Page 11

11

Oberon

MY GRIP TIGHTENED on the reins while I guided Neryth along the dense, uneven path. The distant snap of twigs and low, guttural growls echoed through the forest behind us. The air was thick with an unnatural presence that made me wary.

Every noise tugged at my awareness. The slightest movement in the trees made me reach for my sword. Ashenmaws didn’t easily give up a chase. I didn’t know if they had followed us this far, but I didn’t assume we were safe. That mistake could have cost us our lives.

Quinn tensed before she spoke. “Sinclaire, what—”

“Quiet,” I muttered, knowing I couldn’t afford the distraction, especially when her voice might have attracted them. Thankfully, she listened, straightening her posture and facing ahead again.

Smart.

The breeze rustled the branches, causing a sudden surge of unease in my stomach. Silverfel was close, but the horrors of Emberhollow still consumed my thoughts. It unsettled me that Quinn had never even heard of it. She mentioned the Gods, which meant she believed in the Veilborn faith, a religion that remained mostly within small rural villages. What small, isolated village had she come from that no one spoke of it? Or did they discuss other villages’ pasts and superstitions, but she simply missed it?

Her words from earlier echoed in my mind: ‘too busy surviving.’ The matter-of-fact way she said it made it clear that whatever she had experienced was grave enough to make her ignore fear and legends in favor of survival. I didn’t like what that implied, especially after what I read in her journal.

As Silverfel came into view, I eased Neryth to a slower pace. Quinn shifted her weight until her back pressed against my chest. Her body was no longer tense, but my muscles became rigid in response.

“What are you doing?”

“Being a fool,” she sighed.

My head tilted as I waited for a proper explanation.

She hummed, then muttered, “I would be more than stubborn not to admit that was terrifying.” Throughout the night, she acted sharp-tongued and quick-witted, never revealing her shaken state. But now, with the worst of it behind us, she let herself lean into me. “You will survive,” she added.

I scoffed, but I didn’t push her away. The Ashenmaws continued to crackle and growl in my mind. If she needed a moment to catch her breath, so be it. Why didn’t I mind it as much as I should have?

Maybe it was the fatigue.

Quinn straightened abruptly, breaking the strange moment that had settled between us. She pointed to the dense thicket just off the path. “Do you think it’s safe to piss there?”

I gazed at her, bewildered. “Are you serious?”

“Would I joke about something like this?” she said, her expression blank.

After everything we had just endured, her primary concern was relieving herself. “Make it quick,” I muttered, scanning the trees. “And don’t wander.”

She slid off the horse with a groan and stretched her legs before making her way to the thicket. I kept my eyes on the forest, listening for anything unusual. When she returned, she seemed far more at ease than she had any right to be after the night we had. She stretched her arms overhead and groaned. “I can’t sit on that horse any longer,” she announced. “I’m walking.”

Albeit frustrating, it didn’t surprise me. “We’re almost there.”

“And?” She raised an eyebrow. “Your decision to stay on doesn’t mean I have to.”

My leg swung over the saddle before I dropped beside her. “Fine.”

The sun had begun its slow ascent, spilling pale gold through the dense canopy. The thick morning fog fractured its light, rendering it weak. It should have brought warmth and stirred the forest awake with birdsong and the rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush.

But there was no flutter of wings, no chittering of dusk hares bounding through the grass, nor the distant howl of a morning silver wolf calling its pack. There was nothing, and that unsettled me.

The closer we walked to Silverfel, the thicker the fog became. The mist enveloped the village, making the buildings hazy.

Quinn glanced over a few times. I waited for her to express whatever was on her mind. After the fifth glance, she shot me a look with furrowed brows, and I could no longer hold my tongue. “What?”

“Nothing.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That was too much nothing, Dilthen Doe.”

She pursed her lips, and her eyes narrowed. “Are you going to explain what that was back there, or do I have to guess?”

She wouldn’t let it go. If her journal revealed anything, it was that she needed answers to everything that piqued her curiosity and challenged her. “Ashenmaws.”

“Ashenmaws,” she echoed, rolling the word over her tongue. “That’s a name that doesn’t inspire confidence.”

My gaze stayed fixed on the path ahead. “It shouldn’t.”

She stole another glance at me. “You’ve seen them before.”

For several strides, I ignored her relentless badgering.

“Are you going to tell me?” she pressed. “Or do I have to keep guessing and talking your ear off?”

I should have known better.

“They are the result of a Fae bargain gone wrong.”

After a few steps, I noticed she had stopped walking. I turned, my brows furrowed in irritation. “What now?”

“You say that as if you know,” she wondered, searching my eyes for something I was determined not to let her find.

