38. Zerion
ZERION
Selmyra sits bound to a wooden chair in the centre of the warehouse, her elaborate gown now torn and stained with dust from the rotting floorboards.
The midnight silk that once proclaimed her nobility hangs in tatters around her ankles, and her carefully arranged hair has come loose from its pins to fall in disheveled waves across her shoulders.
My guards form a tight circle around her, their weapons drawn and pointed at her chest.
The elegant mask she wore for decades has finally slipped.
Without the careful cosmetics and practiced expressions, her face reveals the desperation that has been eating at her from within—hollow cheeks, shadows beneath her silver eyes, the tight lines around her mouth that speak of sleepless nights and mounting panic.
"What was your plan?" I step closer, letting my voice carry the full weight of my authority through the cavernous space. The words echo off the warehouse walls, bouncing back with sharp edges that make her flinch. "What did you hope to gain by taking three innocent children?"
She lifts her chin with what remains of her noble pride, but her hands shake where they're bound behind the chair. "They're just humans."
The dismissive words drip with such obvious distaste that my jaw clenches involuntarily. She speaks of Bran, Lysa, and Tobin as if they were livestock—disposable creatures beneath her notice.
"Tell me!" The command explodes from my chest like thunder, reverberating through the empty warehouse with enough violent force to rattle the broken windows.
Selmyra jerks backward so violently that the chair legs scrape against the floor, her silver eyes wide with terror as she presses herself as far from me as the bonds allow. For the first time in our acquaintance, she looks genuinely afraid.
"I needed her gone," she whispers, the words tumbling out in a rush now that her composure has shattered completely. "The human girl—Kessara. I was going to trade their lives for her position. Make her choose between staying as your... your plaything, or watching them die."
The word 'plaything' wounds me like a hard physical blow, and a growl builds in my chest—a sound so primal and dangerous that even my own guards shift nervously.
The rage that has been simmering beneath my control since the moment I discovered the children missing now threatens to consume everything in its path.
"You would have killed children to secure a marriage proposal?" Each word comes out clipped and precise, my voice dropping to the deadly quiet that makes seasoned warriors step back.
"I needed you to choose me instead!" Her voice rises to a desperate shriek that echoes through the warehouse like the cry of a cornered animal. "To marry me and secure my title as a proper Lady in the noble circles. After my husband's death, I had nothing left. Nothing!"
"Your husband should have left you a sizable fund to maintain your lifestyle." The statement comes out flat and cold, a simple observation that cuts through her theatrical despair.
"My husband was poor!" she shouts, spittle flying from her lips as the last of her dignity crumbles away. "His shipping business was worthless! Look around you—this warehouse, these rotting docks, the failed investments that bankrupted us both!"
She gestures wildly with her bound hands toward the decaying cargo containers and broken equipment scattered throughout the building. "I was destitute, Zerion. Completely ruined. You were my only option for survival."
The pathetic truth of it settles like a stone. All her schemes, the kidnapping, the manipulation—born not from love or even ambition, but from the desperate terror of a woman facing poverty.
"You were never an option." The words grind out between my clenched teeth like stones crushing bone. "Kessara or no Kessara, I was never interested in marrying you."
The statement hits her. All the color drains from her face until her skin resembles parchment left too long in sunlight—pale, brittle, ready to crumble at the slightest touch. Her silver eyes widen in shock, then narrow to slits filled with pure venom.
"You arrogant bastard," she whispers, her voice trembling with the force of her rage and humiliation. The words shake like leaves in a storm, barely audible but loaded with decades of entitlement finally meeting reality.
I turn away from her pathetic display and face Captain Draven, who stands at attention near the warehouse entrance. His weathered features remain impassive, though I catch the slight tightening near his eyes that suggests he's already anticipating my orders.
"Prepare her for shipment."
"Shipment?" The screech that tears from Selmyra's throat could shatter glass. She struggles against her bonds with renewed desperation, the chair rocking dangerously as she throws her weight from side to side. "What are you talking about?"
I don't bother turning back to face her. The sight of her unraveling composure no longer interests me—she's become nothing more than a problem requiring disposal.
"You'll be going somewhere very far away," I explain with the same tone I might use to discuss livestock prices. "You'll never see your home again. Be grateful for my mercy."
The words send her into a frenzy of rage and terror.
Her shrieks echo through the cavernous warehouse, bouncing off the rotting beams and broken windows until the sound becomes a cacophony of desperation.
