Chapter 6: Tristan’s Return
“Who goes there?” Evelyn’s voice cut through the great hall’s shadows, sharp as the longsword she gripped. The air was heavy with the scent of polished oak and burning tallow, the hall’s towering columns looming like silent giants under the flickering torchlight. Her boots echoed on the marble floor, each step a drumbeat against the pounding of her heart. The vision of Tristan pursued by a shadowy figure still burned in her mind, and the rune on her palm throbbed, hot as a fresh brand.
A cloaked figure stepped from the darkness, his hood falling back to reveal a face scarred across the cheek, eyes haunted under a tangle of dark hair. Tristan Vale. His leather coat was mud-splattered, the stench of rain and horse sweat clinging to him. “It’s me, Evelyn,” he said, his voice low, roughened by years of exile. “You called. I came.”
Evelyn lowered her sword, but her grip tightened, the hilt biting into her palm. Warmth flooded her, memories of childhood laughter, his hand in hers by the rosewood tree, but anger surged hotter. “Five years, Tristan. You vanished without a word.” She stepped closer, her breath hitching, the rune pulsing in time with her pulse. “Why now?”
He flinched, his jaw tightening. “I had no choice. Your father caught me weaving time magic to save you from the fever. He banished me to the Twilight Citadel, said I’d taint Westfall’s honor.” His hand brushed a scar on his neck, fresh and red. “The magic’s cost me since.”
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed, but her voice softened. “You saved me then?” Her free hand hovered over the rune, its golden glow casting flickers across Tristan’s face. “And this… saved me from the cliff?”
He stepped closer, his boots scuffing the marble, and took her hand. His touch was warm, calloused, but his fingers trembled as he studied the rune. “Druidic,” he muttered, his breath warm against her skin. “A mark of protection, ancient as the cliffs. It’s why you’re alive, Evelyn, but it’s tied to the spirit’s curse. Azrael’s work.”
“Azrael,” she spat, pulling her hand back. The name tasted like ash, conjuring Rowan’s whispered betrayal, his push into the abyss. “Rowan was his pawn. He threw me off Bloodstone Cliff to break some seal.”
Tristan’s eyes darkened, his voice bitter. “I always knew Rowan was a snake. All that charm, those silken cloaks, hiding a hunger for your throne.” He paced, his cloak swirling, the air crackling with his anger. “I warned you, years ago, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“He was my betrothed!” Evelyn snapped, her sword clattering to the floor. The sound echoed, sharp as a whip. “I loved him, Tristan. He swore to unite our realms, and I believed him.” Her voice broke, and she turned away, the rune burning, her mother’s letter heavy in her bodice. Traitors in silken cloaks.
Tristan stopped, his hand hovering near her shoulder but not touching. “And now? After he betrayed you?”
She faced him, her eyes blazing, tears stinging. “I want him to pay. But I need you to stop this curse. The spectral attacks, villagers slaughtered, their eyes like fire. It’s Azrael’s doing, and it’s tied to me.” She held out her palm, the rune flaring gold. “Can you help me?”
He met her gaze, his eyes softening, but pain flickered across his face. “I can try. My magic’s unstable, every spell costs me.” He lifted his sleeve, revealing a fresh bruise, purple and spreading, pulsing faintly like her rune. “But I’ll fight for you, Evelyn. Always have.”
Her throat tightened, memories of their childhood vow, We’ll protect each other, stirring. But doubt lingered, sharp as the sword at her feet. “Why should I trust you? You left me once.”
Tristan’s face hardened, but his voice was steady. “Because you’re all I’ve got left. But I need your trust, fully, or we’re dead before we start.” He extended his hand, scarred and steady, waiting.
Evelyn hesitated, her heart warring with old wounds. The rune’s warmth urged her forward, the voice from her vision whispering, He rides, but death follows. She had no choice. She clasped his hand, her grip firm, the rune sparking at their touch. “I trust you,” she said, the words heavy, final.
A distant howl split the night, low and guttural, echoing from the forest beyond Rosehaven’s walls. Evelyn froze, her hand still in Tristan’s, the rune glowing brighter, casting golden light across the hall’s tapestries. The howl came again, closer, joined by others, a chorus of snarls that sent a shiver down her spine. The air grew colder, the torches flickering as if snuffed by an unseen wind.
“Azrael’s hounds,” Tristan whispered, his grip tightening. He pulled her toward the hall’s side door, his boots scraping the marble. “They’ve tracked me. We need to move.”
Evelyn snatched her sword, her pulse racing. “To where? The guards can’t fight specters!” The howls grew louder, claws scratching against the outer gates, the wood groaning under their weight.
Tristan’s eyes darted to the rune, then to her. “Somewhere safe. I have something to show you, a way to fight back.” He tugged her toward a spiral staircase, the air thick with the stench of wet fur and decay drifting from the forest.
As they ran, the rune burned, and a vision flashed: spectral hounds, their eyes blazing like the raven’s, tearing through the trees, led by a figure cloaked in shadow. Evelyn stumbled, gasping, but Tristan caught her, his voice urgent. “Stay with me, Evelyn. We’re not done yet.”