Chapter 33 — Flight

Dawn bled violet through the silver canopy. The coals in our fire were cold, scattered to ash. Merlin stood shakily on his own four legs, the glow in his chest brighter now, though his eyes still drooped with fatigue.

I'd tied the sword in its cloth with rope, slung across my back like a burden instead of a prize. My ribs throbbed, every step reminding me of the grask's claws. We had to move.

"Elira," I said as she tightened her basket straps, "you should go your own way. If they catch you with me, it won't be prison. It'll be the pit. Or worse."

She looked up, braid damp with dew. A short laugh escaped her. "You think the danger only follows you? Traders like me walk with nets around our necks every day. The Caller's grip isn't new to me. What's new is seeing someone slip it."

My chest tightened. I hadn't told her about the fortress. About the walls I'd pulled down. I kept my face still.

"You don't owe me," I said.

Her smile cut thin. "Maybe not. But I owe myself. And I've learned not to walk away when the world finally tilts a little. You and that beast—" she flicked her chin at Merlin, who growled softly as if agreeing—"you tilt it. That's enough."

The air between us hummed with things unsaid.

The forest spread wide and glimmering, but not empty. Down in the misted valleys, torch-smoke rose. Scouts sweeping in arcs, their resin stink carried on the morning wind. The net was closing.

Elira adjusted her basket and stepped onto the trail. "We keep east. High ground. Stick to the silverleaf. Their torches can't burn it clean. If we're lucky, they'll sweep past."

"And if we're not?"

Her eyes stayed steady. "Then we make them regret finding us."

Merlin limped to her side, tail giving a single wag.

I followed, sword slung rough across my back, the ruins swallowed by the forest behind us.

We were three against a net cast by a tyrant. But for the first time, I didn't feel entirely alone.

— Fifteenth day, morning, fleeing the scouts —