Seraphina's POV
The bandage slipped through my shaking fingers for the third time.
"Let me do it," Cassian said, reaching for my wounded arm.
I pulled back instinctively, pain shooting through the slash the shadow wolf had left.
I can manage, I thought.
"You're bleeding everywhere and your hands won't stop shaking. Just let me help."
I hesitated, then extended my arm. His fingers found the wound with surprising gentleness, cleaning it with water from his canteen before wrapping clean cloth around it.
His touch was warm. Steady. Nothing like Helena's cold hands that only touched me to hurt.
Thank you, I thought quietly.
"Don't mention it."
We'd built a small fire in a clearing, our backs against a fallen tree. The Whisperwood pressed in around us, full of sounds that made my skin crawl. We had until dawn to survive, according to the Guardian. Just a few more hours.
Cassian tied off my bandage, then started working on his own leg wound. I watched him struggle with the cloth, unable to see what he was doing.
Let me, I offered.
"I said I'm fine."
And I said let me help.
He sighed but extended his leg. I cleaned the deep bite carefully, feeling him wince through the bond even though he didn't make a sound.
The wound was bad. Worse than mine. The wolf's teeth had torn through muscle.
This needs proper healing, I thought. A real healer, not just bandages.
"We don't have a healer. We have bandages and hope."
That's not enough.
"It'll have to be."
I wrapped the wound as tightly as I could, trying to ignore the blood seeping through. When I finished, we sat in exhausted silence, both wounded, both trying to stay alert.
That's when I felt it—my mental walls crumbling.
I was too tired to hold them up anymore. Too hurt. Too scared.
And Cassian was in the same state. I felt his exhaustion matching mine through the bond, felt his own walls weakening.
No, I thought desperately. Not now. Please not now.
But the memories were already surfacing, drawn up by our weakened defenses like water through cracks.
The first one hit me without warning.
Suddenly, I wasn't in the Whisperwood anymore. I was seeing through Cassian's eyes—except he could still see then. A battlefield. Soldiers fighting all around. Then a woman's scream.
"Cassian, look out!"
He turned. A mage in Council robes stood thirty feet away, hands crackling with dark magic.
"This is for what you've done," the mage snarled.
The spell launched—a bolt of pure shadow aimed at Cassian's face.
He tried to dodge. Not fast enough.
The magic hit his eyes, and pain exploded through his skull. White-hot, burning, destroying. He screamed, clawing at his face as the world went dark.
Forever dark.
I felt his terror as he realized what had happened. Felt him reaching out, searching for light that would never come again. Felt the moment hope died and rage took its place.
I jerked back to the present, gasping.
The memory released me, but I could still feel the echo of his pain, his loss, the crushing weight of knowing he'd never see again.
I said stay out! Cassian's mental shout was desperate, furious.
I didn't mean to! I couldn't stop it!
But now the bond was dragging him into my memories, pulled through the same exhaustion that had broken my walls.
I felt him experience it—the night of the massacre.
Younger me, eighteen years old, hiding in a closet in the throne room. Watching through the crack as men in black masks surrounded my family.
My father, the king, standing proud even as they raised their weapons. "You'll never hold this kingdom. The people will rise against you."
"The people will forget you ever existed," one of the masked men said.
Then the killing started.
I watched my father fall. Heard my mother's screams as they murdered her. Saw my brothers—strong, brave, foolish boys—try to fight and fail.
Blood everywhere. So much blood.
Then Helena Frost appeared, younger but unmistakable. She walked through the carnage like she was strolling through a garden, her eyes scanning the room.
Looking for me.
She found the closet. Dragged me out by my hair. I tried to scream for help, but her hand clamped over my mouth.
"No one's coming to save you, little princess," she whispered.
Then her hands moved to my throat, and dark magic burned into my flesh. I felt my vocal cords seizing, felt something fundamental being ripped away.
I tried to scream. No sound came out.
Just pain. Endless, silent pain as the curse took hold.
"You'll never speak again," Helena said, smiling. "You'll never tell anyone what happened here. You're mine now."
The memory ended.
Cassian pulled away so violently he hit the tree behind him. His face was deathly pale, his blind eyes wide with horror.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. Neither of us thought. We just sat there, breathing hard, trying to recover from what we'd just experienced.
Finally, Cassian spoke, his voice rough. "Stay out of my past."
The words came out like a growl—angry, defensive, hurt.
I grabbed my stick and wrote in the dirt with shaking hands: YOU STAY OUT OF MINE.
"You think I wanted to see that?" He stood abruptly, pacing. "You think I wanted to watch your family get slaughtered? Watch Helena curse you?"
I wrote again, pressing so hard the stick nearly broke: I DIDN'T WANT TO SEE YOU LOSE YOUR SIGHT.
"Then stop it! Block me out!"
I TRIED. I wrote furiously. IT DOESN'T WORK.
"Try harder!"
I threw the stick at him. It hit his chest—a pathetic gesture, but it made me feel slightly better.
Cassian caught the stick before it fell, his enhanced senses tracking it perfectly. He held it for a moment, then sank back down against the tree.
"This is exactly what I was afraid of," he said quietly. "We can't hide anything. Not our thoughts, not our memories, not our pain."
