Page 14

14

Eden

THE DOOR CREAKED shut behind me, sealing me in under the weight of my exhaustion. The inn room was dimly lit, and the single candle on the wooden table flickered against the walls, casting shadows that danced in my peripheral vision. The smell of charred wood and smoke clung to my clothes, becoming woven into my skin and hair. It reminded me of the fires I had spent the night battling. The contaminated logs had burned fast, taking with them any remnants of the ailment that had been festering within them. I had made sure of it.

My lungs ached, each breath shallow and stinging as if the embers still smoldered in my chest. I wiggled my fingers, wincing at the sharp bite of pain. The burns on my hands and forearms were raw, the skin swollen and red where the logs had been too hot, too close. They should heal. Pain was a temporary thing, an inconvenience. It only hindered my work if I let it.

‘ Do you only care about everyone else?’

Of course, I did. It was my responsibility.

But that wasn’t the point.

I had sent him to the tavern to gather information he couldn’t get elsewhere. The men in metal costumes were fools. They were puppets dressed in gilded armor, who pretended to hold authority. They knew nothing of the sickness that had been ravaging Silverfel. It was a lie, an excuse to remove him from the smoke, away from the rot and ruin. The thought of him breathing it in, with his lungs blackened by the same filth I had willingly inhaled, was unbearable.

Meanwhile, I was scorched, exhausted, sore, and foolish for enduring it. I suppressed the thought before it could take root and turn dangerous.

The room was empty. He wasn’t back yet.

Good.

I needed a moment to breathe, to let the tremor in my hands fade, and to push away whatever had burrowed into my core since our argument. It was his expression in the woods. The way his eyes flickered silver so suddenly, so unnaturally, that I froze in place, caught in the shift for the briefest moment.

It was unprecedented. The silver wasn’t a trick of the light, a reflection, or a fleeting illusion. It had consumed his irises, swallowing the dark in an instant. The air had changed, becoming heavy and charged with an invisible pressure against my skin.

It should have scared me. Something in me expected it to unnerve me, but it intrigued me.

Despite the warning in his gaze and the sharp edge of his demeanor, I pushed closer instead of pulling away. The emotionless gleam in his eyes should have felt threatening, yet I couldn’t look away. I grinned, though nervously. I stood at the precipice of the vast and unknowable, a realm that was both dangerous and fascinating.

I was too tired to wrestle with whatever had shifted between us and too tired to ignore it.

My fingers found the open cut on my palm and traced over it, pressing just hard enough to sting. It was the same cut he had used to accuse me, the one I hadn’t bothered to heal. Oberon regarded me as if I were reckless. Maybe I was. Maybe I wanted to be. The pain was grounding, tangible amid the exhaustion that weighed on me. I couldn’t let myself dwell on those thoughts.

I had a job to finish.

Dragging my heavy limbs, I crossed the room to the basin in the corner. Age clouded the mirror above it; its glass was warped and streaked, but that didn’t soften my reflection. My face was hollow-eyed and worn, with smudges of soot clinging to my skin. Beneath the grime, my complexion was pallid, dark circles heavy beneath my eyes, and strands of damp hair stuck to my forehead.

I appeared as if I had walked through the Veil.

Focusing on the basin, my hands dipped in the icy water. The sting was immediate. I bit my cheek and scrubbed, watching as the water darkened and swirled with remnants of fire and blood.

The burns were severe. They weren’t the worst I had ever experienced, but they were serious enough that I should have treated them hours earlier.

Searching through my satchel, I took out a small tin and flipped it open with my thumb. The familiar smell of comfrey and beeswax filled the air. I scooped out a small amount and spread it over the burns on my palms. The moment it touched the rawest burns, an involuntary hiss escaped my lips. The balm worked quickly, sinking into my skin and soothing the worst of the sting. But it hadn’t eased the deeper ache.

Next was the cut on my hand. It had stopped bleeding, but the surrounding skin still throbbed, hot and angry. I doused it with the last of my tincture, biting my cheek as the sting shot up my arm. The pain settled into a dull throb as I wrapped a clean strip of linen around each palm and secured the bandage in place.