She hurls curses at my back, her voice cracking as she screams threats and pleas in equal measure.
I stride past Draven toward the warehouse entrance, my boots echoing against the warped floorboards. The captain falls into step behind me, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt.
"Make sure she reaches her destination intact," I murmur without breaking stride. "But beyond that, I don't care how uncomfortable the journey becomes."
"Understood, my lord."
Outside, Thale and Fendrin wait beside our mounts, their faces grim but satisfied. The morning air tastes clean after the stale rot of the warehouse, and I draw a deep breath as I swing myself onto my equus.
Selmyra's voice still carries through the broken windows, growing more shrill and desperate with every passing moment. The sound follows us as we ride away from the docks, but I don't look back.
Draven will handle the mess—at least that I can trust.
The steady rhythm of hoofbeats on packed earth provides the only sound as we trot along the main road back toward the estate. My equus tosses his head, eager to increase pace, but I keep him reined in—there's no need to exhaust the mount when Selmyra's fate is already sealed.
Thale rides beside me, his weathered face reflecting the same grim satisfaction I feel.
Behind us, Fendrin maintains his usual watchful silence, scanning the treeline for any sign of additional threats.
The morning sun climbs higher, burning off the last wisps of mist that cling to the forest edges.
A distant thunder of hoofbeats breaks the peaceful morning quiet. I pull up short, raising my hand to halt the others as a lone rider crests the hill ahead of us. The figure leans low over his mount's neck, whipping the reins with desperate urgency that sends ice through my veins.
The rider's blue and silver livery identifies him as one of my estate guards before I can make out his face. His equus foams at the mouth, sides heaving from a hard gallop that speaks of genuine emergency.
"My lord!" The guard's voice cracks as he hauls back on the reins, his mount skidding to a stop mere feet from my own. Sweat streams down his face despite the cool morning air. "My lord, you must return immediately!"
The panic in his voice hits me hard. My hands tighten on the reins until my knuckles turn white. "What happened? Are we under attack?"
"No, my lord." He gulps air, struggling to form coherent words through his exhaustion. "The mistress—the children—they're gone!"
The world tilts sideways. Every muscle fiber in my body goes rigid as his words sink in like poison. "Gone? What do you mean gone?"
"Vanished, my lord. Their rooms are empty. The guards found no sign of struggle, no forced entry. They simply..." He gestures helplessly with one trembling hand. "They're nowhere to be found."
I don't wait to hear more. My spurs dig into my mount's flanks, drawing blood, and the equus explodes forward like a bolt of dark lightning. The wind tears at my hair as we thunder down the road, each hoofbeat hammering against my skull in perfect rhythm with my racing heart.
Behind me, Thale and Fendrin struggle to match my pace, their mounts straining to keep up with my desperate flight toward home. The guard who brought the news falls further behind with each passing moment, his exhausted equus unable to maintain the punishing speed.
The estate gates appear ahead, thrown wide open with guards scrambling like disturbed ants. I don't slow down as I approach the main courtyard—instead, I throw myself from the saddle before my equus comes to a complete stop, hitting the cobblestones at a run.
My boots pound against the front steps two at a time. The massive oak doors swing open before I reach them, revealing Halvren and Mrs. Aldren rushing forward with identical expressions of distress. Halvren clutches a small piece of paper in his gnarled hands, waving it frantically above his head.
"My lord!" Halvren's voice shakes with urgency. "My Lord!"
I snatch the paper from his trembling fingers, my eyes scanning the childish scrawl written in uneven letters across the rough surface. The message is brief—barely a handful of words—but they hit me like hammer blows.
"Find us at the cabin."
"What is this?" The words grind out between clenched teeth as I stare at the cryptic message. "What cabin? What are you talking about?"
"Master Ramin confirmed the handwriting belongs to young Bran," Mrs. Aldren explains, wringing her hands in her apron. "The boy must have left it as a clue."
Fendrin appears at my shoulder, breathing hard from his sprint up the steps. His sharp eyes take in the paper, and understanding dawns across his weathered features.
"The cabin where we found them the first time," he says quietly. "Where they lived before coming to the estate."
The memory crashes over me like a cold wave. The ramshackle hovel where Kessara had struggled to keep her family alive, hidden deep in the forest beyond the village boundaries. Of course she would return there—it's the only place she's ever felt truly safe.
I crumple the paper in my fist and whirl toward Fendrin. "Mount up. Take me there now."