I picked up the stick and wrote: WE'RE TOO TIRED. WALLS DON'T WORK WHEN WE'RE WEAK.
"So every time we're hurt or exhausted or scared, we'll see each other's worst moments?"
I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see and tapped the ground twice—yes.
Cassian was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. "I'm sorry you went through that. No one should watch their family die."
Tears burned my eyes. I blinked them away and wrote: I'M SORRY YOU LOST YOUR SIGHT. AND THE WOMAN YOU LOVED.
"Isabel." He said her name like it hurt. "She died because of me. Because I loved her and someone wanted to punish me for it."
I wrote: NOT YOUR FAULT.
"Feels like it is."
NOT YOUR FAULT, I wrote again, underlining it.
We sat in silence, the bond humming between us. The anger was fading, replaced by something else. Understanding, maybe. Or just exhaustion.
"We're a mess," Cassian said finally.
I almost smiled. I wrote: YES.
"Two broken people stuck together."
YES.
"You know what the worst part is?" He turned his face toward me. "I can feel that you blame yourself too. For surviving when your family didn't."
The words hit like a physical blow. I did blame myself. Every single day for ten years.
How did you know? I thought.
"Because I feel the same way. I survived when Isabel didn't. When my fellow soldiers didn't. Survivor's guilt is loud in your head."
Yours too.
We were quiet again, but it was different now. Less hostile. More... shared.
"I saw something else in your memory," Cassian said carefully. "Helena. She was younger then, but it was definitely her."
I wrote: SHE PLACED THE CURSE ON ME.
"And she was there when I was blinded. I heard her voice in the memory—just a whisper, but it was her. She told the mage where to aim."
My blood went cold. I wrote: SHE DESTROYED BOTH OF US.
"Yes."
WHY?
"I don't know. But she's the connection between us. Between what happened to you and what happened to me."
I thought about that. Ten years ago, Helena helped massacre my family and curse me. Five years ago, she helped blind Cassian and kill the woman he loved.
Two separate tragedies. Same person behind them.
It can't be coincidence, I thought.
"No. It's a pattern. She's been destroying people for years."
And now she's sent us on this mission together.
"A mission that will probably kill us both."
We looked at each other across the fire—well, he turned toward me.
"We're pawns in someone's game," Cassian said. "Helena's game. Maybe Thaddeus Vane's too."
I wrote: WHAT DO WE DO?
"I don't know. But I know one thing—I'm not dying for their entertainment."
NEITHER AM I.
"Then we survive. We reach the temple, get the relic, and figure out how to turn this around on them."
I nodded, then tapped twice.
The fire crackled between us. Somewhere in the forest, something howled. We both tensed, but nothing emerged from the darkness.
After a while, Cassian spoke again. "I need to ask you something."
What?
"In your memory... you were royalty, weren't you? That was a throne room. Your father was a king."
I froze. This was the secret I'd kept for ten years. The truth Helena had stolen along with my voice.
Please don't ask, I thought desperately.
"I'm not asking for details. I just... I need to know if I'm right."
I could lie. Write something false in the dirt.
But what was the point? He'd seen the memory. He'd seen the crowns, the throne, the way people had addressed my father.
Slowly, I picked up the stick and wrote: YES.
Cassian let out a long breath. "That's why Helena wanted you alive. Why she cursed you instead of killing you."
WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
"Because dead royalty become martyrs. Living ones can be controlled, used, erased." His jaw tightened. "She didn't just want to kill your family. She wanted to make sure no one could ever restore your line."
The truth of that settled over me like a weight. Helena had been thorough. Kill the king, the queen, the princes. Curse the princess so she could never speak the truth, never reclaim her throne.
She won, I thought bitterly.
"She won the battle. Not the war." Cassian's voice was firm. "You're still alive. That means you can still fight back."
HOW? I wrote. I'M A SLAVE WITH NO VOICE.
"You're more than that. I've seen you fight. I've felt your power through the bond. You're not helpless."
I wanted to believe him. But ten years of Helena's control had taught me otherwise.
We should sleep, I thought, changing the subject. Dawn is still hours away.
Cassian started to argue, then stopped. Through the bond, he felt my need to end this conversation.
"Alright. But we take turns keeping watch. I'll go first."
I was too exhausted to argue. I lay down on my bedroll, my wounded arm and side throbbing.
Cassian?
"Yeah?"
Thank you. For not asking more questions.
"You're welcome. And Seraphina?"
Yes?
"Thank you for not asking about Isabel."
You're welcome.
I closed my eyes, but sleep didn't come easily. My mind kept replaying the memories—his and mine, tangled together.
Through the bond, I felt Cassian's thoughts too. He was thinking about Helena, about the pattern of destruction, about what it all meant.
And underneath all that, a quieter thought: She's stronger than she knows. If she ever realizes her full power, Helena won't stand a chance.
I pretended I hadn't heard it.
But warmth spread through my chest anyway.
As I finally drifted toward sleep, one last thought crossed the bond—I couldn't tell whose it was.
We're not just bound by magic anymore. We're bound by truth. And that's more dangerous than any spell.