Chapter 40 #2
She remained fully clothed, but I couldn’t be bothered to care. I surrendered to the straw mattress with a long, aching sigh. Something in the back of my mind whispered of her stiffness, but I ignored it and pulled her close. I draped an arm over her middle, letting her warmth anchor me.
Greaves shed his tunic in silence, setting his daggers aside before he splashed water over his face.
“Fallione will stay with you,” I said, tongue curling around consonants as my tired words demanded attention. “He’ll tell you when to send Gyrak in.”
“I know.”
My eyelids fell, relief flooding over the ache behind them. “I’m sorry.”
Everything faded. The world shrank to straw and warmth, the faint rustle of canvas, her soft breathing beside me.
But I needed to apologize for leaving her behind tomorrow.
That my frustration never meant she was useless.
I had seen the tension in her shoulders, the quiet defeat passing over her face when no one watched.
Her worth was not in swordsmanship, in deeds, or in battles won—it was in her. Who she was.
“I know,” she murmured, soft and certain, a gentle echo that pressed against my consciousness.
Greaves froze, movement halting mid-splash.
But I was too far gone, too deep in the pull of exhaustion, swallowed by a black, silent, all-encompassing, dreamless night.
The army was moving. It was breathtaking, a testament to years of discipline and coordination.
Squads and battalions shifted across the plains, forming perfect lines, then flowing into the foothills with mechanical precision.
Dragons circled high above, distant and untouchable, their wings cutting the sky like dark sails, waiting for their cue.
They would remind Radaan of their power. Egath would catch a glimpse of the threat looming over the Velli, a taste of the devastation that awaited anyone who dared cross the Craggs again.
I shaded my eyes against the sun, my horse shifting behind me, patiently waiting behind a large shrub. From the Andeluith, tucked along the steep path, I watched my army stretch into the distance, feeling both pride and dread as the coordinated chaos unfolded.
Greaves was silent at my side. Beyond him, a small team of Threshers and Harvesters joined the small team. We weren’t here to fight our way into the manor; our mission was containment, securing the estate. Even if Velli lingered within, we could handle them.
It was a grievous oversight to leave only ten soldiers guarding the mountain’s underpass. That tunnel was a door into Sol, a path that could never be reclaimed once lost. It was the key to our advance—a channel into the city, one tier at a time.
The army’s movement on the plains served as a distraction, pulling Tallon and Egath’s attention away from our true target.
Sunlight caught a glint of gold amid the soldiers below, mimicking my own armor.
It would be enough to mislead anyone unfamiliar with my presence.
Part of me wondered if the bastard would notice.
I led my men into battle, always visible at the front. Easy to be spotted with a spyglass, which was why my decoy stayed further back, shielding my true position.
The sun hung high. Almost midday. The giant black dragon—Gyrak—remained unseen, hidden in the folds of the mountainside. Nienna’s assurances ran through my mind: he would appear only when he wished.
I had left her in the tent, though the silence between us pressed heavier than the mountains themselves. She didn’t want to stay, but I could not risk her safety while I fought. She was the queen, carrying the heir of Radaan. Her place was with the camp, not in the heat of battle.
A faint whistle caught my attention. Ears straining, I sought the source, anticipating wind or distant steel.
A black meteor tore through the sky, growing in size, twisting my stomach into knots. Though I knew it was Gyrak, my ally, dread pressed down on me like stone.
Wings darker than midnight sails unfurled, thunder ripping across the mountain. The dragon’s tail whipped past, under his scaled belly, snapping through air. There was no roar, no growl of a predator—only a sharp hiss, and then flame.
Screams rose immediately, raw and jagged.
I vaulted onto my horse, grabbing mane and reins, heels driving into flanks. My men followed without orders, instinct taking command.
The plateau burned. Soldiers screamed, some toppling into the flames as if rolling could extinguish the fire. Smoke and the stench of seared flesh coalesced into a haze thick enough to choke. Traitors cooked alive in their armor, a grotesque warning etched into the clearing.
Gyrak clung to the mountainside, silent, surveying his work. His massive neck obscured Ronan. Then a golden eye fixed on me. My back stiffened. Fangs slid from dark lips. Pupils narrowed. The playful creature Nienna teased was gone, replaced by a predator capable of endless slaughter.
