Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kallias
We rode into Helmsgate well after the sun had set.
We had reined our reckless charge down to a walk as the moon climbed high and pale, taking the sun’s place as our guide while we slipped into the hushed town.
Our army camped in the fields beyond the walls, canvas snapping in the wind, leaving only a thin line of us in the street to rouse whoever still slept.
There weren’t many.
The stench of death clung to the air, fouling the back of my throat until bile rose.
Smoke, rot, old blood baked into cobbles.
Fifty-three. That was the last count of those slain by Egath and Tallon.
The number beat against my skull with each step.
Rumors laid the blame at Egath’s feet, which puzzled me.
As if Tallon had managed to bury his heritage beneath charm and silken words.
The only reason he would do that was if he still intended to take Radaan.
I expected Tallon to struggle with his urges. He had always burned hot, reckless. Egath, however, wore restraint like a tailored cloak. He handled his desire for blood well enough to pass as an ambassador. I needed more details, and tonight would be my only chance before I returned to Reem.
The tavern had been cleared, and my men flanked the entrance when we approached, boots planted wide, hands resting near sword hilts.
A wooden sign creaked overhead in the wind, its chain whining as it swung.
The paint had chipped, but the words still read, The Iron Cask.
I pulled my horse to a halt. The weary beast dropped his head at once, flanks heaving, steam curling from his nostrils into the cold night.
We had miles yet to cross. By the time we caught Tallon, the horses would be little more than bone and stubbornness.
I dismounted, biting back a groan as agony tore up my spine.
My boots struck dirt hard, and I braced against the saddle, leather slick beneath my palm, and forced my legs to move.
Blood prickled into numb flesh. My tailbone felt like a blacksmith’s anvil wedged into my frame, every breath sending a dull throb through my hips.
Once sensation returned enough to trust my footing, I rounded to Nienna’s steed. She looked down at me, her toes tracing slow circles in the stirrups.
I waited while she gathered herself. She swung her leg over and dropped. My hands closed around her waist to steady her when her knees threatened to fold.
Her knuckles blanched as she clutched the saddle, breath slipping between her teeth. “A moment,” she whispered.
“Take all you need,” I murmured. “Every man who rode with us knows that ache. There’s no shame in it.”
Pride stirred in my chest despite the circumstances. I could not name a noblewoman who would endure an entire day on horseback, much less at the punishing pace I had set. She kept her seat. She never asked for rest. My men had seen it. And they would remember her silent strength.
Her lips formed a thin line, brows drawing tight.
After a steady breath, she pushed away from the horse and met my gaze before scanning the empty road.
Silence hung thick as wool. Despair pressed down, heavy enough to bow shoulders.
A door creaked somewhere in the distance.
Murmured voices slipped through cracks in shutters, hushed as if the dead might stir at the wrong sound.
She attempted a smile, but it wobbled and fell. Her throat worked with a swallow before her fingers found my arm and held fast.
“What did Tallon do to them?” she asked.
I rolled my shoulders and let the weight settle into place, the mantle of king fitting like cold iron. “We’re going to find out.”
We passed the guards and stepped inside.
Light struck first. The room blazed bright as midday. Lanterns hung from every beam, wicks turned high, flames licking glass. Candles crowded the tables. Brass and copper mirrors gleamed along the walls, polished until they caught and multiplied each flicker.
A chill moved through me. The sign of a Velli attack had etched itself into my bones long ago. Nienna paused at my side. Her grip tightened in a silent question as she took in the glare.
Vellos preferred shadow. They hunted in darkness. As if daylight did not grant them enough advantage.
A man with a thick gray beard bowed low behind the bar. Beside him, a girl no more than fifteen, dipped into a curtsy so deep her hem brushed the floorboards. Bandages wrapped her hands, white linen stark against her skin, trailing up beneath her sleeves.
“Your Majesties, welcome,” the older man said.
My gaze dropped to the girl’s boots. Veridis, spare her. I wouldn’t press her for information, but Fallione would. How far did those bandages climb? Just how monstrous was Tallon? If he preyed on young girls, perhaps that weakness could be turned against him when it came to Fyrn.
“Thank you for giving us a room.”
“It isn’t much, I’m afraid,” the man replied. “Not worthy of a king. But it is yours, as is all of Radaan.” He straightened to meet my eyes. Conviction hardened his expression. Not hateful, but determined. He had suffered—and was hopeful it would be made right.
