Page 92 of The Violet Raven

“Dinnae move yet,” he says quickly, his tone gentle but firm. “Ye’re hurt, Triona. You need to rest.”

Rest?

The word feels wrong. Foreign. Like it doesn’t belong. Shadows flit through my mind—screams, fire, chaos. My heart begins to race, pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage.

“Casey,” I whisper, my voice trembling now. “What happened to me?”

“Colina… she whipped ye.” He shifts uncomfortably, glancing around as if unsure how much to reveal. “Ye’ve been in and out of sleep for some time.”

“Is it bad?”

“I dinnae ken. After Finn cleaned it—”

“Where is he?”

“Him, Callan, and Bran went to wash up in the creek.”

“Why are we in the woods?”

Casey’s discomfort grows. His fingers twitch against mine.

Before he can answer, a sound outside draws my attention. The tent’s canvas rustles, and Bran’s head appears. His eyes widen when he sees me.

He whistles, the noise sending a fresh wave of pain lancing through my head.

I flinch further at the sound of hurried footsteps approaching the tent. Casey’s grip on my hand tightens as Bran steps aside to let them in. Finn’s tall frame ducks through the opening first, his face set in a hard line. Callan follows, his eyes raking over me with a concern so intense I can hardly breathe.

“Triona,” Callan says softly, his voice carrying the weight of concern. He crouches beside me, his broad shoulders blocking some of the light streaming through the canvas. “How are ye feelin’?”

I blink at him, my lips parting to respond, but I don’t know what to say. How am I feeling? Pain ripples through me with every breath, but that’s not what he’s asking. There’s something else in his gaze—something deeper. A growing sense of unease gnaws at the edges of my mind.

“I’m dizzy,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m confused. You’re all scaring me.”

Finn and Callan exchange a glance, their silence only amplifying the tension. Casey shifts uncomfortably beside me.

Callan clears his throat—his usual gruff demeanour softens. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Ye’ve been through a lot, lass. Like Casey said, ye need to rest.”

Rest.

That word again.

I shake my head, and pain pulses sharp behind my eyes. “I need to know what’s going on. Why are we in the woods? Where is everyone else?”

The question hangs in the air, with a suffocating presence. No one answers.

Finn looks away, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle feather. Callan sits tight-lipped. Casey lowers his gaze, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket draped over me.

“Someone answer me,” I demand, my voice cracking under the weight of my rising panic. “What happened? Why are we here?”

Bran, still lingering near the tent’s entrance, shifts his weight, his usual humour absent. “It’s... it’s not something easy to explain, Triona,” he says cautiously.

“Try,” I snap, the sharpness of my tone surprising even myself. “Because I can’t remember anything after—after Colina…”

My voice falters, my mind catching on the fractured memory. The whip. The blinding pain. Then… nothing.

Callan reaches for my hand, his touch gentle but firm. “Triona,” he begins, his voice low and steady. “Ye need to stay calm.”

“Calm?” I repeat incredulously. “How am I supposed to stay calm when none of you will tell me what’s happening?”