The linen stretched as I moved my fingers, but it held firm. It had to be enough. Exhaustion tugged at my limbs, dulling my senses. My body begged for rest and food, but there was too much left to do.

I sat back on the bed and flexed my fingers. The ache lingered, a deep, pulsing throb beneath the bandages, but the sharper sting had faded to a more tolerable level.

It was fine.

I was fine.

I had to be.

The door slammed open so violently that the walls shuddered. My muscles seized, and a wave of awareness surged through me, but I had no time to flinch before his gaze met mine. Oberon’s eyes blazed like tempered steel. Silver shimmered at the edges of his irises while his stare raked over me, as if noting every inch, wound, and breath. His nostrils flared, but he remained silent. He stood there, staring, his jaw clenched so tightly that it seemed he might break it.

A heavy, ragged exhale tore from his chest. He shut the door with more restraint than he had used to open it, but the tension radiating from him filled every inch of the room. I half-expected him to storm toward me, to lash out at me with whatever had provoked him this time. Instead, he pressed himself against the door as if he needed its solid weight to keep him grounded. His fingers tangled in his hair, his shoulders coiled, and his entire body was wound tight.

The silence stretched, heavy with an unfamiliar tension, until his gravelly voice sliced through it. “Why the hells didn’t you tell me?”

I gathered the scattered bandages and supplies around me, my fingers moving on instinct. I was too tired for this. For him. “Tell you what, Sinclaire?”

His voice was sharper this time, its edges worn. “Valdier.”

I frowned. “Who?”

Oberon pressed his tongue against his canine, angling his jaw. He pushed off the door and stalked toward me.

My breath hitched, my heart raced, and I sprang to my feet before he reached me, squaring my shoulders as if that would make me fiercer.

He stopped just short, close enough to see the tension in his throat when he swallowed. His gaze scanned my face before settling on my jaw. His expression darkened. His voice dropped to a lower, more restrained tone when he spoke again, the quiet tip of a dagger before the strike.

“The knight that left those bruises.”

I blinked at him. The exhaustion in my bones clashed with the irritation sparking in my chest.

Bruises. Right.

I had forgotten.

Lifting my chin, I fought the urge to sigh. “I’m fine.” His jaw twitched, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. “I handled it.” My voice remained steady while I crossed my arms over my chest, dismissing the dull sting from my burned and cut hands. The linen bandages pressed tightly against my skin, but I held my ground. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Oberon’s eyes flashed, a warning before the storm. “Not a big—” He cut himself off, his chest rising and falling in a harsh rhythm. His fingers curled, and his knuckles cracked as if he were restraining himself from breaking something.

Or someone .

He stepped closer. “You handled it?” His voice was quieter, but that made it worse. More dangerous. “Is that what you call letting that bastard put his hands on you?”

My irritation flared, burning even hotter than the throbbing in my palms. “I didn’t let him do anything.”

“Then why the fuck am I only hearing about this now?”

“Because it wasn’t your problem.” The words slipped out before I could halt them. Too harsh. Too weary.

Oberon’s eyes narrowed. “Not my problem?” His tone was subdued once more, yet it carried an unmistakable bite. “I am here to ensure your safety. To protect you.”

My jaw muscles tensed, regretting that I had ever spoken. “I am safe.”

A flicker of calculation crossed his face, a crack in his rage. He studied me, his searching gaze attempting to unravel every thread I had sewn into place. I hated how easily he could do it. He straightened. “Right,” he said, his expression schooling. “Because you’re always fine. Always handling everything on your own.”

I disliked how he said that, like he was privy to something I wasn’t, as if he saw through me. I refused to let him see more.

“So glad we agree,” I mumbled, pulling away to the desk for some distance. My fingers skimmed the pages of my journal, and I frowned. The desk wasn’t how I had left it. Someone had shifted the papers and moved the books. Smudges of charcoal marked the edges of pages I hadn’t touched.

