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Just not his.

Chapter XXXI

The Dungeons

He tore down the stairs, screen in hand, Call Lost emblazoned across the black.

Bastion. I need Bastion.

Guards parted for him, pressing themselves into the white stone walls so he could pass. Fenrir barely registered the salutes that turned to bows, a handful of nobles replacing the soldiers when he left Daedra’s tower behind for the corridor leading to his private rooms. Whispers followed, hushed and fear-tinged, the sight of their panicked king sure to throw the court into a nascent frenzy. The rumors wouldn’t take long to spread, not that Fenrir cared.

“Go find Bastion,” Fenrir said to one of the guards stationed outside his bedroom door. “Last I saw he was at the Scar.”

“Sir!” The guard took off and Fenrir pushed into his room, intending to head for his wardrobe where his armor was stashed but stumbling to a stop when he encountered Vera already there, Ralph with her, a spread of new clothing laid out across his bed.

All urge to run froze up inside him, his whole body going stiff when he saw the glimmering crown atop the pile of fine clothes.

No. That’s not what he wanted. Why was that here?

“Fenrir?” Vera said. “What’s wrong?”

“Get out,” he snapped at Ralph. The steward jumped, rushing out the door faster than a man ought to move. Fenrir slammed the door behind him, then sank down it to the floor.

“Fenrir?” Vera repeated, fear entering her voice. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Talked to Red.” He held the screen up so she could see, though his hand wouldn’t stop shaking. “She’s under attack. We lost the signal and now I can’t reach her again.”

“What is that…”

“Bastion calls it the internet.” Fenrir laughed, the sound scathing. “The greatest invention known to mankind.”

“Is that what they’ve been building at the Scar?”

Fenrir nodded, dropping the screen to the ground so he could bury his hand into his hair. “Mum, I have to do something.”

A thin sound escaped her, like a pot ready to boil. “Fenrir, you’re needed here, you know that.”

Do I? He curled his nails into his scalp just to feel something other than this impossible grief.

“If Red is dead,” Vera went on, and Fenrir wanted to scream. “If she’s dead, then you can’t do anything for her now, and you wouldn’t have been able to even if you’d gone. She has a whole army with her. How do you think you could have saved her when a thousand well-armed men can’t?”

Because I’m a hells-damned hero! Even if he didn’t feel like one then. Hadn’t, since the ill-fated attack on the stage. Hadn’t, since he’d lost his sword arm and all his strength. Hadn’t, since he’d allowed someone to run off to save Orpheus in his place.

“Mum, I have to—”

A knock tore through the room, breaking the tension. Fenrir scrambled to his feet and yanked open the door to find Bastion waiting, hands wrung together while a crowd of nobles hovered mere feet away.

“Get them out of here,” Fenrir snarled at the guards, then pulled Bastion inside. “Can you fix this?” He picked the screen up and pushed it into his hands.

“Broken already?” Bastion tapped through images Fenrir couldn’t make sense of, then a new face appeared where Red’s had been.

Mercer’s.

“Damn, it really worked?” he asked, and Bastion forced a laugh. Mercer frowned. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“Not at all! Not at all! Just running some tests! Thank you for your participation!”

Still frowning, Mercer’s eyes caught Fenrir’s for a brief second before Bastion cut the call.