We were far from a healer—too far. But if they had endured this long, they might manage a bit longer.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” I snarled, cutting Clay’s bindings. “Too many goats rely on you.”
A Harvester approached, calm despite the chaos. “We’ve been trained as medics. Take the Threshers. We’ll keep the Sols alive until you return.”
A fissure ran through my heart. I could not stay, but how could I leave them? They suffered for me—because of me. To abandon them now felt like ripping out a piece of my soul.
“Do not let them die,” I ground out.
The Harvester nodded, producing a small vial from his satchel. Cradling Clay’s head, white hair plastered with blood, he poured the contents into his mouth.
“He will not pass the Veil until you wish it.”
I froze, breath caught, potent rage and hollow dread coiling through me. What did he just put into my friend’s body?
Fury pumped through my veins, and I tore myself away from the table. The estate had to be cleared so that the army mightfunnel up through the pass. The tenth level had to be seized—by force if needed. That was my task.
Greaves and the Threshers moved with me. Doors buckled beneath boots, splintering wood, the echo of violence resonating through empty halls. We reached the private wing, Clay’s quarters. Door after door crashed open, each space vacant. Sheets tossed aside, blankets flung carelessly. No blood, no viscera, no trace of the brutality we found in the great hall.
Tallon had run out of time.
Rage coiled bright and hot. I wanted to find a Velli—rip their head from their shoulders. Gods, I’d even settle for a traitorous Radaanian.
I slammed my boot into the next door—the impact jarring my knee.
A scream tore the air.
I froze, calculating the blonde figure curled in the far corner. Eyes wet with tears, blood trickling down a pale blue dress.
“King Kallias!” Fyrn cried, arms wrapping around her middle. “You’re here! I thought you’d never come!”
Warning bells rang in my mind. This woman was Tallon’s—his pet, his spy. She had masqueraded as a sweet, harmless noble.
But protocol had my feet moving despite the alarm wreaking havoc in my gut. She was Clay’s only daughter. If she were injured, I had to see to her.
“Fyrn’sol,” I said, words dangerously calm. As I crouched beside her, Threshers fanned out behind me, clearing the room. I reached for her arm to inspect her wounds.
She shrieked, recoiling. “No! I can’t!” Blood slicked her fingers, crimson tracing lines over pale skin. Tears tracked down her cheeks. “Don’t make me! Please!”
She was terrified. A victim, not an accomplice.
“Fyrn, these bites can get infected.” I softened my tone, coaxing her. “Your father would never forgive me if you got sick.”
Her fearful eyes flickered with hope. “He’s alive?”
“Yes,” I said, certainty settling in my bones. “Now let me see, child.”
She extended her arm, trembling. I peeled the bloody fabric back, revealing two half-moons bleeding freely at her wrists. The cuts were jagged, shallow…
“He’s a monster!” Her sobs grew into hiccuping gasps.
I gripped her wrist, fingers curling over fragile bones.
“Ow! King Kallias, what are you—let go of me!”
My jaw locked. Rage and duty collided, edging me toward violence. I could gut her here, mount her on a stake for the vultures—but she was Clay’s daughter. My blood boiled, but my role restrained me.
“Tell me, Fyrn,” I hissed, lip curling. “What did they offer you? The mantle? Land? Maybe a fine pony to parade about?”
