Page 60 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

“You’re perceptive. That’s why I kept you here,” he said. “Thistlehold stands on the rim of fire—one spark from ruin. It needs men who understand restraint. Men who believe in the Cycle’s design, not their own.”

“And you consider yourself one of those men?” Orzen fought to keep the contempt from his voice.

Theordrin smiled—a priest’s patience hiding a predator’s amusement. “You seem nervous. Drink? No sense in wasting what the gods have provided.”

Orzen’s jaw tensed. The man was drunk on his own virtue. If he had to listen to sermons, he’d at least do it with the man’s liquor in his gut. He took the glass, downing it in one swallow and dropping it back on the desk. The burn was familiar. The sweetness wasn’t.

“You’ve got a section of wall near the forest that’s nearly gone,” Orzen said. “Wouldn’t take much to break through. Seems like you need someone more observant.”

Theordrin’s eyes narrowed, a glint of gold catching in them—like the light off the Fist pins. “You’d be surprised how observant my men really are.” The provocation in his voice was clear, almost playful.

Orzen coughed. A tickle built in his throat. Tingling crept through his fingers as he curled them into a fist. He should have brought the blade—or anything to hold onto. The armor was heavy now, the leather creaking as he shifted.

Theordrin leaned forward, menace honing his smile. “Would you like to hear something they discovered?” His tone was indulgent, like a teacher scolding a child caught in a lie.

Orzen didn’t answer.

“Spending quite a bit of time with our dear Wren, weren’t you? Walks through the night. A condemned house miraculously repaired in the Lower District.” The faint smile vanished, leaving only cold fire in his eyes. “Enough to feel…disloyal.”

Orzen blinked. Heat crawled up his neck. The tingling reached his forearm now. The edges of the room softened and pulsed. The ticking of the clock grew louder. Each beat pounded in his skull.

“Wren won’t be here much longer,” Theordrin said, voice smooth as spilled blood. “So, if you have any self-preservation left, I suggest you disappear—as soon as you wake.”

Orzen tried to stand, but his muscles locked, every motion sluggish. “What did—” The words were thick and clumsy.

Theordrin nodded to one of the Fist. Their steps scraped the floorboards. With a swift arc of their boots, the chair cracked, sending him plummeting to the floor. His skull slammed against the boards. His vision burst into white flares.

The drink. He really was an idiot.

He tried to push himself onto his knees, but his body refused.

The Fist with the scarred lip leaned over him, sneering.

Behind him, Theordrin’s voice reached through the fog. “Don’t get blood on my floor.” He was already turning back to his desk. “It stains the wood.”

The ticking clock faded, and the world went with it.

Chapter 16

Before the Veilmoon

When Wren closed the door behind her, her mother was awake and waiting. She wasn’t angry, only relieved to see her daughter was safe. Wren mumbled something about visiting Brunna and slipped toward her room before her mother could get a good look at her face.

She almost made it. The tears caught up halfway down the hall. She shut the door behind her and sank against it.

“Everything always looks brighter by morning,” Marrowen said softly through the wood. Wren wished she could believe it.

Morning came too bright, pouring through the window like a reprimand. Her head ached. The tea in her hands provided little more than warmth. Maybe she’d decline the cider next time.

Only days ago, things had almost started to feel normal again. Even with Hennah’s prophecy echoing in her ears and the plants turning wrong in their pots, there’d still been reason to hope.

Brunna and Tavrin finally chose each other.

Leora’s letter called to her like a beacon from the forest. Wren had pushed it to the back of her mind when everything else came up, but the kernel of hope was still there.

And Orzen…He’d never meant to be her friend to begin with. That was what she told herself, anyway. She didn’t want to think about the look on his face before she closed the door, or how small she’d felt doing it.

Nothing about the way he’d looked at her said he was lying. He’d seemed almost…hurt. He hadn’t tried to justify it. That didn’t guarantee forgiveness, but the thought twisted in her gut—that taking the job might’ve been a mistake he regretted making at all.