I turned, narrowing my eyes at Oberon. “This isn’t how I left it.” I glanced between him and my notes. “You were tampering with my things.”

He didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. “I was reading them… And organizing them better than you did.”

I scoffed, muttering under my breath before leafing through the pages. “Why? What did you expect to find?”

Oberon sighed. “It’s the magic.” My stomach twisted. With a grim expression, he approached the desk, his presence looming over me. “I didn’t sense it, and that’s been bothering me.”

A slow, creeping unease settled in my chest. “Magic leaves traces,” he continued. “Even if it’s subtle, I should have felt it. But I didn’t.”

He could sense magic? Did he use Fae magic?

Pressing my fingers into the leather, I squeezed the journal. “So, are you saying something was hiding it?”

He nodded once, the movement stiff and jerky. “That’s the only explanation. This means that whoever, or whatever, is behind this didn’t just enchant the bellthorn; they knew how to cover their tracks.”

“Then how do we stop it?”

Oberon pressed his hands against the desk. His gaze fixed on mine. “It’s not just the plants, Dilthen Doe.” His tone lowered, heavier than before. “It’s what they were feeding.”

I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

“This isn’t merely a cursed vine poisoning the village—it’s a curse that spreads through the woods and takes root. The firewood was simply the catalyst.”

My blood ran cold.

“Then what do we do?”

He stepped closer, the gap between us disappearing as his fingers pressed against the desk, his gaze holding me in place. “We find the heart of it,” he declared, his tone gravelly and resolute. His eyes burned into mine. “And we scorch it.”

THE AIR IN the forest was heavy with more than just humidity. Although the fires had been extinguished, the odor of charred wood lingered, mingling with the repulsive scent of decomposition. It wasn’t merely decay; it went deeper than that. Something ancient and festering lay waiting beneath the surface.

My hands tightened around the satchel strap as I adjusted it. Oberon walked ahead, his posture rigid and his movements precise. He seemed more on edge than usual, and that worried me. “Do you feel anything now?” I whispered.

He inclined his head, his eyes scanning the trees with the patience of a predator. The muscles in his jaw contracted, and he muttered, “No.” I wanted to ask what it would feel like and what he was searching for, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted the answer.

The further we walked, the worse it became.

The trees were wrong. Their trunks were gnarled, their hands frozen in agony. Dark veins ran up their bark, pulsing beneath the surface as though alive and feeding. The leaves overhead weren’t green but sickly yellow-gray, curling inward as if retreating from the air.

The suffocating silence pressed against my ears. There were no birds, no rustling creatures in the underbrush, not even the chirp of insects. Except—

My gaze shifted to the side, and I came to a standstill. A creature moved along the bark of a nearby tree, a shimmering, translucent being with an excessive number of legs and an elongated body that rippled as it crawled with unnatural movements. It was something that shouldn’t exist. My stomach twisted, and I stepped back. It made no sound. None of them did.

My feet sank into the soft ground, worse than moss or damp soil. I crouched, brushed my fingers against the dirt, and pulled back with a grimace. It was wet and blackened—tainted. The same dark rot that had clung to the bellthorn vine and reacted to my blood coated the forest floor like a disease.

The ground pulsed under my fingers. “This is it,” I murmured, glancing up at Oberon. “This is where it’s coming from.”

He gave a curt nod and unsheathed his blade. The whisper of steel sent a shiver through the air. “Stay close.” I rolled my eyes and sighed, earning a sharp look in response.

As we moved forward, the trees closed in around us. Their branches twisted together above, forming a tunnel that funneled us toward the unseen. The hairs on my arms stood up. The air thickened, infused with more than simple magic. It felt sentient, as if it were watching.

A massive, withered tree stood in the clearing, its bark split open with a gaping wound, oozing blackened sap that reeked of death. Its roots stretched across the ground like skeletal fingers, curling around stones and pulling them as if they were being swallowed whole.

Grotesque bone ornaments hung, woven among its branches.