The tunnel gates blocked the path, an immense barricade of wood and iron. I dug my heels into my horse, demanding it move forward despite the flames. The animal squealed but obeyed, hooves rising over charred ground.
Gyrak clawed the mountain, ripping the gate free with effortless might; decades of protective construction shattered and tossed aside.
I pressed onward, offering a sharp salute to Ronan.
But when the beast twisted so we could pass—there were two riders secured to his back.
Nienna, caught between a wall of scales and her brother, wrapped in his arms. Her braided blonde hair gleamed like spun gold against the sheen of her mantle.
Rage surged through me, raw and white-hot. She had acted against my wishes, using her brother to get what she wanted because I wouldn’t let her.
She deceived me.
The salute dropped from my hand, jaw clenched. This was no time for confrontation. I couldn’t deal with this here.
Greaves’ horse nudged mine, snapping me to the present. I urged my mount into the darkness, reins taut, muscles straining, heart hammering. Thoughts of prayer died in my throat, smothered by fury toward the woman I loved.
My wife, my partner. I had been down this road before, dealing with treachery and mock at every turn.
“Kal!”
Something tackled me from my horse, wind expelled from my lungs, crushing me against the stone.
I found my dagger, slashing at my assailant’s nails as they scraped at my collar.
I rolled, pinning my weight against him, then drove my blade through his throat, sawing until his body went still.
Warmth soaked through my clothing, saturating it with his sticky blood.
My back and shoulder smarted from the impact, but a quick catalog of my limbs assured me I was unharmed.
Someone sparked a lantern, then Greaves’ strong hands lifted me upright. His dark eyes burned with silent reproach in the flickering light.
Distraction had made me vulnerable—a weak link in our armor. I pressed my lips together, then gave him a firm nod. Nienna could wait. For now, I had a friend to save.
Our horses thundered through the tunnel and up the spiraling ramp. Sound ricocheted in the narrow passage, a rolling thunder of breath and leather and steel. It was loud—but fast. Speed mattered more than silence.
The guards at the top were ready, both with strung bows pointed at us. They collapsed when we rounded the corner; a throwing knife and dart buried in their necks.
The Threshers surged forward, braced and ready to defend.
The door should have been open.
I counted the heartbeats slamming against my ribs. One. Two. Three. Each thud felt like a fist striking from inside my chest. Midday was the agreed time. Where was Anna? Was she captured? Did she betray us?
“Kal…” Greaves shifted closer to my side. We were trapped.
The door creaked open.
We waited a breath, expecting Anna to fling it wide. It only swayed, hesitant, then began to drift shut again.
The Threshers sprang forward, shoving it back with their shoulders. We poured through behind them.
Sun above.
I swallowed the curse clawing up my throat and dropped to my knees beside Anna’s crumpled body. She was slumped over a fallen guard, her dress soaked through, red spreading across the fabric in a dark bloom.
I rolled her to her back, seeing the weapon lodged in her belly. Her head lolled, and she drew in a rattling breath, wet and thin. I yanked the blade free and threw my weight onto her wound.
“Seliora, get over here!” Her blood pumped through my fingers, and icy terror spread through my veins. I couldn’t lose her.
She joined, hands over mine, braid tangled in the crimson gush. “I will care for her,” she said, urging me on.
I forced myself upright, dread pooling in my gut. “Don’t leave her.”
“You have my word,” the Harvester nodded, eyes firm.
Sword drawn, I advanced through the manor. Halls empty, rooms silent but for the roar of my blood in my ears. Each step echoed a ghostly warning: this was no safe home, no comforting quiet, only the oppressive hush of impending doom.
Then we found the staff. Their bodies were propped in chairs around the kitchen table. Necks and wrists torn, sinew shredded—but the floor was pristine, not a drop of blood staining the tiles. They had been drained.
Tipo slumped forward, the boy’s head dangling toward the ground, throat mangled. His bright red curls clashed with ashen gray skin. Unseeing eyes met mine, empty yet accusatory, condemning me with a gaze heavier than any sword.
My heart turned to stone, the ache of loss calcifying what remained.
We left their corpses, moving through the estate once again, our movements cold and systematic. Every turn formed a labyrinth of death as we searched for more bodies.
Entering the great hall, the stench hit me: urine, feces, blood—the scent of suffering and battle. Bile surged, caught in my throat as my eyes fell on the handprint smeared across the wall, crimson smeared over pale plaster. Horror rooted me to the spot.