Page 99 of Cycle Keeper’s Shadow

“Water’s almost ready.” The kettle steamed, and Silas said lightly, “I brought back a little food—whatever I could carry.”

He pulled out a loaf of bread, one end charred black, and a few slightly squashed fruit tarts. Then he crossed to Wren, crouching beside her.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked quietly. He offered her a steaming tin of water. “You had a rough night.”

She nodded, taking the tin and sprinkling a pinch of Pell’s tea blend into it. The dried leaves swirled and sank. The warmth steadied her hands.

“We all did. But, I’m okay,” she said, not sure if she was saying it because she felt it, or because she thought she had to. “Thank you for being there last night.”

“Of course.”

Silas touched her arm, fingers smooth and cool against her skin. She hated how much she needed that reassurance—how much it helped that someone recognized her fear and stayed close. She wished she were strong enough not to need that kind of comfort, but last night, she had.

“You said you had friends in town,” she asked softly. “Did you ever find them?” It should’ve been obvious he hadn’t. She wasn’t sure why she asked at all, but somehow, it made the quiet less heavy to know he was hurting too.

“Met them on the road from Elgen’s Cross,” Silas said, eyes distant. “First friends since…” He swallowed, and it was clear that whatever he was remembering was painful.

“Elgen’s Cross was attacked by Witherborn, and I’ve been wandering ever since. Didn’t see much point in staying and fighting for a town with nothing left. Thought I’d escaped that danger. Should’ve stayed away from the forest, I suppose, but it’s what I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Wren said, compassion lacing her words. “To live through that twice…I can’t even imagine.”

“I don’t recommend it.” He chuckled deep in his throat, though it held no joy. “Sometimes I think maybe I bring bad luck with me.” Wren’s tea curdled in her stomach. He wasn’t the only one with that fear.

She’d never heard of the Elgen’s Cross, or of another Witherborn attack—not in the last hundred cycles. But the forest stretched for hundreds of miles, and news didn’t always reach Thistlehold quickly.

“It was lucky for us,” she said gently. “If that’s any consolation.” She turned the cup slowly in her hands. “Was Thistlehold…how did it look when you went back?”

Silas sat beside her, folding his hands over his knees. “I’ll be honest. It’s not in great shape.”

Jessa stretched and sat with them, folding her legs beneath her. “It’s rough. But your Ma is safe. Brunna too. Others…well…”

Wren gripped Jessa’s hand, nodding quietly, tears rising fast. The guilt at her relief while others weren’t as lucky made her breath come up short. Her family was safe, but for some reason, the others were driven out here. She’d been too tired to question it the night before, but now she pressed them for answers.

Branwynn settled near her with a sigh. “Your ma’s too useful to chase away,” she said simply. “And Brunna’s a staple in town. Wouldn’t look good if she simply disappeared.”

Her gaze shifted toward her son and Calen, quietly sharing a tart beside Orzen. “We defended you a little too loudly. It was leave or be taken to the Registry Tower.”

“No…Branwynn, I’m so sorry.” Wren leaned forward. “Surely the tower can’t have been built yet. It’s only been days since they cleared the garden.”

Branwynn looked away. “It’s not in the garden. They’ve moved it to the Lower District. They’re not just building a tower now, by the look of it. They’re using the remnants of the destruction, but we didn’t get close enough to see it clearly.” She pressed her lips together, expression caught somewhere between anguish and fury. “Corruption spreads faster than hope.”

“Zehvana learned that the hard way,” Jessa said with a scowl. “She wanted the Fist to help survivors, not ‘interrogate conspirators.’ Theordrin was more focused on finishing his tower so ‘justice could be served.’”

She said the last bit with a high-pitched eloquence meant to imitate the elven elder. Wren would’ve laughed if she wasn’t so hollow inside.

Silas exhaled softly. “Seems opportunistic, if you ask me.”

“Almost came to blows,” Branwynn said. “Half the Fist stood with Zehvana. The rest followed Theordrin. He took her away then, along with the ones who wouldn’t turn against her.” She sighed deeply. “Only a matter of time before they came for us. Safer for Tommi and me in the forest than in a cell.”

Jessa’s skirt hem was frayed, her expression pinched with anger. “Theordrin thinks he can make people too scared to question him. But some of us know better. I would’ve stayed but—” Her gaze drifted to Calen, now holding Tommick on his shoulders across the clearing, the boy reaching for a branch above his head.

“Calen’s alone now. With his ma and Cerys gone…and now his pa.” She watched him with eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I couldn’t leave them. I certainly couldn’t stay quiet when the Fist started saying you’re the cause of it all. Only puffilim-headed fools believe that.”

Wren hadn’t earned that confidence. Her own doubts were strong enough to blow a whole field of gossamer puffilim seedlings away. The willowvine tree was proof that something else took over—blessing or curse, she still wasn’t sure. Her mark, the Cycle, Leora’s plea…it all pulled at her like stitches drawn too tight.

“How did you get out?” Wren asked finally. “How did you even know to come here?”

Jessa leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Tallis got us out. There’s a group forming—Pell, Frinna, Tallis, others we never met—they’re calling themselves the Seedkeepers. Even got code names and everything.” She smirked with pride, though her eyes were still tired. “That part was my idea. Pell kinda hated it, but ‘Owl’ fits him too well.”