Chapter 20 Verr
VERR
The summons arrives faster than it should, and that alone is enough to put me on edge before I even touch it.
When the courier steps in front of me, he doesn’t speak immediately, just holds the parchment out with both hands like it carries more weight than it should.
His eyes never lift past my shoulder, and that tells me more than anything written inside it will.
I take it without slowing, the paper colder than expected against my fingers, the wax seal pressed deep enough to leave a faint ridge along the surface.
My father doesn’t rush decisions, and he doesn’t send them this quickly unless the outcome serves him more than it serves anyone else.
I break the seal with my thumb as I walk, scanning the contents in a single pass, then again more slowly as the shape of it settles.
Authorization granted. Expedition approved under your command.
No explanation. No conditions written out. No visible constraint.
I let out a quiet breath through my nose, folding the parchment once, then again with more care than necessary. “Of course,” I mutter, more to the structure of it than the words themselves, because this isn’t agreement. It’s positioning.
Skot falls into step beside me without needing to be called, his presence aligning with mine like he was already moving in this direction before I started. He doesn’t ask for the parchment right away, just glances at it once before extending his hand.
“Good news?” he asks, tone neutral, though his attention sharpens slightly.
“Define good,” I reply, handing it over without breaking stride.
He reads it quickly, then again more deliberately, his eyes tracking the short lines as if there’s something between them he expects to find. When he looks back up, there’s no surprise in his expression, only confirmation.
“He agreed,” Skot says.
“Yes.”
“That was faster than expected.”
“Yes.”
We walk in silence for several steps, the corridor stretching long and narrow ahead of us, the stone walls holding the cool air in place. Our footsteps echo softly, controlled, each one measured without effort.
“He didn’t change his mind,” Skot says after a moment, handing the parchment back.
“No,” I reply, folding it again and slipping it into my sleeve. “He didn’t.”
Skot’s gaze shifts slightly, more focused now. “This is a test.”
“Yes.”
“He expects failure.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re going anyway.”
I glance at him briefly, then forward again. “Yes.”
There’s no hesitation in it, and he doesn’t question it. He already understands the alternative, and so do I. If I don’t take this, then I’ve already lost whatever this was meant to measure.
We turn down the next corridor, the light shifting as we move deeper into the estate, the air growing drier, sharper, carrying that faint metallic taste that never quite leaves these inner halls.
“What kind of support?” Skot asks, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry beyond us.
“Enough to justify the order,” I say. “Not enough to guarantee success.”
“Numbers?”
“Small unit. Specialized.”
He nods once, absorbing it. “Containment expectations.”
“Failure expectations,” I correct, glancing at him again.
He doesn’t argue.
Because he knows the difference.
I slow slightly as the corridor opens toward the training grounds, the distant sound of steel striking steel carrying through the air, rhythmic and controlled. The scent shifts too—oil, metal, sweat, all of it familiar, all of it grounded in something real.
“This isn’t about the orcs,” I say, my gaze drifting toward the source of the sound.
“No,” Skot replies. “It’s about you.”
“Whether I succeed without support,” I add, watching a pair of soldiers move through drills in the distance.
“Or fail with it.”
I let that settle for a moment, the structure of it aligning cleanly in my mind. The parameters are clear. The expectation is clearer.
Good.
That makes this simple.
“Then we don’t play it the way he expects,” I say, turning back toward the interior halls.
Skot’s expression shifts just slightly, approval without display. “No,” he agrees. “We don’t.”
By the time I reach the assembly hall, the change in atmosphere is immediate.
Conversations taper off as I enter, not abruptly, but enough that I can feel the shift in attention without needing to look for it.
The room is built for presence rather than comfort, high ceilings amplifying every movement, banners hanging in precise intervals along the walls, each one marking allegiance rather than decoration.
The air carries the lingering scent of oil and sharpened steel, layered over stone that never quite loses its chill.
Several officers stand gathered near the center, their postures tightening just slightly when they register me. It isn’t fear, and it isn’t deference in the way lower ranks show it. It’s awareness—controlled, but immediate.
“You’ve heard,” I say as I step into the space, letting my voice carry just enough to reach them without effort.
Kareth shifts forward, his expression composed, though his shoulders square more fully as he addresses me. “We’ve heard there’s a deployment,” he says.
“There is.”
“Scale?” he asks, his tone even, but his gaze sharp.
“Limited,” I reply.
A few of the others exchange brief glances, quick enough to miss if you aren’t looking for them. I am.
“Objective?” another asks from the side.
