When midday broke and a young woman entered Fallione’s tent, I didn’t spare her a glance. I aligned the map of Clay’s tunnel beneath the manor with Sol.
“King Kallias, this is Seliora.” Fallione’s tone was formal, drawing my attention with a frown.
She was pale, dark hair neatly braided down her back, linen dress dirtied from travel. She had to be around Nienna’s age.Plain. Nondescript. I had expected a platter of food in her hands, yet her long fingers hung loose. She stood with her shoulders squared, stance unnaturally composed—far beyond any commoner’s ease.
We didn’t bring any women to battle the Velli.
“Harvester.” I sat settled in my chair, hair prickling at the nape of my neck. There was something about those who chose to serve in the deadliest branch of Radaan. Even I did not know everything Harvesters trained in, or their methods.
“My king.” She dipped into a bow, not a curtsy.
Masculine respect. It would’ve been unseemly for a woman of court, but Seliora could slit a throat without batting an eye.
“Report. How many Velli are in the foothills?”
“None. They remain unscathed, though communication between Sol and those that dwell in the grass is severed.” She offered a scroll. Her sleeve bunched at the wrist—a small, precise detail. Most would miss it.
I would allow her dagger to remain in my presence.
“But,” she added, “I found someone I think you should meet.”
I set her report on the table and squinted up at her. “A civilian?”
Her face, void of emotion, revealed nothing. Harvesters hid everything behind iron masks.
She nodded. “Of Sol.”
“What does this person offer the king?” Fallione asked.
“A hidden entrance.”
My guard slammed down like Reem’s gates. Hand tensed, body froze.
“Into Vellos?” Fallione pressed. “There’s no way over the Craggs. No passes within a day’s ride.”
“Into Sol—and beyond.” She remained unnaturally still, eyes locked on mine, almost as if demanding that I meet this person. “They have a path into the city, even into the manor.”
“Impossible.”
“This civilian—what’s their name?” I brushed my advisor aside.
“Anna Elizabeth of Sol.”
A lesser noble. I was obligated to trust the Harvester and her allegiance to Radaan’s mantle, but it was hard to fathom. How would this stranger know an alternate route that Clay hadn’t shared?
“Is she with you?”
“She cannot cross the plains. You will meet her at the base of the Andeluith.”
“Why not bring her?” Fallione asked, curious.
“It would not have been wise.”
Seliora could have forced her here, yet chose not to. She opted to ask her king to travel to meet them. Which meant she respected this person more than her sovereign—or there was a valid reason shecouldn’tdrag her here.
I ground my teeth, curiosity cutting through irritation. “Speak plainly, Harvester.”
“Her advantage is lost if seen in the open. If you wish to use her path, you must go to her.”
