Page 30 of The Syndicate’s Shadow Heiress (Branche de Lune Syndicate #1)

THE FLARE AND THE VOW

Kali’s Emotional State: Withering beneath the weight. Every step forward is painful, but she refuses to fall. Not yet. Not while people are watching

T

he hallway lights blurred at the edges as Kali walked beside Irina. Her jaw was set, her expression unreadable, but her shadows twitched behind her… unsteady. Her gait was tighter than usual. Her ankle ached. Her knees were starting to swell. Magic hummed too loudly under her skin.

Irina noticed. She always did.

“Kali,” she said quietly, reaching out. “You’re flaring.”

Kali didn’t respond right away. Her body buzzed, too loud, too tight. Beneath her skin, something sparked wrongly. A magical flare. Sharp. Jagged. Lightning with teeth ripping up her spine. Her breath hitched. Her vision blurred. She stumbled once, barely.

But it was enough.

She muttered, not to Irina. Not to anyone. Just to herself, low and desperate:

“Please… not now.”

Irina stepped in front of her.

“Sit,” she said. Not a suggestion. Not a demand. A protection .

Kali shook her head. “I need air. I need the barn.”

Irina didn’t argue. She just nodded and adjusted their course.

Outside, the chill morning wind bit into Kali’s skin. Her flaring magic didn’t like it, neither did her bones, but something in the cold steadied her. The dizziness eased. The pressure in her chest loosened.

They walked to the stables in silence.

Bentley was waiting.

The massive black Clydesdale stood tall in the paddock, his dark mane tangled from restless pacing and his silver halter gleaming under the low light. He lifted his head the second he felt her approach and neighed loudly and insistently.

The stable gate swung open before they even reached it. Mr. Grant, the quiet older groundskeeper who lived onsite in his barn apartment, waved them through. “He’s been trying to bust down the door all morning,” he said. “Knew you were coming.”

Kali stepped into the paddock.

Bentley trotted up immediately, his hooves thudding against the earth like a heartbeat Kali hadn’t realized she was waiting for.

Without hesitation, the massive Clydesdale buried his head into her chest. She braced against the impact, one hand fisting the thick mane at his neck as she breathed him in—earth, hay, and comfort.

He knew. He always knew .

Sensing her unraveling, Bentley hooked his powerful neck around her and pulled her into a hug, pressing her to his chest like he could hold her broken pieces together with sheer will.

“I’m okay,” she whispered into the warm velvet of his coat. “Just a little broken. Again.”

He huffed like he didn’t believe her.

The rest of the herd trickled forward—ten total, each one a rescue from Amish meat auctions, each one fiercely loyal.

Maple, the gentle draft mare with a heart-shaped blaze.

Ash, the gray Percheron who hated everyone but her.

River, the skittish bay that only calmed when Kali sang.

Bruno, a tall, proud Belgian with scars across his flank.

Tucker, the youngest, curious, and nosy.

Hollow, the black mare with one blind eye, mother to the whole group.

Indigo, sleek and stormy, and the fastest runner.

Espy, the old man of the group with a crooked ear and an iron will.

Omen, tall, regal, and nearly silent in all movements.

And Bentley, her anchor. Her favorite. The one Silas always said was her soul in hooves .

They surrounded her in a loose half-circle, their breath misting in the air. Protective. Present.

And then came the dogs.

Tiger, her brindle boxer, paced the outer circle, eyes never leaving the shadows.

Spike, the long-haired Chihuahua, planted himself at her boots, trembling with rage at her pain.

Nickel, the blue-nosed pitty, pressed her shoulder into Kali’s thigh, gentle, steady, the one who walked with her when she couldn’t walk and could only crawl when the pain was too bad.

Kota, her German Rottweiler, flanked Bentley like a second general.

And Megan, the golden doodle, curled against Kali’s other side with soft eyes and a heart full of worry.

Irina stood back, arms crossed, but her face had softened.

“This is why you survive,” she murmured. “Because you’re not doing it alone.”

Kali didn’t answer. Couldn’t. She let the animals hold the space, their presence grounding the wildfire inside her. She pressed her forehead against Bentley’s, shadows whispering low around them.

She whispered something only he could hear. A vow in Zarokian, low and raw:

“Mor’daen sai veshta. - (If I fall, remember me whole). ”

A part of her already knew she would break again. But tonight, she would choose how.

Bentley huffed.

Bentley’s teeth caught the edge of her coat—not enough to tear, just enough to remind her: blood wasn’t the only bond that mattered.

Irina watched in silence, then stepped closer.

“You break. I break them," she said, eyes soft but steady. “Come on, Shadow Queen. Let them think you’re unbreakable. I’ll be the one who knows where to sew you back together.”

Kali blinked. Her throat tightened. She didn’t trust her voice, so she just reached out and curled her fingers, quiet, trembling, into Irina’s sleeve.

Just for a breath.

Just long enough to say thank you.

Bentley nudged her chest again, harder this time.

“I’m not done yet,” she told him. “Don’t let me forget that.”

And when she finally stepped away, magic humming beneath her skin like a threat and a promise, she looked toward Irina.

“Chaos Crew’s waiting.”

Irina gave a tight nod.

Kali turned back to Bentley one last time, resting her forehead to his .

“Stay close. But stay safe.” Then she stepped back.

Kali didn’t walk into battle alone.

She carried the ones who would burn the world before they ever let her fall.

And together, she and Irina walked into whatever storm waited next— Kali’s shadows moving before her like a blade already drawn.