“Tell me what you found,” Eliza said, her voice steadier than she felt.
“Maidan has fallen.” The woman’s eyes never left Eliza’s face as she continued. “The Ketheri king’s banner flies over your citadel since three nights past.”
Something sharp lodged beneath Eliza’s ribs, cold as the air itself.
Her home. Her people.
“Lord Maeron—” The scout’s voice faltered.
“Tell me,” Eliza demanded, the words scraping her throat.
“We heard it from the humans at the edges of the keep. Your would-be king was taken from the council house. His guard disbanded.” The scout’s fingers twisted in her cloak. “He lives, but his fate hangs by a thread.”
Eliza’s stiffened. “And the others? The council? The city?”
The woman’s mouth tightened. “There are defectors, my queen. Merchants, guards, even mages who swore fealty within the week. They bend knee to the Ketheri for bread and safety. Some say it’s peace. Others—” she hesitated “—pretend to believe it.”
The second scout spoke, his voice rough from cold and disbelief. “But not all stay. People are slipping out through the drains and river gates. Families, whole guilds. They think they can outrun the banners.” He spat into the frost. “And you won’t believe where they’re going.”
Eliza’s gaze sharpened. “Where?”
“Here,” he said. “To the Shadowlands. To us.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “They think the rumors are true—that you’ve joined with the Shadow King of the orcs. That you’ve taken his crown and made it yours.”
The woman nodded, breath clouding in the air. “They say you and he are building an army in the north. That the old gods walk again in the dark. They think you’re their last hope.”
The words hung like smoke between them. Even the orcs shifted uneasily at the sound of them—hope was a heavier burden than fear.
A roaring filled Eliza’s ears. She felt her nails cutting into her palms, the pain a distant, necessary anchor. The world tilted beneath her feet, but she forced herself upright, swallowing the scream clawing its way toward her throat.
“By what right?”
“The right of opportunity,” said the second scout, bitterness bleeding through every word. “Thalorin’s tower went dark overnight. She fled—took her secrets, left chaos. The Ketheri rode through the southern gate with promises of protection and order.” He spat to the side. “Brutal order. Ketheri order.”
Eliza’s vision blurred momentarily. She tasted copper—she had bitten the inside of her cheek without realizing. The thought of strangers walking her streets, commanding her people, sleeping in chambers where generations of her family had lived… It tore through her like a physical wound.
The Ketheri. The ones I called.
Because of Thalorin’s treachery, because of the mages’ corruption, Istrial had been laid bare, ripe for the taking by a bigger wolf.
If only I had been there to command them. To stand at the gate and make the bargain myself…
None of this would have happened.
If he had never taken me in the first place… would I still have lost them anyway?
No.This was an inevitable turn. Thalorin would have shown her hand sooner or later. And Rakhal…
Well, better for him to be an ally than an enemy. Far better, for he would be terrifying as an enemy.
But now…
He was hers.
And they would overcome this.
Eliza’s mouth tasted of copper and old smoke. The air shifted—that subtle pressure change she’d come to recognize—and Rakhal stood at her shoulder. His heat reached her before his shadow did. He looked first at the banner, then at the scouts, then at her, his gaze a physical weight against her skin.
He didn’t touch her, though she felt the tension in his restraint. Any gentleness now would break her, and she couldn’t afford to shatter where everyone could see. Yet something in his stillness steadied her—a silent promise that her rage had a partner.
