Page 18 of Sworn to the Shadow Throne

I’d nodded at the right places, but my mind had stayed with the men scattered out there beyond the ridge—someone’s son face-down in the mud, someone’s father staring blindly up at the sky. War made everything personal for someone.

I wasn’t fool enough to act on my urge to help. A woman found alone would be a prize for a different kind of hunger. Human vultures circled every road, every conflict in the borderlands. It wasn’t safe, even with my magic.

The truth of that was heavy but not heavy enough to crush the shameful, stubborn relief. For once, disaster wasn’t knocking on my door. I appreciated the break. I’d slept most of the day away to ease the ache behind my eyes. And tonight promised a feast of cheese, eggs, and the last greens of summer. Simple food, bought with my labor, not wrestled from the dead.

Muffin perched on the table beside me, tasseled ears twitching, ready to clamp his tiny mouth over an egg and drain it dry the moment I turned away. He had the morals of a highway robber and the appetite to match. I couldn’t fault him—it was a veska’s way. I’d already set one aside, and when I offered it, he purred, long body curling around his prize with satisfaction.

No one was around to judge my voice as I hummed an old tune my mother once loved while preparing dinner for one. It filled the silence I’d grown used to since my parents’ deaths—the echo where other voices, where warmth, kindness, and family, used to be.

Sometimes I wished for a voice to join my humming, a quick hug while I bent over the hearth, someone to share my joys and worries with. But there was no one in Selmont. So that wouldn’t happen unless I found an escape route from the borderlands or the gods delivered someone right to my doorstep.

Agitated by something, Muffin ran past me, scratching and growling at the door. I ignored him as I pulled the bread out of the fire. But then a frantic neigh cut through the clatter of the storm. My heart jolted. No one rode into my part of the forest at this time of night—not unless death was chasing them.

My eyelids fluttered shut, the predictable script of the night already playing out in my mind.

Important things always came in threes. My parents said that the gods loved the unbalanced number, that it was one way we mortals could see their hand playing in our world. Performing multiple healings in one day then warding the village the next had already drained me. This unknown emergency would mark the third time I’d have to drain myself in so many days.

So, the gods were right on schedule with their meddling. Whatever Fate had in store for me couldn’t be much worse than my everyday life.

…unless it was a raider looking for easy prey.

No, it couldn’t be. I’d felt the proof of the ward’s strength only last night. Trusting in my magic, I wiped my hands and pushed the door open to find the clearing alive with nature’s wrath.

Wind wrenched the door from my hand. Icy rain drenched the front of my threadbare linen dress almost instantly. Fallen leaves whipped through the air in the clearing around my cabin. There was so much debris blowing about that I didn’t spot the black horse until it snorted.

Foam dripped from its mouth as the poor thing panted, chest heaving with each desperate breath. The creature lurched closer, its ornate saddle and padding shimmering with gold decorations in the dim moonlight.

Slumped over the saddle horn was the stallion’s rider.

His face was barely visible beneath the dark, wavy hair spread across it. I could make out broad shoulders, a cloak soaked with rain, and the glint of steel armor and chainmail. As if his grip had finally given way after a long struggle, the rider tumbled from the stallion’s back. He slammed into the mud below with a resounding crash, plastering the already stressed horse with a shower of mud.

The spooked stallion danced sideways, nostrils flaring. Taking a step forward, I steeled myself, preparing to soothe the beast as best I could. Instead of calming at the sight of me, it stomped backwards and fled back into the howling storm.

I’d been outside for only two or three minutes, and my skin was already turning to ice. If I was freezing already, this warrior must be more than halfway to death.

“Benevolent gods, help us,” I breathed.

I dashed over and dropped to my knees, mud soaking through my dress.

The warrior had landed on his back. He wore a full suit of armor, which was a lucky thing, because the steel covering his body was probably the only reason he was still breathing.

His entire side was sticky with blood. A quick glance showed that something had hit him with such force that it had slammed through the cuirass into the chainmail below. My fingers brushed aside hair to find his throat.

The faint throb of life fluttering against my fingertips sent hope and a strange jolt shooting straight up my arm. It was startling in its intensity. My breath hitched and pulse stuttered as if my body had been waiting for it.

Magic. This man was a mage.

Self-protective instincts screamed at me to leave him. A stranger, especially one wearing armor, meant danger. Yet something about him felt…inevitable, like Fate had heard my blasphemous thoughts and decided to offer me a challenge.

But that didn’t mean that this man would be a blessing. He might mean my death—or worse.

And he was so large. Fate, apparently, also didn’t believe in moderation.

He had to be more than thrice my weight in all that steel. But his ragged breath wheezed between the sounds of the storm—frail, helpless, human. My hands moved before fear could talk me into callousness.

I needed to get him inside, warm and dry, as soon as possible. But how? I didn’t have a cart to load him onto or even his horse, and my arms would give out if I tried to drag him all the way there.

A blanket. Inelegant, but workable. I ran inside past Muffin. A few seconds later, I ran back out into the storm and flattened an old blanket out on the ground in front of him. If I could get him onto it, I could tie it around my hips and use my legs to get him inside.