Human bones dangled from sinewy strands, swaying despite the lack of wind. Cleaned, blanched, and stark against the dark bark, skulls, ribcages, and shattered femurs hung. The air around the tree crackled. The rot was thickest here, seeping into the ground and poisoning the air.

My eyes widened. Beside me, Oberon muttered a curse under his breath, muffled by the roar of my pulse. My hands clenched into fists to steady myself against the ache in my palm, but the air had grown heavier. A pair of hollow eyes blinked from the tree’s hollowed trunk.

Not human… Not animal… Something ancient. Hungry.

A twisted figure, its limbs overly long, its movements disconcerting in a way my mind couldn’t reconcile. The elongated, sinewy frame dragged itself from the tree’s hollow, and its mouth pulled back into a grotesque, knowing grin that ignited every nerve in my body with dread. The bones from the tree rattled with its movements, clicking together in a manner that resembled a summons.

A call to the dead.

I inched backward, my heart in my throat. Oberon issued a hushed command, keeping his focus on the creature. “Stay behind me.”

The creature uncurled from the hollow. Its spindly limbs scraped against the bark as it pulled itself free. Its skin was the color of decay, stretched thin and torn over its elongated frame. Its fingers, clawed with too many joints, dragged along the ground as it straightened to its full, unnatural height.

The bones dangling from the branches above clattered together, as if whispering in response to its presence. Oberon positioned himself between me and the creature, his sword gleaming even in the dim, corrupted light filtering through the twisted canopy.

“That’s not a Fae,” I murmured. “Is it?”

“No,” Oberon replied through clenched teeth. “It’s worse.”

The creature tilted its head. It had no lips, only a stretched maw filled with jagged teeth. The sound was unsettling when it spoke in a rasping, hollow voice that resembled wind rattling through dead trees.

“ What do you seek ?” The sound wrapped around my ribs.

Oberon didn’t flinch. “We’re here to end this curse.”

A deep, throaty noise rumbled from the thing’s chest. Was it laughing? It lifted one elongated finger and pointed at me. “ The herbalist must bleed.”

My stomach dropped.

Oberon shifted his stance to block me. “Not happening.”

One moment, the creature stood beneath the cursed tree; the next, it loomed before us, a twisted horror of gnarled limbs and malevolence. Its form shifted as if the land itself rejected its presence. I gasped, stumbling back as blackened, bony talons lashed toward me. A flash of steel intercepted them. Sparks exploded in the dark as Oberon’s sword absorbed the impact of the strike. The force sent him skidding back, boots gouging into the decayed soil.

“Damn it, move!” he barked.

I forced my feet to obey, scrambling back as my mind raced. The bellthorn held the curse. The land was poisoned by something ancient, crafted to fester and spread. The air reeked of rot and magic . But how could we sever it? How would we—

The ground shifted beneath me, and a sickening crack split the silence. A root shot up, and I twisted away, tripping and rolling to the side as another lashed toward my legs. Oberon’s booming voice resonated through the chaos, commanding as he slashed through the writhing wood. “Herbalist!” Another strike, another severed root. “Whatever you’re thinking, think faster!”

I bit back a curse.

It watched me. Not Oberon, who stood slashing and fighting it, but me . Was it because I could end this or because it had tasted my blood on the bellthorn and wanted more?

Oberon’s movements were fluid, precise, and relentless. His sword extended his body, slicing through sinew and bark. He severed limbs and vines with inhuman speed, but the wounds healed before my eyes. The curse refused to let them fall.

“It’s healing too quickly!” I shouted, dodging back as a twisted limb slammed into the ground where I had stood just a breath before. Oberon shifted his stance, his fingers curling tighter around his blade. The land cracked beneath his boots, and power thrummed in the air.

The beast lunged. Its massive, gnarled limb arced toward me. I braced for the impact. There was a sickening crunch and then silence.

Oberon stood before me, a storm given form. His grip locked around the beast’s gnarled limb. Black veins burst across his skin, crawling up his arm in jagged, pulsing lines. I watched in horror as the sickness burrowed deep, threading into his flesh in hungry roots, spreading beneath his skin to rot him from the inside out.

