Kael led in silence, guiding the black mare with practiced ease while Yana—Liora—walked beside him. She refused to ride, though he offered twice. The feeling of her feet on solid ground, even scorched and unsteady, anchored her in a world that didn't feel quite real.
"What else did I do?" she asked finally. "The princess. Before the exile."
Kael glanced at her, then back to the winding path. "You spoke to the Threads. Out loud. You asked them to change what was written."
Yana frowned. "That's forbidden?"
"It's not just forbidden," he said. "It's impossible. Or it's supposed to be."
She looked down at her hands. Pale gold cuffs now circled her wrists, delicate but cold. There were faint markings where shackles had once been. "And they called her mad for that?"
Kael stopped walking. His gaze pierced her. "Liora saw things no one else could. She walked into dreams. She rewove omens. The last thing she said before the exile was that the world had been stitched wrong—and she would unmake it."
Yana swallowed. "Maybe she wasn't mad."
Kael's expression didn't soften. "That was never the question. The question was who she might become if no one stopped her."
A hawk cried high overhead. They moved on.
By dusk, the sky bled orange behind the distant walls of Velquinn, the capital city that still bore her name but had erased her from its lore. Even from the ridge, Yana could see its spires, curved like needle tips, catching the last of the light.
She should've felt awe. Instead, she felt a tug in her gut—like the threads of fate were drawing her forward, unwilling or not.
"We'll go around the southern gate," Kael said. "It's less guarded, and I have friends who can hide you."
"Hide me as who?"
He didn't answer right away. Then: "A mourning cousin. No one looks closely when grief's involved."
Yana touched the braid in her hair, still threaded with that strange, shimmering silver. "And if someone does?"
Kael gave a grim smile. "Then we pray you remember how to lie like a royal."
They reached the lower valley as twilight set in. Lanterns flickered along the city wall, and the wind brought the scent of myrrh and wet stone.
Yana's head ached. Flashes came unbidden: a marble hall lit with flame-colored glass… a woman in white robes whispering warnings… Kael, kneeling, bleeding, calling her name—not Yana. Liora.
"I think I'm starting to remember things that aren't mine," she whispered.
"They are yours," Kael said. "That's the problem."
She turned toward him. "Tell me the truth. Why are you helping me?"
His jaw worked silently. Then, quietly: "Because I failed you once."
Before she could ask what he meant, a horn sounded in the distance—short and sharp.
Kael stiffened. "They know."
"About me?"
"No," he said, grabbing her hand. "But they will if we don't move. Now."
Yana ran.
Behind her, the shadows stretched long across the fields. The weave was tightening.
And the forgotten thread had started to pull.