Chapter 41 – Dain #3
She turned toward the slumped figure by the tree, exhaling. Her face shuttered, composed again, cold. But her eyes were clearer now.
“He’s not dead,” she said flatly.
“Pity.”
Her mouth twitched. “He spat on me,” she said, brushing blood off her leathers. “Then he tried to shatter my knee with a hammer.”
I made a low sound. “So you shattered his instead?”
“Seemed fair.”
Another groan, louder. The man twitched and coughed.
“We should get him back before he bleeds on your boots,” she said.
I glanced down. Crimson smears already edging close to the toe. “Not my favorite pair. But still.”
I looked at her then. Really looked. “Az. Next time? Don’t do this alone. Not like this.”
She nodded once, slow. “I know.”
I untied the man and hauled him upright, dead weight groaning against me. “You’re paying me back for the shirt, though.”
Her mouth twitched into the smallest snort. “Deal.”
It was past bedtime—if such a thing even existed for us—by the time we stepped back into the palace. The place was silent, stripped down to shadows and stone, only the faint flicker of mage lamps casting pale light across the high corridors.
We hauled the bounty in first, dumped him on the sentries with orders to patch him up just enough to face judgement.
After that, the evidence. Papers, crystals, coded slips—everything Azaria had pulled from the ones she and Darann had ended.
Because they hadn’t killed for nothing. Every target had left threads behind.
Threads that led straight to Dravareth’s rot, or Torven Kaelor’s name.
Azaria hadn’t been chasing blood. She’d been hunting connections, unraveling the web Torven had spun beneath all our feet.
Darann had helped her piece it together. I hadn’t gone inside the safe house for that conversation. Some things weren’t mine to hear. I waited outside while she faced him. Her eyes were flat when she returned.
And now, here we were. Standing outside Tywin’s chamber doors, the weight of what she carried pressed into the satchel at her hip.
“I’m going with you, Az,” I said.
She looked at me—tired, still damp around the eyes—and for once she didn’t argue. She just nodded, turned back to the door, and pushed it open.
Tywin was at his desk when we entered, quill in hand, papers stacked in neat rows. He looked up as the door shut behind us, his brow creasing slightly. His gaze swept over us—Azaria covered in dirt and blood, me not looking much better. He set the pen down and leaned back in his chair.
“I assume the Ghost has been laid to rest,” he said.
Of course, he knew. When he told me to deal with the murders, he already knew who was responsible.
“Yes,” I said.
His eyes slid to Azaria. “And the Reaper?”
“Gone.” That was all she gave him. Protecting Darann, as always.
Tywin took a long breath through his nose, but didn’t press. Azaria stepped forward, pulled the satchel from her shoulder, and set it on his desk.
“Evidence. Paperwork. Memory crystals. Everything that ties these people to Dravareth and Torven Kaelor is in that bag.” She stepped back, shoulders squared, chin high. “I will accept your punishment, my lord.”
“Punishment…” Tywin repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. He rose from behind his desk and came around until he stood directly before her. She met his gaze without flinching.
“Seventeen corpses. And now half the council shitting themselves, wondering if they’re next on the list.”
He didn’t sound pleased. His voice cut sharp and clipped.
“You bring me evidence against the people you killed. And yes—“ he flicked the bag with two fingers “—the names on your list were proven to have allied with foreign forces. But murder is murder, Captain Sylvenhart, no matter how noble the cause.”
Azaria held his stare. Silent. Unyielding.
“I will not have one of my captains running through Kareth like a vengeful assassin,” he said, and though his anger showed, it didn’t sound like he was reprimanding a subordinate. It sounded like a man chastising someone he didn’t want to lose.
“You’re lucky there are people in this palace who care about you, Azaria,” he added, voice softening.
My fists clenched behind my back.
“As for your punishment…” Tywin let the words hang. “You will report to the palace administrative offices every morning at sixth bell. For one month. You will assist the scribes and officers with their work until midday. Every document they hand you, every task they assign—you will complete them.”
His tone was final. He let the weight of it settle.
“After lunch, you will report to the academy grounds. You will spar with recruits until the seventh evening bell. Again, for one month. They will gain experience. You will endure their clumsy swings and their overeager blows. You will hold back, again and again, until they learn what it means to face a captain.”
Azaria’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t speak.
Tywin’s eyes narrowed. “You are not to leave either post until dismissed. Not for missions. Not for council work. Not for anything outside of what I have ordered.”
He let that hang, then lowered his voice—softer now. “You will serve. You will be seen. You will be reminded that you are part of this palace, not above it. And the council will see that I have reined you in.”
Azaria inclined her head once. “Understood, my lord.”