The man tried to retreat, tried to weave another suggestion, but Roen was too close. His
sword caught the Weaver in the side, a deep gash that sent blood spraying. The man
screamed and fell.
Silence fell. Roen stood over his fallen opponent, breathing hard, blood dripping from his
blade. Around him, the others were finishing their own fights. Braken's opponents lay still.
Tor was bandaging his burns with strips of cloth. Only the woman Roen had first wounded
remained alive, crawling toward the trees.
"Wait." Braken crossed to the woman and planted his foot on her back. "Who sent you?"
She spat blood. "Go to hell."
"I've been. It's called the Severed Lands." He pressed down. "Who?"
"The Covenant." Her voice was ragged. "They said you were compromised. That the boy
was dangerous."
Braken's face went pale. "The Thread-Born Covenant sent you?"
"A faction within it. They don't trust you, Thorne. They don't trust what you're carrying." She
looked at Roen with hate-filled eyes. "They want him contained. Or dead."
"Who?" Braken's voice was hard as iron. "Who ordered this?"
"Councilor Varen. He leads the northern chapter." She laughed weakly, blood bubbling at her
lips. "You didn't think everyone agreed with your plan to help the boy, did you? Some of us
remember what happened the last time something like this surfaced."
The last time. Roen thought of the Thread-Wars, of the devastation that had created the
Severed Lands. Was the sphere connected to that? To whatever had nearly destroyed the
Weave itself?
"What did she mean?" Roen asked. "What surfaced before?"
"Later." Braken's voice was tight. "We need to move. Now."
"She said they want me contained or dead. They'll send more."
"Yes. They will." Braken looked at him, and for the first time, Roen saw genuine fear in the
older man's eyes. "The Covenant isn't unified. There are factions, agendas, disagreements
about how to handle threats. Councilor Varen is powerful, and he's decided you're a threat to
everything we've built."
"Why? I'm nobody."
"You're thread-bound with Gray affinity carrying an artifact that could reshape the world."
Braken turned away. "That's not nobody. That's exactly the kind of threat people like Varen
eliminate before it can grow."
Roen looked at the bodies scattered across the road. Six attackers—trained Weavers, sent
to kill or capture him. And this was just the beginning. The Empire, Dessa Ketch, and now a
faction within the Thread-Born Covenant. Everyone wanted a piece of him.
"What do we do?" Mirelle asked quietly.
"The same thing we were doing." Roen sheathed his sword. "We go to the Pale Mountains.
We deliver the sphere. We get answers."
"And everyone trying to stop us?"
He thought of the gray thread that had flickered to life inside him. Of the Silver Weaver's
surprise when his magic failed. Of the woman in his dreams, and the sphere that pulsed with
something alive.
"We go through them."
They buried the dead and moved on, leaving the ambush site behind. The forest gave way
to hills, and the hills gave way to mountains in the distance. The Pale Mountains grew larger
with each day, their white peaks cutting into the sky like teeth.
Roen walked in silence, his mind racing. He'd blocked a Silver Weaver's attack. Somehow,
without knowing how, his threads had responded to the threat. They'd analyzed the foreign
suggestions and neutralized them.
What else could they do?
"Your threads," Senna said, appearing beside him. "They reacted to the Silver magic."
"I know."
"It's not supposed to be possible. Gray threads deal with fate, probability, destiny. They
shouldn't be able to counter mind manipulation." She studied him with concern. "Whatever's
inside you is stronger than it should be. And it's waking up faster than I'd like."
"Is that bad?"
"I don't know. The Pale Order will have answers. They're the experts on Gray-thread magic."
She touched his arm. "Until then, be careful. Don't rely on abilities you don't understand."