“Interception and disruption of advancing orc forces along the northern routes,” I say, keeping my tone level.
“Command structure?”
“I lead.”
That lands differently.
Kareth studies me more closely now, his head tilting just slightly. “Support?”
“Minimal.”
There’s no masking it. No attempt to soften the reality of what this is.
“This is a proving action,” he says, the words careful, chosen.
“It’s an opportunity,” I correct, meeting his gaze directly.
His jaw tightens just enough to show he understands the distinction. Around him, the others shift, recalibrating without speaking.
“Selection?” another officer asks.
“I choose the unit,” I say.
That ends any further discussion on that point. No one argues. No one questions it again.
“Prepare your recommendations,” I continue, stepping further into the room. “I’ll review them personally.”
They nod, one after another, already turning toward movement.
“Timeline?” Kareth asks, his voice lower now.
“Immediate.”
That changes the energy in the room. It sharpens everything, compresses the space between action and preparation.
“Understood,” he says.
They disperse quickly, no wasted motion, no unnecessary conversation. That’s why they’re here.
That’s why I’ll use them.
I find her where I expect to.
The garden hasn’t changed, but the way it feels does.
The air is warmer here, thick with the scent of damp soil and crushed leaves, the faint sweetness of blooming plants layered over something more grounded.
She’s in the same row as before, hands deep in the soil, movements steady but carrying tension just beneath the surface, like she’s holding something in place instead of letting it settle.
“Cutter,” I say as I approach.
She doesn’t look up immediately, finishing the motion she’s in before she straightens, brushing her hands against her skirt. Dark streaks of soil mark the fabric, and she doesn’t seem to notice.
“You’re early,” she says, her tone even, though her eyes are already searching my face.
“You’re coming with me,” I reply.
That gets her attention.
Her head lifts fully, eyes locking onto mine, something sharp flashing there before it settles into something more controlled. “That wasn’t a yes,” she says.
“It is now.”
She steps closer, her brow tightening slightly. “What changed?”
“My father approved the expedition,” I say.
Her expression shifts, not with surprise, but recognition. “And?”
“And it’s a test,” I reply.
A breath leaves her, quiet and dry. “Of course it is.”
“Yes.”
She studies me for a moment, her gaze steady. “So you’re walking into a setup.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re still going.”
“Yes.”
She shakes her head once, a small, sharp movement. “Alright,” she says. “Then I’m definitely coming.”
“You are.”
She stills at that, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not arguing?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re useful,” I say, holding her gaze.
The word lands clean, and I watch the reaction pass through her before she controls it.
“Useful how?” she asks, her tone sharper now.
“Strategically,” I reply. “You see patterns others don’t. You recognize pressure points they ignore.”
“And that’s enough to bring me into this?”
“It’s enough to justify your presence,” I say.
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t step back. “That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” I agree. “It isn’t.”
She holds my gaze, something else building behind it now. “Say it properly,” she says.
I tilt my head slightly. “Say what?”
“That I matter to this,” she says.
There it is.
Not strategy.
Not politics.
Something else entirely.
I watch her for a moment, measuring the weight of the question against what I’m willing to give.
“You matter to the outcome,” I say.
It isn’t what she asked for, and we both know it.
She studies me anyway, searching for something I don’t offer, then exhales slowly. “Fine.”
It isn’t agreement.
It isn’t refusal.
It’s enough.
“Be ready,” I add. “We leave soon.”
She nods once, no hesitation, no second thought.
I turn to leave, but her voice stops me.
“You’re not doing this for them,” she says.
I glance back over my shoulder. “No.”
“For him.”
“No.”
She watches me, her expression unreadable for a moment. “Then why?”
I hold her gaze just long enough.
“Because I don’t lose,” I say.
By the time I return to the inner halls, the structure is already forming.
Names move through the corridors ahead of me, carried in quiet conversations, unit assignments taking shape before they’re formally declared.
Everything is aligning into something that resembles stability, even if the foundation beneath it is intentionally weakened.
“Everything is in motion,” Skot says as he steps into place beside me again.
“Good.”
“You’ve accepted the terms.”
“I’ve acknowledged them,” I reply, glancing toward him.
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No,” I agree. “It’s not.”
I look toward the far end of the hall, where the path leads beyond the estate, toward the routes already shifting under pressure.
“This was meant to limit me,” I say.
“Yes.”
“It won’t.”
Skot’s expression shifts slightly, something closer to approval now. “No,” he says. “It won’t.”
I let that settle as I continue forward, the shape of it fully clear now.
This isn’t his game anymore.