32. Zerion
ZERION
The equus beneath us moves with steady precision through the forest path, each hoofbeat measured and deliberate despite the urgency driving us forward.
Kessara's body remains rigid against my chest, tension singing through every muscle like a bowstring drawn taut.
Her breathing comes in shallow bursts that I can feel against my forearms where they circle her waist.
The anxiety radiating from her is almost tangible, a living thing that writhes between us with desperate energy.
Every few seconds, her hands clench and release where they grip my coat, the motion unconscious and repetitive.
She scans the darkness ahead with those sharp hazel eyes, searching for any sign of the children who have become the center of her world.
I keep her firmly anchored against me, using my body as a shield against both the elements and the terror threatening to consume her. The warmth of her back pressed to my chest grounds me in ways I don't fully understand, even as my own fury builds with each moment.
The fork appears ahead like a wound carved into the forest floor, two paths diverging into shadows that could hide anything. I draw the equus to a halt where the wagon tracks split, studying the churned mud and broken vegetation with calculating precision.
Draven approaches on my left, his weathered face grim in the pale light filtering through the canopy. Our eyes meet across the space between our mounts, and understanding passes between us without words. Years of service have taught him to read my intentions even when I don't voice them aloud.
His jaw tightens with obvious displeasure at the prospect of separating, but he gives a sharp nod of acceptance. The children take precedence over his protective instincts regarding my safety. He knows this situation leaves no room for argument or the usual formalities that govern our interactions.
"The left path leads toward the countryside," he reports, his voice carrying military crispness despite the early hour. "Fresh tracks, recent passage. If they're moving the children to a safe house outside the region..."
"Take half the men and follow it." I keep my tone level, though violence coils beneath the surface like smoke from a banked fire. "I'll lead the others toward Millhaven. Someone in town will have seen them pass."
Draven's mount shifts restlessly beneath him, picking up on the tension that radiates from both riders. He glances once more at Kessara, then back to me with reluctant acceptance.
"Yes, my lord."
Within moments, he's selected his men and disappeared down the left fork, hoofbeats fading into the distance. The remaining guards close ranks around us as we turn toward the right path, the one that winds steadily toward the outskirts of town.
Dawn creeps across the horizon with agonizing slowness, painting the sky in shades of gray and pale gold. The persistent mist continues its drowsy dance through the trees, droplets collecting on leaves before falling to the forest floor with soft, rhythmic patters.
I feel the chill seeping into Kessara's bones despite her efforts to hide it, the way her shoulders tremble against my chest. Without breaking stride, I unfasten my cloak and drape it around her smaller frame, pulling her even closer to share what warmth I can offer.
The heavy fabric engulfs her, dark wool still holding traces of my body heat. She burrows into it instinctively, seeking comfort even as her mind remains focused on the search ahead.
"Zerion." Her voice emerges as barely a whisper, thick with emotions she's fighting to contain.
The sound of my name on her lips does something to the ice that has settled in my chest, warming it just enough to remind me why I'm willing to burn the world to get those children back safely.
"Yes, my sweet?"
She's quiet for several heartbeats, the only sounds our mount's steady progress and the soft creak of leather. When she speaks again, her words carry a weight that surprises me.
"Can you promise me something?"
The request hangs between us like morning mist, fragile but urgent. I don't hesitate.
"Anything."
Another pause, longer this time. I can feel her gathering courage for whatever she's about to ask, steel entering her spine as she makes some internal decision.
"I want whoever did this..." Her voice strengthens, gaining an edge sharp enough to cut. "I want them to suffer."
The bloodthirsty request should shock me. Instead, I have to fight back a smile of fierce approval, knowing this isn't the time for such reactions. This is the woman I fell for—not despite her protective fury, but because of it. The tigress who would tear apart anyone who threatens what she loves.
I nod against her hair, my voice carrying absolute certainty.
"They will, Kessara. I'll personally make sure of it."
The equus moves beneath us with steady rhythm, but my mind churns with darker thoughts. What does Selmyra hope to gain from this madness? The woman has always been calculating, but kidnapping children crosses into territory that even the most ambitious nobles avoid.
Power, perhaps. The chance to force my hand through leverage she believes I cannot ignore. Or maybe she thinks removing Kessara's siblings will drive the woman away from my estate, clearing the path for whatever matrimonial schemes dance through that twisted mind of hers.
The reasoning matters less than the consequences she'll face when I—
"STOP!"
Kessara's scream cuts through my thoughts like a blade. She shoves against my chest with desperate strength, pushing herself away from me with such violence that I nearly lose my grip on the reins.
She tumbles from the equus before I can catch her, hitting the muddy ground hard enough to drive the breath from her lungs. The impact sends her rolling across wet grass and fallen leaves.
"Halt!" I bark at the guards, already swinging down from my mount. "Everyone stop!"
I reach her in three strides, dropping to my knees beside her sprawled form. My hands hover over her shoulders, checking for obvious injuries while she gasps and struggles to regain her bearings.
"Kessara, are you hurt? What happened?"
She pushes my hands away with trembling fingers, scrambling to her feet on unsteady legs. Mud streaks her cheek and clings to the borrowed cloak, but she ignores both as she spins around frantically.
"I saw something," she breathes, already moving back the way we came.
"Kessara, stop." I follow her retreating form, confusion threading through my voice. "What did you see?"
She doesn't answer, just continues her desperate search through the grass and undergrowth. Her movements grow more frantic with each passing second, hands sweeping across the ground like she's hunting for something precious that's been lost.
Then she freezes.
Her entire body goes rigid as she drops to her knees, both hands reaching for something I cannot yet see. When she lifts her trembling fingers, a small piece of fabric dangles between them—muddy, torn, but unmistakably real.
I move to her side, studying the scrap of material with growing understanding.
"What is it?"
"Lysa's skirt." Her voice emerges as little more than a whisper, thick with emotion she's fighting to control.
"It's from Lysa's skirt. The blue one with the small flowers embroidered around the hem—I mended a tear in it just last week near the left seam.
She was wearing it yesterday with her brown stockings and the white shirt that used to be mine. "
The certainty in her voice leaves no room for doubt. She knows every thread of clothing her siblings own, every patch and repair made by her own hands during their years of struggle.
I turn toward the nearest guard, my voice carrying absolute authority.
"Ride back and find Captain Draven. Tell him we've found something and need him here immediately."
The dark elf spurs his equus without hesitation, disappearing back down the path at a gallop that sends mud flying from beneath his mount's hooves.
I help Kessara to her feet, keeping my voice steady despite the surge of hope and fury warring in my chest.
"We're close, Kessara. They were here. We'll find them."
She nods against my shoulder as I lift her back onto the equus, settling her in front of me once more. This time her body molds against mine with desperate trust rather than rigid anxiety.
We continue forward at a careful pace, both of us scanning the ground and surrounding vegetation with new intensity. The guards spread out in a wider formation, their eyes sharp and focused.
"There." One of the men points toward a low bush twenty yards ahead. "Something blue."
Kessara leans forward in the saddle, her breath catching as she spots another small piece of fabric caught on thorny branches.
"And there," she whispers, pointing toward a fallen log where yet another scrap flutters in the morning breeze.
Understanding dawns like sunrise breaking through storm clouds.
"Zerion..." Her voice emerges breathless with wonder and fierce pride. "She's leaving us a trail."
I stare at the evidence scattered before us, equal parts stunned and impressed by the intelligence of an eleven-year-old girl who managed to think clearly enough in the midst of terror to help us find her.
"Clever girl."