Chapter 2: A Veil of Thorns

Thalion remained in the barn for three more days, though Seren had the sense he could’ve left much sooner. His wounds had closed faster than seemed natural, and though he claimed to be “recuperating,” his silver eyes watched everything. Every corner of her barn, every step she took. He was always aware, always calculating. Like a fox trapped in a human pen—watching for the moment to strike or flee.

On the fifth day, he began to ask questions.

“Why do you live alone?”

Seren was spreading feed for the goats when he asked it. The wind bit at her cheeks and her gloves were worn, but she liked the quiet of the morning.

“I don’t,” she replied. “I live with the healer. But I come out here when I need silence.”

“You don’t trust her.”

She shot him a look. “I trust her more than most.”

“But not entirely.”

“Should I trust anyone entirely?” she countered.

Thalion gave a faint nod, like that was the answer he’d expected.

“And your parents?” he asked.

Seren stiffened. “Dead. Like most people’s.”

That wasn’t the full truth, and he seemed to sense it. But he didn’t press. Instead, he shifted to the next question.

“Do you know what you are?”

The pitch of his voice changed. Softer. Sharper.

“I’m human,” she replied. “Just a stubborn one.”

“You saw what I saw,” he said, stepping closer. “You felt the vision. That isn’t human.”

“I don’t know what that was.”

“But it’s not the first time, is it?” he pressed.

Seren dropped the feed pail.

The chickens scattered.

“No,” she whispered.

She had always known something was wrong with her.

Or right. Depending on the day.

The first time it happened, she was eleven. Her younger brother had been drowning in the river, caught beneath a current too strong for his legs. She hadn’t thought. Just ran. Jumped. And when she touched the water, the world had... slowed.

Everything had frozen—time, sound, even the current itself. She swam to him as if walking through honey. Pulled him out. Then watched as the water crashed forward again, as though it had simply paused for her.

She never told anyone. Not even her brother, who only remembered waking on the shore.

After that, strange things began to happen. Lights flickering when she cried. Animals moving toward her without fear. Dreams that felt more like memories.

She kept it hidden.

And now this fae—this stranger with silver eyes and bloodstained magic—was looking at her like he already knew all her secrets.

“I don’t want this,” she said. “Whatever it is.”

“That’s rarely our choice.”

“What am I?” she asked.

Thalion looked away. “That answer isn’t mine to give. Not entirely.”

“But you know.”

“I know enough to say you’re not just human, Seren Vale. You’re something long forgotten.”

The next night, he told her a story.

It was cold, and the fire in the barn crackled softly. The goats snored on the other side of the stable wall. Seren sat cross-legged near the embers, and Thalion sat across from her, sharpening a dagger she hadn’t realized he still had.

“Once, long before the Veil was raised, the world was whole,” he began. “Fae and humans lived together—not always in peace, but in balance. Some humans were born touched by the old magic. The Sighted. They were seers, dreamers, sometimes warriors.”

Seren listened, silent.

“One bloodline was sacred,” he continued. “Daughters of the Thorn Queen.”

She blinked. “I’ve never heard of her.”

“You wouldn’t have,” he said. “The Thorn Queen was erased—by both human kings and fae lords. She threatened them all. Her power wasn’t just magic. It was truth.”

“What happened to her?”

Thalion hesitated. “She fell. Betrayed by her lover. Her court was scattered. Her daughters vanished.”

“And you think I’m one of them?” Seren scoffed. “A descendant of a myth?”

“Not a myth,” Thalion said quietly. “A prophecy.”

“Oh, of course there’s a prophecy.”

He smirked.

She stared at the fire. “I’m a healer. I dig in the snow for bloodroot. That’s all.”

He reached into his cloak and pulled out something wrapped in silk.

A pendant.

Delicate silver vines wrapped around a dark stone—violet-black, almost pulsing.

Seren’s breath caught.

She’d seen it before. In a dream.

“Where did you get that?”

“From the last Thorn Priestess,” he said. “She died protecting it. She told me to bring it to the one who would dream of it.”

Seren swallowed.

She didn’t take it.

By the sixth day, the villagers were stirring with rumors.

Brynn whispered about strange tracks found near the glade. The wardens patrolled more heavily, their iron-tipped arrows gleaming in the sun. Someone claimed to have seen shadows moving through the trees at night.

Seren knew it was only a matter of time before someone came too close.

“You have to leave,” she told Thalion.

“I know.”

“Tonight.”

He looked at her. “I’ll draw them away from the village.”

“Where will you go?”

“Back to the Night Court. If I can.”

She handed him a satchel she’d prepared—dried meats, a flask of water, healing powder.

He nodded his thanks.

Then, to her surprise, he stepped closer.

“If you ever cross the Veil,” he said, “head for the broken tower by the Moonfang cliffs. Ask for the Court of Thorns.”

“You’re joking.”

“I never joke,” he said with a smile that looked suspiciously like a joke.

Seren found herself smiling back.

He touched her cheek, just once, fingertips warm.

“Be safe, Thornborn.”

He left just before dawn.

No sound. No sign.

Just an empty patch of hay.

And the pendant, left on the edge of her pillow.

Seren tried to return to normal.

She worked with Brynn, helping the sick. She hunted for herbs. She tried to forget the strange pull in her blood, the vision in the stone circle, the warmth of silver eyes.

But the world had changed.

And it was changing faster still.

The wardens found two more bodies near the glade. Both soldiers. Throats slit with a blade that didn’t match any known metal. Villagers began to whisper of war.

One morning, Seren woke with her hands glowing faintly violet.

She scrubbed the light away. Buried the pendant beneath her mattress.

But the dreams returned.

A throne of vines.

A storm of fire.

A voice—familiar and terrible—calling her name.

One week later, they came for her.

Not fae.

Humans.

A group of riders in crimson cloaks. Royal scouts. They arrived at Brynn’s doorstep with cold eyes and clipped orders.

“You are Seren Vale?” the leader asked.

She nodded.

“You’re coming with us.”

“Why?”

The man held up a sealed scroll.

“By order of the Crown. You’re wanted for questioning regarding treason, contact with fae, and possession of forbidden relics.”

Seren’s heart slammed against her ribs.

Brynn stepped in front of her. “She’s done nothing—”

The scout backhanded her.

Seren screamed, rushing forward, but the other soldiers seized her arms.

She struggled. Bit one of them. Kicked another.

One raised a sword.

Then—

Everything stopped.

Time slowed.

Just like the river.

The sword froze mid-air. The soldiers blinked slowly. Their movements lagged.

Seren could feel her blood thrumming. The pendant under her shirt pulsed with light.

Her voice echoed in her mind:

Stop.

And they did.

When the world snapped back, the soldiers dropped to their knees, gasping as if their lungs had been squeezed.

Seren ran.

She didn’t know where she was going.

The forest swallowed her.

She ran past the glade, past the stone circle, deeper into the woods than she had ever dared. Branches clawed at her skin. Snow soaked her boots. But she didn’t stop.

She ran until her legs gave out.

Collapsed near the frozen river.

The pendant glowed brightly now, as if guiding her.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

The river didn’t answer.

But the wind did.

It shifted.

Then, slowly, the Veil appeared.

Not as a wall. Not as a shimmer.

As a doorway.

Carved from moonlight and thorn.

And beyond it, a world of magic and danger.