Chapter 19
Ryoden
By the time I make it back to my office in the administrative wing—a small rectangle of a room wedged between a storage closet and a records room—the missive is already there, curled up and tied together with twine, awaiting my wax seal of approval.
The lieutenant is eager and apparently faster with ink than I am with my thoughts.
I approach my desk and sit in the chair, eyeing the parchment and everything it symbolizes.
It looks harmless, but most dangerous things do.
I pick it up and unwind the twine, letting the parchment unfurl over my desk to ensure everything is outlined as I requested.
The lamplight catches on the ink and it doesn’t take long to see he followed my instructions precisely.
While there is nothing here that is technically untrue, the space between the truth and what is said in these lines feels immense.
Yet the bigger issue settling into my mind is: what are we going to do when the month is up?
We as a people have to be prepared for the war to resume on all fronts, not just mine.
Am I really going to allow my people to give up this month-long opportunity to prime ourselves for a surprise attack?
It could be the only chance we ever get to coordinate a full-scale surprise attack.
The small ones that have been launched have been, as a whole, relatively unsuccessful.
The raid on vampire nests was the best outcome we’ve managed, but even that is a small dent.
I owe my superior officers the truth. I swore to protect our forces and the innocent citizens we defend and fight for. Yet every time I think of the repercussions, Wren’s big hazel eyes come to the front of my mind.
If I let this missive go to HQ, not only are the full details redacted, but a target will be on her back from headquarters with what is in here.
They will want to know every single thing about the prisoner who was brought to the wall at the same time that a dragon was sighted.
I may have left details out, but the general will read between the lines that there’s a direct connection there.
And then he will tear every line apart before I’m dragged before him to provide all the information I purposefully left out, before being stripped of everything I’ve worked for and jailed as a traitor.
A heavy sigh falls from parted lips as I toss the parchment back onto the desk and lean back in my chair.
I can’t keep such vital information from my people and if I allow this missive to be my only form of communication, it could take far too long to reach the top.
Even though headquarters is only about ten hours drive time from us, once the lieutenant drops it off, it’ll go into a pile of missives to be picked through as the general can.
Normally, that would be fine. Normally, the machine of command would churn, and I would wait, and orders would come back down the line in due time. But we don’t have due time, we have a month.
My gaze slides from the missive to the far wall, to the object I’ve avoided touching during my four years as Colonel of Charlotte.
The landline phone. It’s bolted to the wall, the red plastic dulled with age, cord coiled and hanging.
A direct line to the one man whose command can put all of our forces on alert and at arms at once.
It was drilled into my head from the previous colonel that you don’t pick up that receiver lightly.
You only call when something is so far outside protocol you can’t afford the drag of the usual channels.
A week ago, I would have said nothing qualifies.
Now…we’ve had a dragon land on our walls because it was looking for the woman sleeping in my spare room.
If I call, I can control the situation and line of information directly. I can provide more information to protect my people, while leaving Wren out entirely. It’s a dangerous dance around the truth with so much on the line.
Can I pull this off?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I push to my feet and cross the room. The floorboards creak faintly under my boots. My hand hovers over the receiver for a breath, the cool plastic reflecting the lamplight, then I wrap my fingers around it and lift.
I expect a long series of rings, but it connects almost immediately.
“Colonel Kane,” a deep voice greets. “I assume you didn’t call this line by mistake.”
The sound of the General’s voice is heavier than I remember from broadcasts and recorded briefings.
“Sir,” I answer, my spine snapping straight on instinct. “No, sir. This is deliberate.”
“What’s your situation?” he asks, straight to the point
“I was going to send a missive, Sir, but I don’t think we have the time for that,” I say carefully. “I’d like to request an in-person audience at headquarters as soon as possible. I believe this…development is better addressed face-to-face than on parchment.”
A long pause comes. There’s no muffled voices or shuffling papers like I’d expect from HQ, just a deafening silence that makes my palms sweaty.
“No one has requested this in my time as General,” he mutters at last. “Should we be alarmed?”
Probably.
“Not immediately, sir,” I reply, sampling every word in my mind before uttering it. “But I believe what’s happening here may require all colonels and HQ officers to gather to determine next steps without the delay of back-and-forth paper correspondence.”
Another stretch of silence and a trickle of sweat beads against my brow.
“Very well,” he says finally. “I’ll call for all high-ranking officers to assemble here within three days, but as not to alert any spies to this, we will do so under the disguise of a formal ball event. Bring whatever woman you have in your bed to keep up with appearances, if you aren’t married.”