“I do.”

Her brows furrowed, but she didn’t respond. Whatever she thought of could remain in her head this time. I wasn’t just familiar with the Ashenmaws; I understood them, which was unsettling for a human.

As we approached Silverfel, the fog thickened, curling around the buildings like creeping fingers. Smoke spiraled from chimneys, but no voices or movement greeted us—only the muted sound of our boots against the damp road. The village felt unnaturally still. Once we reached the town square, I tied Neryth to the Village well in the center.

“Stay here,” I commanded, turning to Quinn.

She scoffed. “Why?”

“Because it was an order.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not a valid reason.”

“I need to find the village healer,” I gritted.

“Need I remind you, Sir Knight, that you are accompanying me ? The sooner I see the sick, the sooner I can help them.”

Damn it. She was right. “The healer will—”

“I don’t need the healer to hold my hand, Sinclaire.” Her voice was firm, her chin lifted in stubborn defiance. “I’m going with you.”

She wasn’t budging. And I didn’t enjoy the idea of leaving her alone, even if she was a nuisance.

“Fine,” I muttered and strode ahead. “Stay close.”

As we walked through the village, a tavern sat to the left. Its sign swayed in the mist. The place was silent. The smell of stale ale still lingered in the air. Across from it stood an inn, its shutters closed tightly, as if that could keep illness from seeping through the cracks. Quinn’s footsteps were steady beside me, her fingers twisted in her skirt. Despite her bravado, she remained affected by the eerie stillness that hung over Silverfel.

We continued past several homes with shut doors and dark windows. At the far end of the village, we came to a sign hanging above a modest wooden building that read, “Village Healer and Apothecary.” I knocked and glanced at Quinn. She still looked determined, but her grip on her dress hadn’t loosened.

The door creaked open, and an older man peered through, glancing between us. His gaze settled on Quinn. He squinted at her uniform before recognition flickered in his weary eyes. She lifted her identification tag by the tassel, holding it up as if to convey, ‘ You can trust me .’

His gaze lingered on it for a few breaths until he exhaled, and his shoulders slumped with relief. “Thank the gods,” he muttered as he opened the door wider. “Please, come in.”

Quinn stepped through first. I followed, ducking under the low door frame. The interior was infused with the scent of dried herbs and a bitter, medicinal undertone reminiscent of the castle infirmary. An underlying staleness hinted at the sickness that had settled in and refused to leave.

The healer shut the door behind us and skipped introductions. “They finally sent someone who knows what they’re doing.” His eyes flicked to me and then back to Quinn. “I assume they briefed you since they sent a guard with you?”

My eyes narrowed at the comment. Alric sent me to ensure she was prudent and to detect any signs of magic. What justified her need for protection?

Quinn tucked her tag away and adjusted her satchel. “We were informed of the illness spreading through the village, but I need to know everything you have observed, including when it started, the symptoms, and how quickly it spreads.”

The man ran a hand across his face. “I’ll tell you everything I know, but first, you should see them for yourselves.”

The healer hesitated outside the door to the knights’ quarters. His hands tightened around the latch while his eyes darted between us. A tautness stretched across his features as he chose each word carefully. “Were you told of their… demands?” he asked, his tone hushed. “It may be better if- “

Quinn cut him off with a bright smile. “Stubborn men won’t stop me from doing my job. I am here because of their demands.”

The image of the desperate letter flashed in my mind. The knights demanded a physician. A man, more specifically. They asked not to receive an herbalist. Quinn didn’t come from a prestigious academy, nor had the courts trained her.

She was everything they didn’t want. I knew how knights were. Their disdain never needed words.

The healer gave her a long, searching look. Then he sighed and scratched the back of his neck before turning to push the door open. “If you’re sure,” he muttered.

Inside, the indistinct murmur of voices cut off abruptly. Several rows of knights lay on cots while others sat slouched against the walls. Their armor was piled between beds and leaned carelessly in heaps against the far side of the room. A fire burned in the hearth at the back, casting a flickering light over the worn faces that watched us as we entered.

One knight stood in the middle of the room. Relief spread over his features when he locked eyes with me. “Oh, thank the gods. They sent a man who knows what they’re—”

The healer interrupted him. “The young woman here is an herbalist sent by the courts.”

The knight’s gaze flicked to Quinn. His face darkened, his shoulders squared, and he scowled. “Then send her back.”

Silence lingered between us, palpable with tension.

My jaw tightened, and I willed myself not to glare at the man outright. I yearned to grip the handle of my blade, a desperate itch in my fingers. Men like him were arrogant bastards who thought their rank made them untouchable, that their expectations were law. The way he looked at Quinn as though she was less or unworthy sent a slow burn of irritation slithering through my chest.

