22. Rothgar
ROTHGAR
Iwake to the unfamiliar chill of an empty bed.
Calla’s absence catches my attention immediately, but it is the bed itself that confirms what has happened. The schematics I left scattered across the blankets before exhaustion claimed me have been disturbed. My gaze snaps to the lower district surveys.
The map detailing the abandoned conduit routes beneath the western spire is gone.
Yesterday I asked her to trust my judgment and wait until we could move together. Looking at the empty place where the map should be, I realize I underestimated the weight she would place on lives she had no power to save by standing still.
“You should have woken me,” I mutter, already summoning stormlight to my hands. Regret serves no purpose now. Finding her does.
Stormlight curls around me, dissolving yesterday’s clothes into silver mist before weaving fresh garments in their place. Dark leather falls across my shoulders. The familiar weight of my sword returns to my hip as though it had never left it.
I draw more magic into myself as I reach for the bond tying Calla to me. It has strengthened quietly since our marriage, growing so naturally between us that I barely notice it until moments like this. Across the city I feel her presence as distinctly as the pull of my own magic.
Following her is infinitely simpler than searching for an unfamiliar place. I fix my thoughts on her presence, let the connection anchor the spell, and lightning folds the distance between us.
Lightning carries me beneath Ti’lith’s oldest spires, where the bond guiding my magic draws me through abandoned corridors thick with the sharp tang of ozone.
The farther I descend, the more oppressive the air becomes until, finally, I catch sight of Calla standing outside a weathered stone structure, her entire attention fixed on its entrance.
But relief never comes.
Movement farther down the passage arrests my attention before I reach her.
A patrol is already approaching.
I reach her in two quick strides, catching Calla by the wrist and drawing her behind the shelter of a collapsed wall.
Moments later, four armored guards pass the entrance, their footsteps swallowed by the constant vibration rising from somewhere beneath the earth. I remain perfectly still until the sound of their armor fades into the distance before lowering my hand.
She looks up at me, her expression softening before guilt quickly takes its place.
“Roth—“
“What were you thinking?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain low despite the tightness that still refuses to leave my chest.
“I had to know,” she whispers.
“I told you to wait.”
She lowers her gaze briefly. “I couldn't.”
“You could have,” I reply, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “But you chose not to.”
She lowers her gaze for a moment before looking back at me, a quiet anger burning in them.
“I found them.”
The quiet fury in her eyes cools my own more effectively than any apology could have.
“Tell me what you saw.”
“They're alive,” she says quietly, though the words carry no relief, her gaze drifting toward the viewport I just pulled her from. “At least they are for now.”
She falls silent, searching for words capable of carrying what she witnessed. Only then do I feel the faint tremor running through the hand still resting against my arm.
“They've built another lightning-works beneath the old spire,” she says, her voice unsteady. “The missing humans are moving, focusing crystals into something. I don't know what it is. I've never seen a conduit shaped like that before, but it looked... dangerous.”
I have seen enough military schematics to recognize the purpose behind such a design, even if I have never seen this particular weapon before.
“Continue.”
“The crystals burn them.” She wraps both arms around herself without seeming aware she’s done it. “Their hands...” She stops, steadying her breath. “The overseers don’t care. They keep forcing them forward until someone can’t stand anymore.”
She looks at me then, horror still fresh enough that it has yet to settle into grief.
“They’re killing them.”
It was a fact, stark and undeniable.
I absorb each detail without interrupting her. Reports of irregular crystal shipments that once seemed merely suspicious now take on an altogether different meaning when placed beside hidden lightning-works and civilians forced to construct whatever lies beneath this district.
The pattern is no longer difficult to see.
Malakor has been building toward this for far longer than any of us realized.
I look back toward the entrance.
“He cannot finish it.”
“He won’t,” Calla says immediately.
I look at her then. Horror still lingers in her eyes, but beneath it sits a determination I have come to recognize.
“We’ll stop him,” she says, as though there has never been another possible outcome.
“We will.”
The sincerity in her voice stays with me, carrying me back to lessons impressed upon every noble heir from childhood.
We were taught to guard our attachments carefully because those who understand their value will inevitably seek to exploit them. For most of my life, I regarded that lesson as another relic of court politics, useful perhaps, but exaggerated.
Standing beside Calla, I find I can no longer dismiss it so easily.
Whether Malakor understands what she means to me is ultimately irrelevant.
It is enough that he knows she would never ignore innocent people in danger, and by counting on that compassion he has drawn us both exactly where he wanted us.
Calla’s fingers slip quietly into mine.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I hold her hand for a moment before lifting it just enough to press a kiss against the back of it.
“We will finish this conversation when we’re somewhere safer,” I answer. “For now, I’m getting you out of here.”
Stormlight gathers around us, swallowing the ruined street in silver before carrying us back to the spire. When the light recedes, we are standing inside my command chamber where Vhoros waits beside the strategy table with several sealed reports already laid out before him.
One look at my expression is enough to erase the formal greeting from his lips.
“What have you found?” I ask.
He places several sealed reports across the table.
“We confirmed irregular crystal movements overnight. Unsanctioned shipments have been entering Lord Malakor's territory for months through decommissioned conduit routes.” His expression hardens. “No one questioned them because every manifest carried legitimate authorization.”
Calla moves quietly to my side as I unfold the nearest report.
Each manifest appears routine when examined on its own, recording nothing more alarming than crystal shipments along neglected conduit routes. Read together, however, they reveal a deliberate pattern stretching back months, concealed beneath paperwork ordinary enough to escape notice.
“A conspiracy,” Vhoros says quietly, “that has been hiding in plain sight.”
I continue reading in silence, each report reinforcing what Calla has uncovered beneath the abandoned spire.
Malakor’s plans have already progressed beyond whispered conspiracy. They are taking shape beneath the city itself, hidden behind routine ledgers and sanctioned deliveries that concealed his preparations right under our noses.
I know what Malakor intends. Every decision from this point forward depends on reaching him before his plans are complete.