Relief slides through me, knowing I’ll stay in control of the situation this way. “Understood, sir. I—”
“But this had better justify the disruption, Colonel,” he cuts in smoothly, no rise in volume, just an edge of warning. “We do not tolerate our time being squandered in the middle of a war.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply instantly.
The line goes dead with a soft click and I lower the receiver back into its cradle. My attention drags back to the missive sprawled on my desk, and nerves swirl in my stomach.
If I send it as is, it will arrive after I’ve already stuck my neck into the lion’s mouth, carefully leaving out Wren. It will be copied, logged, passed across too many hands. Every cautious omission, every carefully neutral phrase will be examined, and this will all be for nothing.
My thumb skims the edge of the parchment.
I didn’t tell the General that I would send one, so he won’t be suspicious if none arrives.
The only ones who know of its existence are those from within that room, and I can avoid their suspicion with ease by heading to HQ directly.
No one would think I’d drag myself to be examined by the leader of our army if I was going to lie or omit details.
Because who would be dumb enough to do that?
Chain of command has always ruled with an iron fist, and I’ve always accepted that as necessary. There’s always been a certain comfort in knowing that all I had to do was follow orders, that if I bled for the cause, at least the cause was clear: win the war for mankind.
Tonight, it isn’t clear.
Tonight the cause is muddled by haunting strength in a pair of beautiful eyes that looked at me with more hope and trust than anyone ever has.
My fingers tighten around the parchment until it crinkles into a ball in my fist. The decision happens in my body before my mind fully catches up.
I move to the metal trash can beside the desk and set the crunched missive inside and reach for the box of matches in the top drawer.
They rattle softly when I shake one free and strike it against the side of the box.
The flame is tiny, almost laughable compared to the kind of fire I saw caged in a dragon’s throat earlier, but the heat against my skin is real enough. I hold it for a heartbeat, the last moment to choose not to do this.
To not willingly collude with the enemy in protecting a certain dark-haired woman waiting at my home for me to finally have a long-anticipated conversation.
I drop the match onto the parchment.
The fire takes with greedy speed, orange flames licking along the edge of the paper and then rushing inward.
Ink blackens, curls, and vanishes; sentences I chose with such care only minutes ago crumple into themselves.
Smoke snakes upward in a thin line and the office fills with the dry, bitter scent of burning paper.
I watch until the last scrap collapses into ash and the flame sputters out.
No report. No written confession. No one else’s interpretation of what happened on my wall but my own, delivered in person.
“What the hell are you doing, Ryoden?” I murmur to myself as I blink hard, realizing just how far in the hole I am now.
It isn’t madness. I’ve seen madness in the eyes of men who’ve lost entire units in a single afternoon, who wake screaming and never quite return. This is a pure emotional reaction driven without a clear reason other than a gut feeling and need to protect her.
I’ll tell them that I have the missive and that I’m bringing it with me to HQ in the morning. No one will ever know.
I shove the drawer closed and head for the door, scared of what else I’ll do if I stay here a moment longer. I need to get home and finally speak with Wren, to know exactly who and what I’m risking so much for. I also need to discuss Derrick stepping in to command the city in my absence.
My feet come to an abrupt stop as it suddenly hits me that this plan also means leaving her here. Alone in that house, with only Derrick and Eli and the kings’ ultimatums hanging over all of our heads.
I hear my own voice agreeing to keep her safe, the way her gaze found mine when I said it.
Leaving her behind is a logistical nightmare with Derrick needing to be in charge and not trusting Eli alone in keeping her safe from her own curiosity and desire to leave the house, but also from those that will surely view her as a threat after what they saw today.
More than that, it starts feeling like a betrayal to Wren if I leave her behind.
Bring whatever woman you have in your bed to keep up with appearances, if you aren’t married.
The general’s instructions replay in my head and I realize I don’t have anyone to bring. The only person in one of my beds is Wren and I can’t bring…My brow pinches together as an insane thought comes over me.
Being next to me is the safest spot for her and it guarantees I keep her under my protection as I swore to the kings and her. But it also ensures she’s directly in the line of fire, playing this careful game of chess with me.
Who would suspect her as anyone but the lady on my arm? Could keeping her in plain sight truly be the best move here?
She can’t just be a random woman on my arm, though, if I want to truly ensure her safety.
Being married to a high-ranking officer affords a life of luxury and utmost respect to the woman.
It would guarantee she’s treated well and protected while at HQ if I’m not around.
She’d be amongst the other ladies and no one would ever blink twice at her.
I set my jaw and lock my office behind me before starting my walk home.
I need to finally ask Wren for the truth she promised me—everything I’ve been asking for and she’s been flinching away from—and I need to convince her to come with me to headquarters, as my fiancée.