My stomach lurched.

It halted.

The air shuddered. An unseen pulse rippled outward, warping the surrounding space. Silver-blue light bled from his veins, fierce and untamed, crackling in strokes of lightning beneath the surface. The darkness recoiled and peeled away as if it had never intended to touch him. The cursed veins shattered, brittle as ink on glass, burning away into nothing.

The creature shrieked, producing a raw, unnatural sound that grated on my skull. It twisted, recoiling—not from pain, but from recognition. It feared him.

Oberon exhaled, slow and controlled. His breath misted in the unnatural chill that had descended upon us. When he spoke, his voice was no longer entirely human. The heavy, resonant words slithered through the air, vibrating my bones. They were a forgotten language, older than the kingdom itself. Each syllable hummed with a power that warped at the edges of reality, bending it to his will.

The silvery gleam in his eyes burned brighter. With calculated precision, he drove his sword into the ground. An alarming pulse rippled through the soil. The beast screamed, its limbs fracturing and splintering like dry wood. The air became suffocating under the weight of Oberon’s power.

The land trembled in his wake.

But it wasn’t enough. The roots pulsed, empowered by him, not diminished. Magic was the key: a force as ancient as the curse itself.

‘The herbalist must bleed .’

A sacrifice.

My throat tightened. Not just blood. It wanted an offering .

I fumbled through my satchel, fingers scrambling over dried herbs: hallowroot, duskthistle, veilthorn. My hand closed around my dagger.

Oberon’s head snapped in my direction. His expression darkened when he noticed the blade in my hand. “Dilthen Doe,” he warned.

There was no time.

The bandage around my palm unraveled. I held my breath as the dagger pressed into the wound, slicing it open once more. The blood welled, dark and glistening in the cursed light. With my other hand, I crushed the herbs, mixing them into a thick, magical paste rich in iron.

One opportunity. One possibility.

I surged forward, pressing my bloodied palm against the cursed bark.

The effect was immediate.

A scream split the air, not just sound but something more profound that scraped against my spine, clawed through my skull, and rattled the marrow of my bones. The trees groaned under its force, their branches shuddering as if the roots themselves were trying to recoil. Overhead, the skeletal remains tangled in the canopy clattered together, disturbed by the shift in magic. The ground trembled beneath me, pulsing with the intensity of the curse’s death throes.

The creature convulsed. Its grotesque form twisted, and limbs contorted as if unseen hands gripped it from within, wrenching it apart piece by piece. Shadows recoiled as the air split with unnatural cracks.

Oberon’s sword carved a silver arc, piercing the creature’s skull in one brutal, final stroke. The steel sank deep, and the surrounding sounds shattered into a deep hum.

A shockwave rippled outward, racing over the ground, splitting through the decay, and burning away the lingering corruption. The curse shattered with a violent pulse. The sheer force of its impact against my skin threatened to knock the breath from my lungs.

The beast emitted one last strangled cry before its limbs buckled. Bark and sinew fractured as its monstrous form collapsed inward. Cracks splintered through its body, leaving only crumbling bone and blackened ash.

A deafening silence followed. It was not the heavy, stifling kind that had settled when the curse loomed, but a genuine silence. The air changed, no longer laden with decay.

The burden had been lifted.

My pulse thrummed in my ears as I took a ragged breath. Every muscle in my body trembled, drained from the magic and the intensity of what we had just survived. But my eyes remained fixed on Oberon.

He stood in the clearing, his sword once again buried in the ground, his fingers clenched around the hilt. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. His other hand clutched the arm that the curse had attempted to claim. His knuckles were white, and his fingers trembled.

I took a nervous step toward him. “You…” My voice quivered. Swallowing hard against my tight throat, I searched his face and the shadows cast across his sharp features. “You knew this would work, didn’t you?”

A muscle in Oberon’s face twitched. He didn’t look at me or speak for a moment. In a voice quieter than I expected, he admitted, “No.” His hands disturbed me more than his answer, the way he couldn’t stop them from shaking.

And the fact he didn’t try to hide it.