"It was only after the steward died that she decided to learn how to use her power just to bring him back to life. When she escaped from her father’s house, she learned to use her powers with the help of some hidden witches who woke up her magic." She paused. "And she became one of the strongest witches in the world and also the Guardian of the Mourning Peaks. To guard it. To keep it safe from the kinds of men who hate what they cannot understand."

Marek was staring at her. He hadn’t blinked in what felt like a very long time. Because her expression had changed, it was no longer the friendly, almost playful face he had grown used to over the past week. That face was gone. In its place was something cold and distant.

"Are there other witches here in the Mourning Peaks?" he asked in a low tone.

Odhran tilted her head. "Oh Marek, I didn’t think you were this dumb."

"What?" His jaw dropped.

"Have you seen any other person here aside Elian and me?" She went back to pick up the herbs again to hang some of it on the wall.

Marek shook his head. "No."

And then, slowly, piece by piece, he began to fit things together. The chanting at dawn. The language he didn’t recognize. The way Elian moved with the kind of silence that suggested she had been taught to or perhaps had been born into it, more like how birds were born knowing which way was south.

The story Odhran had been telling him wasn’t just for entertainment. It was not a fable to pass the long nights, but a confession stretched across days.

He stood up abruptly. "You’re the guardian of the Mourning Peaks, and one of the most powerful witches in the world," he said. His voice came out rougher than he intended.

Odhran picked up the knife in the brazier; it should burn her, but it didn’t. Instead, she held it tightly, thumbs toying the edge as she looked up at him.

"Yes." She said.

"You’ve been telling me about yourself this whole time." Marek scrunched up his face.

"Yes. And I am the youngest daughter of Lord Belinin Of The House Drakonin." She s

Marek’s heart was hammering now like a fist against his ribs. "You’re the youngest daughter of Lord Belinin of House Drakonin?" he repeated.

Odhran inclined her head. A small regal gesture. "I am."

Marek repeated the name under his breath several times. House Drakonin. He had seen it in the history books, years ago, when he was still a boy learning the old lineages. It was an old house. A powerful one. And not from the Mourning Peaks at all. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

He looked at her. This time, her expression was unreadable.

"Were you a native of Lycanthria?" He asked.

Odhran’s smile returned, but it was different now. Sharper. Sadder. The smile of someone who had outlived every enemy she ever made.

"Yes," she said. "My father served the two queens before Queen Lyra." She responded.

Marek stepped away from the bed. He watched Odhran for a moment, her face half-hidden in the dim light, and the question slipped out before he could weigh it.

"How did you end up here, at the Mourning Peaks?"

Odhran didn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifted to the brazier for a long moment. When she spoke, her voice was low, filled with sadness. "This is where they killed him—my beloved. Twenty-three years ago, the snow came down just like this, blinding everything. The warden, the witch who guarded these peaks back then, was gone. No one to stop the men who hunted us. They took him first. I fought, clawed my way free, but I couldn’t save him."

Her fingers tightened around the edge of the knife as the memories surfaced, raw and unyielding. Marek could see the tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders were rigid against her cloak.

"I returned here after I managed to escape again, desperate, hoping the warden might still pull some miracle from the dark. But the older woman lay dying, her power fading. So instead of spells, she offered names, other witches scattered across the wilds and a warning. She told me to learn to wield what I carried, or the price will devour my child too. So I listened. I sought them out, one by one, bending my soul toward the shadows until the darkness answered back. And I became a wanderer witch, unbound and sharp as a blade. Before the warden slipped away finally, she passed on the guardianship of the Peaks to me. And I swore myself to it. To this place. To the powers it holds." Odhran finished quietly.

Marek’s throat tightened with something close to pity. "I’m sorry," he said, the words feeling inadequate as her eyes raged slightly. "No one should have to carry that."

Then Odhran moved, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. "I’ve thought about the price you’ll pay for me to take you into the Blighted Land," she said, her voice low, almost gentle, though nothing about her expression softened.

Marek’s pulse quickened. "You want to use me as a sacrifice? To bring him back?" He asked.

"No." The word came sharp, cutting through the space between them.

She stood close enough now that he caught the scent of herbs and her intoxicating scent.

"I want another child. One who will carry my power fully."

"What about Elian? You both chant every night."

"That’s different. Elian is my first. Firstborns never inherit it the same way."

The realization dawned on him. "So you want me to sleep with you."

"It will be more than sex to me," she interrupted, her eyes steady on his. "It is the price. Nothing less."

Before he could form a protest, her fingers found the ties of her cloak. They loosened with a soft pull, and the heavy fabric slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. She stood naked before him, the firelight from the Brazier tracing every line of her body.

Marek’s gaze betrayed him, traveling over her despite the alarm ringing in his chest. Heat rose unbidden, clashing with the fear that gripped his gut. He tried to step back, but his legs met the edge of the bed; he lost his balance and fell onto the furs.