The storm broke just before dawn, hurling rain against the windows in wild sheets. Thunder rolled across the Whispering Woods like an angry god's voice, shaking the little cottage with every growl.
Eira didn't sleep.
She sat curled in her chair, blanket over her knees, watching the flames in the hearth sputter with each gust of wind. Her thoughts were tangled threads—Cassian's eyes when he mentioned the Moonbound bloodline, the way his voice dipped into curiosity instead of disbelief.
People weren't supposed to believe in the Moonbound anymore. Not really. Not after the Queen's purge.
And yet… here he was, speaking of them with that tone—half interest, half warning.
Across the room, Cassian lay stretched on the cot, arm flung across his eyes. He hadn't stirred in hours, but she could tell he wasn't sleeping either. His body was too still. Too tense.
She rose quietly, grabbing the jar of dried feverroot and crushing it into a brew. It was easier to focus on the motion of her hands than the chaos inside her head.
As she waited for the herbs to steep, Cassian spoke.
"You were chanting last night."
Her back stiffened. "I don't chant."
"You whispered something when you touched my wound. The same rhythm twice. Like spellwork."
She turned slowly, mug in hand. "It was a healing charm. Old and harmless."
"No charm can seal a wound like that. Not without power." He sat up, his expression unreadable. "I've seen royal healers work slower than you did."
"I said it was old magic," she replied, keeping her voice neutral. "Not noble magic."
Cassian accepted the mug as she handed it to him, his fingers brushing hers briefly. "And who taught you that? If it's not from the royal lines, where did it come from?"
Eira crossed her arms, leaning against the table. "My mother. Before they burned her for practicing unsanctioned arts."
Silence fell heavy between them.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. And from the way he said it, she believed he meant it.
"She was gentle," Eira whispered. "Never hurt a soul. But she knew things they didn't like. The Queen's soldiers came in the night and dragged her away. I was thirteen."
Cassian looked down at the steaming mug. "So that's why you live alone out here."
"It's safer not to be seen."
"You shouldn't have to hide."
Eira let out a small laugh, bitter and quiet. "That's easy to say when no one's burning your door down."
Cassian looked at her then—really looked. Not just at her face or her wary posture, but the way her hands trembled slightly when she clenched them, the way her shoulders carried years of hiding in plain sight.
"You saved my life," he said. "I owe you that. But if you're who I think you are… someone will come looking. They always do."
She stared at him, lips parting slightly. "Who do you think I am?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he drained the mug and set it down with care. "Whatever magic you used, it's old. Forbidden. And powerful. You need to be careful who sees it."
"You saw it," she said softly.
"And I haven't turned you in, have I?"
"No. But you haven't left, either."
Cassian stood, his height more intimidating than before, his silhouette outlined by firelight. But there was no threat in his gaze—just curiosity. And maybe something else. Something like admiration.
"I won't betray you, Eira. I've seen what the Crown does to people like you. I've lost too many friends to their blades."
She tilted her head. "Friends?"
Cassian paused, choosing his words. "Let's just say I travel with… unconventional company. People who would understand you. Who would need you."
Eira's heart thudded once—hard.
"You're with the rebellion," she said quietly. Not a question.
He didn't deny it.
"If I am," he said, "would that scare you?"
"No," she replied. "It would explain a lot."
Cassian let out a breath, and it was almost a smile. "Then we understand each other."
She wasn't sure what startled her more—the fact that she believed him… or the way part of her wanted to.
---
Over the next few days, things shifted. Cassian became more than just a guest. He helped reinforce the roof during the storms, learned to recognize her potion ingredients, and even fixed the broken latch on her door without being asked.
But it wasn't just chores that changed.
They began talking—truly talking. About books they both loved. About the stars. About the names of herbs and how they smelled different at night. Cassian had a dry sense of humor and a tendency to tell half-truths like riddles. Eira called him out on them. He seemed to like that.
One evening, as they sat outside watching mist rise through the trees, Cassian asked the question she had dreaded.
"What exactly can you do, Eira? With your magic?"
She didn't answer at first. Instead, she held out her palm and let a small flame curl into life above it—blue and soft, casting gentle shadows across her face.
Cassian's breath caught. "That's… not just healing."
"No," she said. "I've done things no marked noble ever could. Fire. Water. Air. Earth. I've touched them all. Not just one."
His eyes searched hers. "Then you are Moonbound."
She extinguished the flame. "So they say."
"Do you believe it?"
"I don't know what I believe anymore," she admitted. "But my mother told me to never speak of it. She said the Queen feared it. That's why she hunts us."
Cassian leaned forward. "You know what that means, don't you? If the Queen really thinks the Moonbound bloodline survived… she'll never stop looking."
"I know."
"And if she finds you—"
"She won't."
Cassian reached out and touched her hand gently. "You're not alone anymore, Eira. I swear it."
Her fingers curled around his, and in the space between heartbeats, something unspoken passed between them—trust, fragile but real.
Maybe even the beginning of something more.
---
The next morning, they awoke to smoke on the horizon.
Cassian was the first to move. He stood shirtless at the window, scanning the tree line, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of the short sword he'd begun carrying again.
"That's a patrol," he said grimly. "Too close to be random."
Eira rushed to his side. "They wouldn't come this deep without cause."
"Unless someone saw me get dragged into the woods," he muttered.
Her blood ran cold. "Or they heard rumors about a girl with healing magic."
Cassian turned to her. "You need to run."
"And leave you here? After everything?"
"I'll be fine," he said. "I've escaped worse."
Eira looked toward the smoke, then back at him. "No. If they find either of us, they'll torture us both."
He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already moving—grabbing her cloak, stuffing herbs and powders into hidden pockets, throwing essentials into a leather satchel.
Cassian joined her, helping her gather things quickly. "There's a place two days north—a rebel outpost near the ruins of Valeharrow. We can hide there."
"We?"
He met her eyes. "I'm not leaving without you."
For a moment, something clenched in her chest—tight and unfamiliar.
"Then let's move."
They left the cottage behind, vanishing into the forest just as the soldiers arrived. Eira glanced back only once, watching smoke billow from her home as fire consumed it.
Her life had been quiet and hidden.
Now it was ash.
But she wasn't running alone anymore.