she steps near the circle. But she doesn’t seem tied to any of them. Not like the rest of us.”

“Maybe her ancestor wasn’t one of the thirteen who tried to stop him,” he said.

She glowed luminous green near the circle, like always. But she didn’t match any ancestor we had met. It was like her light remembered something older.

The Bone Seat stood above us, cloak snapping in the wind. He didn’t speak. Just turned—and walked back toward his skiff.