Why did it bother me?

Quinn ignored him. Her sharp amber eyes flicked across the room, scanning every inch of space. Even as she stood still, with squared shoulders and hands clasped together, there was tension in her stance. Her lack of reaction was a choice.

The knight waited for her to shrink back, to let his presence weigh on her. But determination flickered in her eyes when she focused on the arrogant man before her. She stepped forward, stopping toe-to-toe with him. My hand landed on the hilt of my sword in a casual warning.

Quinn tilted her head back to look at him, meeting his glare with her composed expression. Then she smiled. It wasn’t soft or innocent. No. It was a knife-edge smile that didn’t soothe a soul but unsettled it.

“I understand your concerns and requests,” she stated. “However, the courts found me the most suitable due to my methods for discovering and creating new cures.” She let her words linger, her tone friendly. “I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be. I suggest you cooperate, so you won’t have to see my face for more than a few days.”

A few knights behind them coughed, stifling their laughs.

The arrogant knight’s lips pressed into a thin line. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his gaze darted to the hand on my sword, my stony expression, and then to Quinn. He huffed and stepped back. “Fine.”

Coward.

Quinn gave a curt nod. She was adept at hiding her fear and stress. She stepped back, scanning the room and noting every detail, before retrieving her journal and charcoal. “Who got sick first?” she asked, skipping the pleasantries.

The knights judged her, several bristling at her presence. But she remained patient. The longer the silence stretched, the more it became clear she wouldn’t yield.

One of the older men, pale and drawn, gestured toward the rear of the room, where the hearth burned. “Them,” he muttered. “They were the first to fall ill.”

Quinn’s attention turned to the knights closest to the fire. I followed her gaze to the men slumped against their cots. They appeared worse than the others. Their skin glistened with sweat, and their breaths were shallow.

She pressed on. “And their symptoms?”

One of the younger knights shifted his weight and glanced at the others before replying. “It started with fatigue. Then came fevers and coughing. They… they say their limbs feel heavy, like lead.”

Another person spoke up. “Sometimes, they talk in their sleep, saying things that make little sense.”

Quinn nodded and scribbled notes in her journal. “So, you have all been sharing space, using the same water source, and eating the same food?”

A chorus of agreement.

She tapped the end of the charcoal against the page. Her eyes flicked back to the sick men huddled by the hearth. “And they’ve been sleeping by the fire this whole time?”

Another knight chuckled. “Those were the cots they claimed when we arrived.”

Quinn hummed, clearly piecing things together and following a trail visible only to her. I couldn’t detect any magic in the room, yet they were the first villagers to fall ill. If magic were at play, I would sense it around these men. Her brow furrowed, and her lips pressed together as she flipped back a few pages in her journal—something wasn’t adding up. The way she squeezed the journal’s spine indicated she felt it, too.

The healer led us from house to house, each door revealing the same grim scene, the same symptoms, the same slow decay. The stench of sickness hung heavily in the air—herbs and stale sweat, fever-warmed sheets, and the faint, sour tang of something rotting beneath it all.

Outside, the village should have felt alive. Stray dogs should have lounged near doorsteps, waiting for scraps to fall. Barn cats—thick-furred and sharp-eyed—should have prowled through alleyways, hunting whatever the night disturbed. There should have been moss sparrows, small, gray-feathered birds that nested in the eaves of homes, their songs light and scratchy.

But there was nothing.

Even the animals sensed the creeping fear that had settled over the village with the fog. The villagers wore it on their faces, in furtive glances, hunched shoulders, and the way their hands twitched toward the door latches as we passed.

By the fourth house, Quinn’s posture had shifted. Her shoulders bore a new tension that settled deep and felt brittle at the edges. She gripped her journal too tightly; her knuckles paled under the pressure. Had she noticed yet? A sense of unease permeated every interaction and whispered conversation as the village watched her.

As we stepped out of the last house, dusky shadows stretched long across the dirt roads, swallowing the spaces between buildings and pooling in the alleyways, waiting for the sun to set. Quinn stood still for a long moment, her hands clenched at her sides, before rubbing her temples. She wasn’t just troubled; she was angry… But why?

“It’s not the water,” she whispered quietly.

I gazed down at her. “Then why instruct them to boil it?”

Her eyes locked with mine. “I don’t know what else to tell them yet. They need reassurance while I figure this out.”

As we stepped back into the village healer’s building, Quinn cast the healer a quick glance before speaking. “Do you have any notes or books on local ailments? Are there any stories about past outbreaks, superstitions, myths, or legends?” She paused. “And I mean anything, no matter how ridiculous it seems.”