15. Where No One Can Reach Her #3
"She's close," Luko finally said, trying to break the tension.
"They shut the only road straight to the overpass waystation.
We'll have to cut around the ridge. That gives them two days' start.
Locals in Soren's Reach mentioned a heavily cloaked woman buying fruit.
She used coin stamped in the northern mint, same pattern as the ones Lady Kirelle gives out. "
Malec's head turned slightly. "Kirelle," he muttered. His voice was low, controlled, but Luko caught the way his hand twitched toward his sword, fingers flexing and clenching before retreating to the reins. The movement was jerky, uncoordinated in a way that would have been unthinkable weeks ago.
He wished he had never let Allora go to that damn party.
This was all because of that party. He had thought, foolishly, that softening, giving her space to breathe, might make her start loving him.
But his mother had always told him: emotion is weakness.
Give an inch and you are devoured. He should never have yielded.
This was his fault for ever giving in.
The words came out tight, flat, but to Luko they rang like a kettle straining against its lid, steam bleeding through every crack in his porcelain fa?ade.
"I have scouts narrowing the path," Luko added carefully. "They'll alert us the moment they spot a trace of her."
"They won't," Malec said flatly. "They're too slow. Everyone is too slow."
He kicked his horse forward, surging ahead through the trail, the trees whipping past like ghosts. The movement was too barbed, and far too aggressive, and his horse whinnied in protest. The entourage behind them struggled to keep pace.
Luko cursed softly under his breath and followed.
By evening, they stopped in a narrow mountain town built from moss-dark stone, huddled against a river bend. Smoke curled from crooked chimneys, the scent of wet pine and ash tinged in the frozen air.
Luko dismounted, his bones aching, and handed the latest report to Malec as dusk bruised the horizon. "Still no confirmation," he said quietly. "But someone saw a woman matching her build and skin tone with the Canariae we tracked before. No word on the third."
Malec's fingers closed around the parchment, crushing it until the ink blurred beneath his grip. His hand shook visibly now, the tremor running up his arm.
"I want them found."
"We're on it," Luko replied. He hesitated, searching his commander's face. The man before him looked hollowed out, eyes burning too bright in a face that had grown gaunt. "But Malec, when was the last time you ate? Or slept more than an hour?"
"Don’t!" Malec's voice cracked like a whip, violent enough to make his horse toss its head. "I won't slow this hunt, and I won't wait while she slips further away. She received every gentleness I possessed and every freedom I could grant."
His jaw locked, eyes pale and furious in the torchlight, but his stance wavered slightly, as though the ground beneath him had shifted.
"She spat on both."
Luko's chest tightened. This wasn't strategy anymore. This was grief weaponized into obsession, and it was eating Malec alive from the inside out.
"You're not yourself," Luko said at last, voice steady, carrying the weight of friendship and defiance both. "You're burning through every line between command and madness. You haven't eaten in days. You barely sleep. Your own men are afraid to approach you. You're not leading. You're chasing."
Malec turned on him, gaze like a drawn blade. His entire frame tightened as though bracing for a fight, yet desperation gripped him now, leaving him barely holding himself together.
"She is mine."
Luko's temper broke. He stepped closer, shoulders squared, daring the man he'd followed into every hell to strike him if he must. "No, Malec. She was. And the more you say otherwise, the more you prove why she left you."
The hush that followed was thick enough to choke. Even the snow beneath their boots groaned too loud, as though the world itself bore witness.
Malec's nostrils flared, hand twitching toward his sword before he forced it still. His chest rose and fell rapidly, fury and exhaustion straining against the cage of his ribs. For a moment, his eyes lost focus, and he swayed on his feet before catching himself against his horse's flank.
"And if you find her?" Luko pressed, his voice quieter now but no less relentless. "What then? Do you chain her again? Parade her back like a prize you earned? Tell me, Malec, what will you have left if the only way she stays is in chains?"
Malec didn't answer. His lips parted as though he might speak, but no words came. He only turned his gaze south, fever-bright and glassy, as if the mountains themselves taunted him with her shadow. His hand remained braced against his horse, the only thing keeping him upright.
