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“Do you think this Variantia will come here, Chieftain?” Pateus asked.
Lucius shook his head. “It wouldn’t serve any purpose, no. But the other side? The Owl? Absolutely.”
Neil straightened in his seat. “What about House Trajan? Have you heard from Alpha Queen Mari?”
Years of schooling his expression whenever he heard his half-sister’s name had him merely nodding. “I have word that Captain Trajan was on his way to Goth Mor Helle, with their Servant prisoner. As you know, due to the weather, all correspondence I rely on has been paused. But,” Lucius tapped the table, “knowing House Trajan, a reckoning will be coming. Their armies will ready themselves for battle, no doubt about it. Another reason to be vigilant.”
Here, his lead House Security Advisor took the floor. Acheron was an older alpha, his short, dark brown hair showing gray now, but his age didn’t betray the strength he still possessed, nor the brilliant mind of a retired assassin.
Lucius listened with one ear as he leaned back in his seat. Every so often throughout the morning, he’d been internally touching the bond, seeking that ribbon that bound him to his mate. His wife. He could feel Sierra now, feel her happiness. Wherever she was, she was enjoying herself.
With a soft sigh, Lucius withdrew from the bond and focused on the map in front of him.
He relished the fact that Sierra had come to love Ordelpho, as he knew she would. The place suited her. Untamed, wild, without man’s influence. Now, though, knowing he’d be taking her away to an unsettled jungle land, he had his doubts. Ordelpho was fully guarded, unsullied, organized. There was no need to worry about food or shelter. But where they were going, survival had to be earned.
There was no question whatsoever about leaving her here, however. No matter how much he wanted to ensure her safety.
Lucius knew himself as well as most men could, so he knew he’d never be able to part from her, not even for a day. Ongar, barely even six hours. He looked once more at the clock. It would be hours yet until he could see her.
He looked back at the map in front of him.
With his finger, he idly traced the route they would be taking. They would go by ship for the first week or so, then onto land, docking at Utilla. From there, a days’ travel to Ghypsom City, where they’d stay for pleasure more than necessity, not to mention the clan meeting he had arranged months ago.
As he listened in, now giving his men their full attention, he realized he was actually excited to show Sierra more of Titus. But mostly, he wanted to be with her without all these interruptions. Soon he’d have her to himself.
But first, he’d have to once again get that witch Sapera to back off. Whatever it was she wanted to discuss with him he wasn’t interested. But he would speak with her, if only to tell her to leave Sierra the fuck alone.
Chapter Four
Fadon
“Going to grow it out or pull it out?” Jon asked with a smirk, joining Fadon at the breakfast table in the dining room.
Fadon dropped his hands. He’d been running his fingers through his hair as if the thoughts in his head were the enemy and if he rubbed his scalp with enough force, the enemy could be destroyed.
Sitting across from him, Jon snapped open the linen napkin before putting it on his lap. His plate was stacked high with eggs and bacon. “You know I’ve always suggested going for the long-hair look.”
Fadon eyed his Second’s golden locks, which flowed over his shoulders and back. “Don’t have the patience for it.” He grabbed a roll from the basket in front of them. “And thanks for reminding me to cut my hair today. I’ll try to fit it in. What I wouldn’t do for a day off, though.”
“Any developments?” Jon asked, getting straight down to business.
“So far, no one is suspect. I sat in all day, and with the exception of breaking for lunch, I was present for every nuance or tell or eyeballing I could observe. Nothing.”
The person responsible for helping their prisoner, Servant Sarbo, escape was either a ghost or plainly just didn’t exist. It made no sense. There was no way the Servant had escaped on his own. He had been dumped in the dungeon underneath the barracks’ hold, thrown into a room with a single iron door that required a special key to unlock.
Today would be the third day of check-ins, where each citizen of Goth Mor Helle had to present themselves in front of the queen, in the throne room, their names crossed off the registry that Caziel and Zion kept records of. The whole ordeal was time consuming, and the punishment for not attending was steep.
“Well,” Jon said in between bites, “we have one more day of receiving in the throne room. As far as we know, no one has left the grounds. So unless the culprit has holed himself away somewhere, he’ll be there today to see the queen.”
Fadon nodded. He doubted they’d find the culprit. He was beginning to think the Servant hadn’t had any help at all. With how strange the past few months had gone, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Servant had used some kind of witchcraft on the locked door of his cell.
“You know,” Jon said over a mouthful of food, “it could have been a woman.”
The fork in Fadon’s hand clanged on the plate as he let it go. “For fuck’s sake. What didn’t we think of that sooner?”
Jon shrugged. “With everything going on, plus all the traveling, we haven’t been at our best, Fadon. You especially.” His eyes scanned his captain’s face, probably noting the dark circles and hollow cheeks that proved how exhausted Fadon was.
Leaving Ordelpho, leaving Sierra, the delay in getting home to the Mor… All of it had taken a serious toll on Fadon. He felt unhinged at best, and behind all the obvious reasons for his wretched state, there was a feeling of… something. Dread had been creeping in, one that kept building inside him as soon as they’d set foot back on land toward home.
