Chapter 70

Chapter 70
Kael’s POV

The road to Ashpeak eats men alive. I have known it since the first time I rode these ridges as a boy, before power had wrapped itself around me like a cloak. The land here is not generous. It takes more than it gives cold biting into the marrow, stones that break hooves, winds that howl so long you begin to believe they speak. I chose this march because it is cruel. Cruelty makes a whetstone out of soldiers. If a man does not break here, he will not break in the shadow of his enemy.
But today, even as the cold gnaws at us, my thoughts are not on the men or the road. They are on her. Evelyn.
The bond does not sleep. It drags at me as if some invisible hook is sewn beneath my ribs. I feel her in flashes: a tremor in her breath, a flicker of shadows she cannot yet control, the sharp edge of her fear when the power answers too violently. She is alone in her chamber, I know it. She thinks she hides from me. She forgets that hiding from me is impossible. Every pull of her power is fire across my veins.
I should be pleased. She is growing stronger. The girl who trembled at the sight of two spies in chains now courts danger in her own hands. She dares to test herself. But the pride curdles into fury the moment I taste her fear. She could unravel herself. She could let the power consume her before she even understands what it demands. And I am not there. That absence is a wound deeper than any blade.
I drive the column harder.
“Faster,” I snarl to my captains. “If a man falls behind, leave him. We do not wait for stragglers.”
They exchange uneasy glances, but none challenge me. The men march until their boots are soaked through with snowmelt and their breath comes in ragged clouds. Horses stumble, eyes rolling white, yet I do not slow. Let them curse me under their breath. I hear their mutters, their whispers of madness. But I would rather march them to the edge of death than allow the Chain one more hour of freedom.
We make camp near a frozen river, the water black and silent beneath its shell of ice. Fires bloom across the ridge like scattered stars, but I keep to my own circle of light, away from the din. My captains know better than to intrude when my gaze burns like this.
The boy we captured at Ashmoor kneels before me, bound but alive. His eyes are hollow, the kind of hollow that comes from watching too many men die and knowing you may be next. He points a trembling hand north when I demand direction. “Ashpeak… two days if you ride hard. Three with an army.”
“We ride in two,” I answer, though my men behind him shift uneasily. Let them shift. They are not the ones whose bond sears them alive each time a woman far away dares to touch forbidden power.
The boy swallows. “You do not understand. Ashpeak is not just a place. It’s… it’s a graveyard. A hall of bones. Men go there and do not return.”
I crouch low, close enough that the heat of me drives sweat down his temples despite the cold. “Then I will show them what it is to meet a man who does return. And you will walk me there, boy, or I will burn the marrow from your bones where you kneel.”
His nod is frantic, desperate. Good. Desperation is more useful than loyalty.
When I turn back to the fire, the bond pulls again. Evelyn. She is straining too hard. I close my eyes and the world tilts I see not the river or the snow but the flicker of her candlelight, the curve of her hands trembling as shadows gather at her fingertips. She bites down on her lip until it bleeds, refusing to cry out when the power wracks her body. Gods. She is stubborn even in fear. It is both the thing I love most about her and the thing that will destroy me.
I shove the image away and stand, restless. My men watch as I stalk through camp like a predator seeking prey. Two soldiers whisper too loudly near the supply wagons, speaking of desertion, of fear. They do not notice how the air bends with my anger until I am already upon them.
“You think to leave?” My voice cuts sharper than steel.
They drop to their knees instantly, stammering excuses. I do not listen. I grip the first by the throat and lift him until his boots scrape uselessly at the frozen ground. His breath fogs in panic. The other tries to beg, but the only answer is the sound of fire roaring to life. I burn the deserter until his screams choke into silence, then drop what remains into the snow. The hiss of steam fills the air.
The second soldier weeps openly, babbling promises of loyalty. I lean close enough that my breath sears his ear. “Loyalty is not promised. It is proven. If you falter again, you will join him.”
He nods, shaking violently, and crawls away when I release him. The rest of the camp is silent now, every man staring at the dark imprint of my rage. Good. Let them fear me more than the Chain. Fear is obedience. Obedience is survival.
But even as the fire fades from my hands, the bond whispers again. Evelyn. She staggers, nearly collapsing. I taste the copper tang of blood in my mouth as if it were hers. My fists clench. If she kills herself in her chamber before I can rid the world of her enemies, I will slaughter every man who failed to protect her. I will raze my own fortress stone by stone. I will have nothing left but ash. The night passes without rest. I do not sleep. I pace the perimeter of camp until dawn bleeds over the mountains, each hour dragging Evelyn’s presence tighter into me. My men march again, their faces gray with exhaustion, but I do not relent. I cannot.
By the second day, the land rises into jagged ridges, snow falling thicker, the air thin and bitter. The boy leads us with trembling hands, pointing to spires of rock in the distance. “Ashpeak,” he whispers, as if the name itself might summon death.
The bond pulls again, sudden and sharp. Evelyn has reached some breakthrough. I feel the surge of it a tide of power rushing through her veins, shadows coiling like serpents in her room. For a moment pride flares, hot and bright. But then I feel the collapse, the drain, the way her body falters under the strain. I nearly stagger in the saddle, the echo so strong. My captains glance at me in alarm but say nothin.
When we camp again, I gather my captains. “Tomorrow we strike Ashpeak. There will be no hesitation. No quarter. The Chain dies here.”
One dares to speak, voice cautious. “My lord our men are weary. Supplies run low. Perhaps.
“Perhaps you think exhaustion is more dangerous than the Chain?” I cut him off, my voice a growl. “You are wrong. If Ashpeak is allowed to breathe another day, Evelyn is in danger. And if she is in danger, none of you will survive me.”
The silence that follows is absolute. They understand now. This is not just war. This is possession. This is love sharpened into a blade.
When the council disperses, I sit alone by the fire, staring north where jagged peaks claw at the sky. I think of Evelyn in her chamber, shadows curling against her skin, lips whispering words of power she does not yet understand. She thinks she hides it from me, but I feel every tremor. She is mine, and nothing no chain, no ruin, no whispering council will take her from me.
Tomorrow Ashpeak will burn. And when it does, I will carve into the bones of this land a single truth:
That Kael’s protection is absolute.
That no chain forged by man or god can hold against fire.
That Evelyn belongs to me, and I will scorch the world until it learns obedience.