One of the soldiers nearby whispered to his companion, "He's going to collapse before we find her."
The other soldier's response was grim. "Pray we find her first, then. Because if he breaks before that happens, I don't think any of us will survive what comes next."
In the Capitol of Zaharein, the air was thick with warmth, the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt and hibiscus into the city of Kavira.
That evening, a small circle of friends and politicians gathered in the palace's open hall to talk politics, feast, and drink until the stars burned high.
Lanterns swayed overhead, their light glinting against bronze goblets and polished marble.
Kael lounged in his chair, a book resting in his hand, when a striking elfess drifted into the room.
Her dress was thin and flowing, designed to cling just enough to her slender frame without revealing anything she did not wish revealed.
She slipped into the seat beside him, eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Why are you reading such ridiculous nonsense, my king?" she teased.
Without lifting his gaze, Kael's lips curved in a small smile.
He turned a page slowly, then let his eyes wander instead toward the horizon, where the sun was sinking into the palm trees and painting the sky in gold.
His skin caught the glow, bronzed by the day, and his electric-blue eyes gleamed like shards of ocean as they reflected the fading light.
"Ahh, Bolira," he said softly. "There is no such thing as nonsense in a book. You can learn at least one bit of truth from any text, even the ones you dismiss as absurd."
She tipped the book up, smirking as she read the title aloud: Canariae Psychology and Anatomy.
Her brows rose. "Are you thinking of taking a Canariae companion? I never thought you would look twice at one." She tossed the jab like a dagger, washing it down with a glass of sweet tropical wine.
Kael closed the book with care, resting it across his lap. His voice lost none of its calm, but something in it warmed.
"Not just any Canariae. One in particular. She shines brighter than the evening sun itself."
Bolira burst out laughing, shaking her head. "You are hopeless, Kael. Always the romantic."
Kael's gaze flicked briefly to his captain of the guard.
Once, he had thought himself drawn to her: the strength in her stance, the way she could flatten any Awyan male in the sparring ring.
Many desired her, but she had never been swayed by men.
Her tastes wandered elsewhere, and Kael respected her for it.
Bolira was brilliant, fierce, and utterly herself. He valued that about her.
A servant girl passed, tray in hand, and Bolira reached without hesitation, tugging her playfully onto her lap. The girl giggled, accustomed to the Captain's shameless flirting.
"And how is my favorite wine bearer this evening?" Bolira purred.
The servant laughed and wriggled free. "I can't, mistress. I've work to do." She hurried off, her skirt swishing as she darted toward the other tables.
Bolira watched her go with a grin tugging her lips. Kael's laughter rumbled low, but when it faded his tone turned serious.
"If ever I bring this Canariae firecracker into my palace, Bolira, you had best keep your hands far from her."
Bolira scoffed, waving her hand dismissively. "Worry not, Kael. I've no interest in beasts."
The words struck like a discordant note. Kael's smile vanished. His face sobered, his posture straightened, and the easy warmth slipped away. His voice remained low, but it carried the weight of genuine conviction.
"That may be. But if you ever call her a beast in my presence, I will have you lashed."
Bolira's grin faltered. She had fought beside him long enough to know the difference between performance and conviction.
This wasn't cruelty or possession speaking.
This was principle. Kael believed in dignity, in treating others with respect regardless of their origin.
He had argued with his own council over Canariae rights, had implemented protections that other kingdoms mocked him for.
When he defended Allora's humanity, he did so because he genuinely saw her as a being deserving of honor.
Her head dipped in respect. "Then I will watch my tongue, my king."
Kael reclined again, the faintest trace of his smile returning, though thought lingered in his expression. He turned his gaze back to the horizon as the sun sank lower. He just sat back and basked in the warmth on his face in quiet contemplation when a messenger approached and bowed low.
"Your Highness, a letter from Caelistra."
Kael sighed, already weary. Likely another rant from Surion about tariffs, politics, or Malec's brooding temper. He broke the seal lazily, but as his eyes scanned the page, his posture shifted. His shoulders stiffened. His breath caught.
Bolira noticed immediately. "What is it?" she asked, leaning toward him.