Chapter 149 Falling
After the valley, the world was an ulcer, wind whistling through. The river choked and burned. The valley rotted, leaving scars for the lucky. Daisy led, boots worn through by mud and wiregrass. Each step toward the ruins was a dare. She matched pain with fear and kept going. If the Emperor’s chain wanted her, it would have to chase her. The chain was no relic: iron links in unwilling flesh, binding body and spirit. The Emperor sensed the blood and pain of his marked subjects. Long ago, his bloodpriests forged the first chain at a dying star’s heart, to bind rebellion and drain hope. Some whispered it was woven from vanquished kings’ bones, curses deeper than skin. Daisy carried those links: both the mark and the leash. None of this existed before the Crownwars, a thirty-year storm of ruined thrones. The Emperor’s legions carved roads through every border. Nothing escaped the chain.
Oliver hunched behind, one arm across his gut, afraid something vital would slip out. He refused a bandage, not wanting Daisy’s blood to mix with his. Once, that made Daisy laugh; now, it tightened her jaw. They’d fought at Black Hollow. Daisy dragged Oliver from the burning chapel while Xeris held the door against three of the Emperor's wolves. That night, Delia gave up escape to pull them all from the fire. They never forgot how they held each other in the ash, silent and alive, bonded by loss and defiance. Xeris limped, claws half-exposed in split gloves, wounds seeping resin. He kept low, met Daisy’s eyes, and silently vowed to stand guard. Delia trailed, hollowed by blood and rain. Her tears stopped, but the shaking stayed. She clung to Daisy’s shadow, sworn to stay together. Their pain braided them tighter than threats.
They’d lost the rest: Cornelius, Mira, Elder Fern—each absence weighed heavily. Cornelius, ever resourceful, might have found refuge in the caves, inscribing their history onto stone for others to remember. Mira’s laughter echoed for Daisy, and Elder Fern’s counsel lingered in doubt. These fragments clung to the group as loss pressed in. Yet the world stayed indifferent; it did not mourn its dead, only made space for new ones.
Morning gnawed at them. Birds were silent; insects marched in lines. Daisy’s chain vibrated with the weather, black veins bulging. The links sometimes seared her nerves, sparking metallic memories. She tried to hide it, but Xeris noticed.
At a break in the path, Daisy lifted her fist and signaled a halt, prompting the group to close in together as their feet shifted in the mud. She crouched low at the edge, while Xeris, Oliver, and Delia took up watchful positions around her. Daisy lifted her head into the wind, scanning below where the ruined city—once Brightwater—sprawled like a carcass. Smoke rose. The Emperor’s hounds searched in organized grids, three bands deep. Daisy remained still, watching, waiting for their mistake.
Oliver settled beside her. "No more hiding. They want us to see them." His voice scraped, raw.
Daisy wriggled her ruined boots. "Means we matter. Count them." She met Oliver’s gaze, steady.
Oliver clicked off squads on his fingers. "Six by the marsh. Three on the ridge. Caves are torched—North’s our shot—if the chain lets us. We get out, or we die running. No more chains—that’s survival." He didn’t blink.
He didn’t look at her as he said it, and Daisy didn’t ask what else the chain might do.
Xeris growled, face hard. "Step out, you're next. Last chainbearer dropped—warning for all. They want us exposed."
Daisy spat. "I’m here to break things. That’s it." Her words hit, flat and cold.
Delia caught up, cradling her cut hand. She’d torn it on a root and cleaned it with tears, but blood kept seeping. Daisy watched her fuss with shirt strips. Delia’s eyes were empty and her jaw loose. She kept going by habit, having nothing left.
“We need water,” Delia said. “And something for the fever.”
Oliver eyed his palm. "First water’s north, two miles—by the bridge. If the chain’s hot, they’re waiting."
Daisy grinned, sharp. "Then we move them."
Daisy eyed the broken ridge and crawling silhouettes, doubt pressing at her resolve. She signaled north, forcing herself to project confidence to keep the group tight in cover. If they set a distraction, they might draw the hunters and seize the bridge. Yet the cost of her decisions, so often paid in blood, gnawed at her. She outlined her idea: use a flash-charge and a coat stuffed with wiregrass—the old decoy—to lure a squad. Even as she spoke, she wondered whether she was risking her friends' trust for failed strategies. With luck, the hounds would chase a phantom while survivors dashed for the bridge. Risky, but action was better than waiting. The need for action warred with the fear of loss. Daisy pressed her boot into the muck, jaw set. Action was the only way forward, though each step echoed past costs. The group moved as one, turning pursuit into escape for a slim chance at survival.
They waited out the day in a notch below the ridge. The cold numbed their wounds into silence. Daisy peeled off her coat, let the chain press her skin, and breathed through the pulse. She recalled her mother’s funeral face—almost relieved, as if expecting death and sorry it came so late.
She remembered the locket’s weight on her collarbone, and for a moment, thought it burned her alive. It had been her mother’s: a bronze coin said to shield its bearer’s heart from the Emperor’s magic, but only if kept close. As a child, Daisy thought it held lost prayers. Now she felt only its emptiness. She’d buried it with Maribel, so maybe the memory was in her head. Or maybe, as the Emperor promised in her dreams, it still fed her with every death in the chain.
Delia slept, her face in a nest of dead leaves, the blood still leaking from her hand but slower now. Oliver sharpened his blade on a stone, the sound a comfort. Xeris watched the horizon, the gold of his eyes dimming to a rusty orange as the sun set.
At twilight, Daisy nudged Xeris. "You regret it?"
He didn’t look at her. “Which part?”
She shrugged. "Bonding a human. Losing your world. Wrong side—regret any?"
He bared his teeth. “Not once.”
She believed him and let the silence settle.