Page 70 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

Crack.

He yelped, clutching his face. “Gods, warn a man!” He rubbed gingerly at his nose. “I thought you were going to use your magic!”

Wren sat back on her hooves, casually wiping her hands on her skirt. “Why? It only needed a little push.”

He blinked through watering eyes, carefully testing the angle with his fingers. “Remind me of this the next time I start to say something stupid.”

The door creaked open. “She’s set my nose twice before,” Garin said dryly. “You’ll survive.” He stepped inside without using his staff to guide him.

Tallis followed, carrying a heavy bundle—Orzen’s missing pieces of armor and his sword. Orzen’s face softened when he saw them, looking at the sword with a mixture of relief and resignation.

“Glad Garin found you,” Tallis said, setting Orzen’s things behind him. “Knew the Fist showing up that early in the morning meant nothing good. Not just our own we look out for here. Getting beat by the Fist makes you one of us now anyhow.”

“Not sure I love that type of initiation—but thank you.” Orzen clasped his hand. “You’re a good man, Tallis.”

“Hope to stay one. Seems like it’s getting harder every day. Gotta be getting back to the Root.” Before Tallis turned to leave, he nodded toward Garin. “I’ll tell the others to keep their eyes open.” The door clicked shut behind him.

“You’re staying here tonight,” Garin said. “Told your Ma already. Got some bedrolls I’ll pull out.” Then he went to the kitchen to start some stew.

At least she wouldn’t have to trudge back across the village in the dark. Relief flooded through her as she slumped to the floor beside Orzen with a bone-weary sigh.

“It took a lot out of you,” Orzen said quietly. “You okay?”

She hesitated. He’d trusted her with a glimpse of himself at his most broken. The least she could do was be honest.

“You really want to know?” she asked. He said nothing, simply waited for her to speak. “I’m not okay,” she admitted, eyes fixed on the fire. “Too much is happening. I can’t hold it all, and it feels like more is coming.”

The weaving had drained her, but that wasn’t the only reason she was hollowed out. The magnitude of everything she’d carried lingered like a shadow over her shoulders. Healing him had taken the last bit of energy she’d had, leaving her raw, making the festival day ahead loom darker than before.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His gaze flicked toward Garin, chopping mushrooms beside his stove. “They won’t leave you. None of us will.” He paused, then added with a sigh, “But there is more you should know.”

He told her what Frinna had overheard—enough for the truth to take shape. By the time he finished, Wren’s hands had gone still in her lap. She didn’t know what she’d expected from Theordrin, but certainly not this: a trade. A bargain for her life. Theordrin didn’t want a scapegoat, he wanted a sacrifice.

“What do I do?” Wren’s voice broke. Her breathing couldn’t seem to settle. “I can’t turn back now. He’ll simply find someone else to punish.”

“We’ll get to you after the performance,” Garin said from across the room, voice steady and sure.

“Will it be enough?” Wren bowed her head, pressing her forehead to her palm. “I don’t think I’m getting out of this.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Orzen said. Coming from him, it sounded like an oath.

She wasn’t sure she believed him, but when Orzen reached a tentative hand, she slipped her fingers into his. Her heart fluttered in her chest. Nerves or hope, it was hard to tell. Sometimes the Cycle simply didn’t care what you wanted. But no matter what happened tomorrow, his promise mattered.

Chapter 18

The Weight of Borrowed Things

Orzen woke to the dull throb of pain in his muscles. Not unusual, simply more intense than his old aches. He blinked up at the unfamiliar beams and exhaled slowly. Somehow, he’d survived again—but this time, it hadn’t been by his own effort. Someone else hadn’t walked away when he needed them—people he’d known for less than a sevenday.

The thought should’ve comforted him, but it settled like lead in his chest, gratitude and guilt welded together. He wasn’t sure he could ever repay it. Maybe keeping Wren safe would be a start.

He rolled onto his shoulder with a groan. She slept a few feet away, one arm stretched toward the fire, as if even in dreams she couldn’t stop reaching for warmth. He looked away before he could linger on it and eased out from under the blanket.

He tugged off the stained padded shirt. The bruises had faded to sickly yellows and greens, the skin still tender but healing. Better than he had any right to expect. He pulled a clean shirt over his head and began strapping his armor back on. When Tallis had brought it, relief had hit harder than he wanted to admit.

When Orzen was finished, he made his way over to Garin, sitting at the table with a steaming mug cupped between his hands. The bitter scent of coffee cut through the air and Orzen let out a low, hopeful sound.

“Please tell me you made extra.”