Page 135 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

This is what you carry. Endless death upon your shoulders.

Then, a sound. A deep voice she knew, breaking through the quiet. A plea whispered straight into her spirit.

“…Just open your eyes.”

It broke. She gasped and her eyes flew open.

Dim light stabbed her vision. Air surged into her lungs in ragged, uneven shivers. Piece by piece, the world returned: the spit of the fire, the pine-swept breeze, the thin bedroll beneath her, the callused warmth of fingers holding fast to her own.

Orzen was there. He hadn’t seen her blinking up at him, so she studied him in the small, quiet moment before he noticed. Pinprick scabs still dotted his skin from Silas’s thorns—tiny constellations of pain across his arms and face. Shadows carved beneath his eyes. Every line of his face was drawn in concern.

He’d seen her weaving darken against Silas. He’d endured the days she’d shut him out completely. And still he’d waited for her to wake. Still alive. Still with her.

“You’re okay,” she rasped finally. Her throat burned, her mouth was dry as kindling.

Orzen’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move, like he was afraid she might shatter if he exhaled too hard. “Wren?” he said quietly. “You’re awake.” It was almost a question.

Then, as though he finally believed it, he brushed his fingers across her cheek. They were warm and firm and real. Even now, delirious from the nightmare, it sent a jolt down her spine.

“You aren’t wearing your armor.” Her gaze caught on the hard line of his jaw. “And you shaved.”

He slipped his hands from hers and brushed one across his chin. “Figured it was time.” His voice was low, strained—like he was holding back a flood of things he wanted to say.

She tilted her head to look more closely and winced as the weight of the nightmare tugged inside her skull. It hadn’t vanished; it had only curled deeper, crouched like a predator in the back of her mind. How long had she been trapped within it? She tried to sit up, but her muscles were as stiff as old boards.

Orzen let go of her hand—only to slip the other behind her back, bracing her as she pushed upright. The movement sent a dull ache down her spine, but the world slowly steadied: the fire with the snoring shapes of her friends around it, tall pines stretching their branches toward the moon, the soft steaming spring at the glen’s center.

“We’re not at the Pools,” she murmured. “Where are we?”

He told her: Calen stepping up to track, Jessa choosing Stillglen as their destination, Watcher guiding them in.

“But…how did you get me here?” she asked.

He flexed his hands, an anxious motion. “I, uh…I carried you.” Then folded his hands in his lap, attempting to hide the tremor in them.

Her pulse stuttered. “The whole way?”

He nodded, gaze not meeting hers.

“Seemed safest,” he said in a low voice.

“Orzen…that had to be exhausting. Why aren’t you asleep?” She didn’t want to think about the effort they’d put in while she’d been unconscious. His eyes were ringed in dull shadows. He’d collapse if he didn’t rest soon.

“I couldn’t. I…” He shrugged, focusing on straightening the rolled cuff of his sleeve. “I needed to know you were going to be okay.” He winced like the admission caused him pain.

“Oh.” She tucked her hooves beneath her.

He’d been awake for more than a day and she was still his biggest concern. He’d carried her all the way here. Heat crawled up her neck. It took a great amount of restraint not to look at him. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows like the day he’d fixed Marda’s house. It was impossible not to notice the strength there.

Silas could’ve killed her, and somehow what bothered her most was that she’d slept through the whole thing. It was silly…ridiculous, really, but she wanted to know what it had felt like to be held by him.

Perhaps she’d been concussed as well. That would explain a lot.

Then a fear of a completely different nature suddenly curled through her chest. “What about Silas? Is he…?”

“Not dead.” The muscles in his jaw flexed. “Unfortunately.”

“He really was a Witherborn the whole time,” she whispered. The words tasted like ash on her tongue.