“It’s a place to lay our heads. That’s enough. We shall depart before first light and be gone before your people wake.” I guided my wife toward the stairs.
“What will you do when you catch him?” The girl’s question came soft, unsure and hesitant.
Nienna stilled, then turned her way. Brown hair fell loose over her shoulders, dragged forward to shield her neck. Her dress laced high, concealing skin inch by inch. Hazel eyes lifted to mine. Terror lingered there, banked but alive. Her body coiled tight, as if ready to flee.
“Lanie, that’s not our concern,” the old man muttered, gentle but firm. He glanced at me, his expression conflicted. He craved the answer as much as she did.
“Elohios will see justice done,” I said. “You have nothing more to fear from the Velli.”
“I pray to Nyryn.” Her eyes flashed bright, fierce and hot, as she stepped away from the man’s reach. She didn’t want mercy—she wanted vengeance.
“Radaan is yoked in servitude to Elohios.” The words fell flat. I had no desire to hurt her further, but I couldn’t rule from spite. I had to remain cool, levelheaded. The burden of the kingdom bore down on my shoulders. “Justice will be served.”
“Lanie, fetch something hot for our guests.” The old man guided her toward the back, his grip careful around her arms.
She managed a quick curve of her mouth before it fell away and she disappeared into the kitchen.
His throat moved with a swallow. “She means no harm, my king. She is young.”
“And wounded,” Nienna said, gaze fixed on the doorway. “More than just her body.”
“She suffered more than most.” His hands twisted together, and he cast a wary glance at Greaves. “But she lives. That is more than many can claim.”
“The traitor will be dealt with. And we will ensure Helmsgate receives aid.” I led Nienna up the stairs. Answers waited ahead, and I would not tear them from victims whose wounds still bled.
It was a cramped hall that funneled into an even smaller room.
The ceiling sloped low, beams close enough to brush with my knuckles.
A narrow bed pressed against one wall, mattress thin as parchment.
Across from it sat a chipped washbasin with a pitcher beside it; the water inside caught the moonlight that filtered through threadbare curtains.
Dust drifted in that pale beam. Greaves squeezed past me to inspect the window, boots scuffing the naked floorboards.
I kept Nienna close while he worked, his low hum circling the room as he checked the hinges and frame. He slipped by again to test the door, fingers pressing along the latch, shoulder leaning into the wood.
He had his rituals. It was his duty. I would be a poor friend to strip him of them.
“I’d just as soon risk dragon dung,” he muttered, curling his lip at the sparse accommodations. “This place wouldn’t withstand a mouse with a toothpick.”
“Dragon dung?” Nienna choked on a laugh, her body easing at last, melting into mine.
He wedged his boot against the door and braced his back against it, arms folding across his chest. “Under the sky—you can at least see what hunts you.”
“Dragons do not defecate while airborne.” Her laughter brightened the room more than the lanterns downstairs. “It’s far too strenuous. They land and–”
“As fascinated as I am with the bowel movements of your beasts,” I cut in before she launched into a lecture, “I need Fallione. You saw the girl. I want answers.”
Greaves stilled, and that twinkle of mirth faded from his face as if snuffed out. “They fed off her.”
Nienna’s spine went rigid. “The bandages along her arms.”
“And legs.” His gaze locked with mine. Fury flickered there, sharp and mirroring my own.
My stomach tightened, sickened by the images my mind supplied.
“How long did Tallon stay?” she asked, voice thinned to a thread.
Long enough.
The truth lodged like a shard beneath my ribs.
It stunned me how much ruin he could leave in such a short time.
Careless. Wasteful. Velli were monsters driven by thirst and the need for power, always chasing the next surge of strength.
Yet even knowing that, I’d never witnessed two of them carve such devastation so swiftly.
“A day,” I said. “Less. A night and some. I read the reports before we left Reem.”
A knock interrupted, soft but firm. Greaves tilted his head, palm settling on the hilt of his dagger as he listened.
“My king, it’s Fallione. May I have a word?”
Nienna stepped back, allowing me room to remove her mantle, and Greaves cracked the door to my advisor, then shut it again on the guards stationed in the hall.
Fallione looked older than he had that morning. Deep lines carved the skin around his eyes. Shadows pooled beneath them, purple against sallow flesh. War did not spare those who held quills instead of swords.