The first hints of the village came with the scent of woodsmoke and baking bread carried on the evening breeze. Alix Teardom lifted her head, nostrils flaring. The smell cut through the damp chill of the forest like a promise of warmth. She glanced at Donstram Donovan, who had already noticed it too. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, but his shoulders eased a fraction.
"Someone's trying very hard not to be found," he murmured.
Alix nodded. "And doing a good job of it. The wards are subtle. Old Blackthorn weave. They don't hide from magic. They hide from intent."
They moved slower now, stepping carefully through the thickening undergrowth. The trees began to thin, revealing a narrow path worn smooth by careful feet. Lanterns appeared between the trunks, their glow soft and golden, shielded by clever hoods that directed the light downward. Thatched roofs emerged from the mist, low and blending with the earth. The village was small, no more than thirty buildings huddled in a natural hollow, surrounded by a ring of ancient oaks whose branches interlaced overhead like a living roof.
As they stepped into the clearing, heads turned. Faces peered from doorways. Hands paused on tools. Children were quickly ushered inside. A tall woman with silver-streaked hair stepped forward, staff in hand. Her eyes were the same violet as Alix's, though faded with age.
"Travelers," she said, voice calm but carrying the weight of authority. "State your purpose before the wards decide you are unwelcome."
Alix lowered her hood. "We seek sanctuary. No more than one night. We carry no ill intent."
The elder's gaze moved to Donstram. Recognition flickered. "The Fallen Prince. And the last of Blackthorn." She studied the faint crimson marks on their wrists, the remnants of the bond. "The curse is broken. We felt the shift in the weave two days past."
Murmurs rippled through the gathered villagers. Some stepped closer. Others backed away.
Donstram kept his hand near his sword but did not draw it. "We are hunted. The king sends men south. We will not bring trouble to your door if you turn us away."
The elder tilted her head. "Trouble has already found us. The king's decree reached even here yesterday. Bounty on your heads. Triple if both are brought back alive." She paused. "But the Blackthorn bloodline has protected this place before. And the prince's father once spared our ancestors when others would have burned them."
She stepped aside. "Come. One night. Food. Rest. Then you leave at dawn. No longer."
Alix felt the tension in Donstram's shoulders ease slightly. "Thank you."
They followed the elder into the village proper. Doors opened cautiously. Eyes followed them. Children peeked from behind skirts. The air smelled of herbs, fresh bread, and something deeper: old magic woven into every beam and stone.
They were led to a small guest house near the center, simple but clean. A fire already crackled in the hearth. Bread, cheese, stew, and watered wine waited on the table. The elder paused at the door.
"Elder Mara," she said. "If you need anything, ask. But know this: we harbor no armies. We survive by being forgotten."
When she left, Alix barred the door. Donstram checked the windows.
"Safe?" he asked.
"For tonight." She turned to him. "They know who we are. That's both good and dangerous."
He nodded. "We'll leave before dawn."
They ate in silence at first, the food warm and grounding after days of hard travel and cold rations. The stew was rich with herbs Alix recognized from her mother's recipes. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the taste bring back a memory she had long buried.
Donstram watched her. "You okay?"
She opened her eyes. "Just... remembering what home felt like."
He reached across the table, covered her hand with his. The bond hummed softly, carrying the echo of his own buried grief.
After the meal, they moved to the hearth. The firelight played across Donstram's scarred face, softening the hard lines. Alix leaned against him, head on his shoulder. For a while, neither spoke.
Then voices outside. Raised. Urgent.
Donstram was on his feet in an instant. Sword drawn.
Alix joined him at the door. Through the crack, they saw torches. A lone figure in dark leathers, bounty hunter's badge glinting. He had slipped past the wards, blade already bloodied. One villager lay at his feet.
The elder stood between the hunter and the guest house, staff raised. "You will not take them here."
The hunter laughed. "Gold speaks louder than wards, old woman."
Donstram looked at Alix. "Stay here."
She grabbed his arm. "We do this together."
He hesitated only a second. Then nodded.
They burst from the house.
The hunter turned, eyes widening. "The prince and the witch. My lucky night."
He moved fast. Dagger in one hand, short sword in the other. He lunged at Donstram.
Donstram met him blade to blade. Sparks flew. The hunter was good, trained, vicious. But Donstram was better.
Alix circled, shadows rising. Vines erupted from the ground, aiming for the hunter's legs. He leaped aside, slashing at the tendrils.
The villagers watched, frozen. Some grabbed pitchforks, others children.
Donstram parried a thrust, drove forward, forced the hunter back. Alix flanked, shadows whipping like lashes. The hunter snarled, spun, and threw his dagger at Alix.
Donstram stepped into its path. The blade took him high in the shoulder. He grunted but did not falter.
Rage surged through the bond.
Alix screamed. Shadows exploded outward, slamming the hunter against a wall. Vines wrapped his arms, his throat.
Donstram closed the distance. One clean stroke.
The hunter fell.
Silence.
Alix rushed to Donstram, hands on his wound. Blood soaked his shirt. The bond carried his pain straight into her chest.
"I'm fine," he rasped.
"You're not." She pressed hard. "Elder Mara!"
The elder hurried over. "Inside. Now."
They helped Donstram back to the guest house. Villagers gathered, whispering. Some looked at them with fear. Others with awe.
Inside, Mara worked quickly. Clean cloths, herbs, a poultice. Alix never left Donstram's side.
When the wound was bound, Mara stepped back. "He will live. The bond helps. But he needs rest."
Alix nodded. "Thank you."
Mara studied them. "You could stay. We could use fighters like you."
Donstram shook his head. "We bring death wherever we go."
Mara smiled sadly. "Death comes regardless. The question is who stands against it."
She left them.
Alix sat on the edge of the bed. Donstram reached for her hand.
"Come here," he murmured.
She lay beside him carefully, head on his good shoulder. The fire crackled. His heartbeat was strong against her ear.
"Thank you," he whispered. "For stepping in."
She kissed his jaw. "Always."
The bond wrapped around them like a blanket.
Outside, the village settled. Lanterns dimmed.
Unique insight settled over Alix as sleep crept close: Allies are rare; trust is rarer still. But when you find a place that remembers your blood and still opens its doors, you protect it with everything you have.
Because some homes are worth bleeding for.