“My king, it’s Fallione. May I have a word?”
Nienna stepped back, allowing me room to remove her mantle, and Greaves cracked the door to my advisor, then shut it again on the guards stationed in the hall.
Fallione looked older than he had that morning. Deep lines carved the skin around his eyes. Shadows pooled beneath them, purple against sallow flesh. War did not spare those who held quills instead of swords.
“Your army is settled on the outskirts of town. No one is permitted in or out,” he began. “Prince Ronan has Erwin and Artorious covering the sky. At the pace set today, we gained two hours. We should reach Danesburg before sundown tomorrow.”
“I want to know about the girl.”
“Lanie? She’s fetching your meal.”
My fingers stilled on the clasp of Nienna’s mantle. I held Fallione’s gaze until understanding dawned across his face.
“Ah.” He shut his eyes and drew a ragged breath. “She is marked from ankle to neck. Her father died protecting her. That left her in her grandfather’s care below.”
“Who?” The word tore free before I could temper it.
Please be Tallon. Elohios, let this be something I can wield against him.
Fallione’s stare dropped to the floorboards. His hands flexed at his sides, restless. “Accounts are muddled—fear does that. But by every report, Egath did the killing and the feeding.”
“Tallon never took from anyone?” I asked. Nienna’s mantle hung forgotten over my arm.
“It appears he hides his heritage. No living witness claims he fed. Yet I struggle to believe the Velli ambassador, with all his restraint, left that trail of bodies alone.”
“They’ve damned themselves,” Nienna said, shaking her head. “They revealed their hand by leaving survivors. No one will rally behind a ruler who allows their enemy to slaughter them.”
She was right. It didn’t add up. There had to be more to this game. The board held pieces we couldn’t yet see.
“I cannot make sense of it,” Fallione admitted. Weariness edged his voice. “We must wait for more to fall into place. If Tallon fed, he left none alive to speak.”
Velli killed when pressed for time. I had watched it on battlefields soaked black with blood. Their teeth tore through flesh at the throat. They drank deep and fast before moving on, chasing the next pulse. It was always a race. How much could they gorge themselves on before they expended themselves?
And when their magic depleted?
Nothing unsettled me more than a Velli forcing their fingers down their own throats to purge what they had stolen. Dark blood splattered armor and skin. Filed teeth flashed with gruesome smiles as they bent forward retching, only to rise and feed again. Hunger without end.
Prisoners were different; a captive meant a steady supply. They kept them fed, tended, guarded. Pets fattened for slaughter. They drank when they wished, savoring the slow siphon of magic.
We knew little of Vellos and their bloodcraft, but we understood enough to know Tallon and Egath’s choices did not align with instinct.
“How many traveled with them?” I asked.
“Twelve. All Velli.” Fallione narrowed his eyes, sifting through memory. “They split. Tallon and Egath travel too fast to drag Radaanians with them. No horse could match that pace.”
Cold settled in my gut. “Then where are Fyrn and Clay?”
“With the remnants of soldiers who vanished.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Fatigue etched deep lines beside his mouth. “I’ve sent scouts south. Reports are trickling in. I’m trying to stitch them together.”
“We all are.” I laid Nienna’s mantle at the foot of the bed, and she lifted mine from my shoulders, fingers deft at the clasps. “Rest while you can. We leave before daybreak.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed and turned.
“Oh, and Fallione. Watch Lanie.”
He paused, glancing back. The words landed heavy between us. “I will.”
Greaves opened the door and slipped out behind him. He would map the hall in his mind, test each shadow, inspect the food before it crossed our threshold.
