Not because I need his protection, though that's certainly true. Not because I'm afraid of being left with strangers, though that's also accurate. I don't want him to go because the thought of him walking into battle, of facing whatever violence awaits in those distant sounds of combat, makes my stomach twist with genuine terror.
Somewhere in the past few days, between the careful nursing and quiet conversations and desperate intimacy, I've stopped thinking of him as my protector and started thinking of him as... mine. The realization leaves me reeling.
I care about him. Really, truly care about what happens to him, beyond simple gratitude or strategic alliance. The thought of him getting hurt, of losing him to Redmoon blades or Sareen's ambition, is unbearable in ways I don't want to examine too closely.
"Nelrish." His name escapes before I can stop it, carrying more desperation than I intended.
He pauses, turning back toward me with something soft and reassuring in his storm-gray eyes. "I'll be back, Mara. I promise." His gaze shifts to Eira, who watches the proceedings with the wide-eyed fascination of a child witnessing something momentous. "Both of you will be safe. Korrash and his warriors will see to that."
The promise carries the weight of absolute conviction, but it doesn't ease the tight knot of fear in my chest. Promises can be broken by circumstances beyond anyone's control. Good intentions mean nothing if overwhelming force or simple bad luck intervenes.
But I can't say any of that. Can't voice the terrified possessiveness that's taken root in my heart or the way my hands want to reach for him and refuse to let go. So instead I nod, holding Eira closer and trying to project calm confidence I don't feel.
He studies my face for a moment longer, and I wonder what he sees there. Whether my carefully maintained composure is as transparent as it feels, whether he can read the fear and desperate hope written in my expression. Then he nods once, sharp and decisive, and turns away.
I watch him disappear into the forest with Korrash and most of the warriors, their passage marked only by the subtle shift of shadows and the gradual fading of their footsteps. Within moments it's as if they were never there at all, leaving me alone with Eira and two silent orc guards who position themselves strategically around our small clearing.
The sounds of battle continue in the distance, meaningless noise that could indicate victory or disaster with equal plausibility. And I stand there, holding my daughter close, trying not to think about the fact that I've just watched the man I might be falling in love with walk willingly into mortal danger.
Trying not to think about what I'll do if he doesn't come back.
18
NELRISH
The forest closes around us like a familiar embrace as we move through terrain I've known since childhood—every fallen log, every subtle deer path, every ridge that offers tactical advantage burned into memory through decades of survival. But tonight the familiar feels foreign, tainted by the acrid smoke drifting from the south and the distant clash of metal that speaks to battle already joined.
My warriors move behind me with the silent efficiency of men who've fought together through countless skirmishes, their footsteps coordinated in ways that come only from shared blood and mutual trust. Korrash matches my pace beside me, his scarred face set in the grim lines of a man preparing for violence, but I can feel questions radiating from him like heat from a forge.
"Report," I command, keeping my voice low enough to avoid carrying beyond our small group.
"Sareen returned three days ago." Korrash's tone carries the careful neutrality he uses when delivering news he knows will displease me. "Crying. Said you'd been killed while the huntingparty was out holding the northern lines against Redmoon expansion."
Each revelation falls into place with sickening clarity. Three days. Long enough for her to orchestrate exactly the kind of escalation that would serve her purposes, positioning herself as the grieving messenger bringing word of catastrophe while simultaneously providing justification for the violence that followed.
"She claimed the Redmoons were pushing harder for territory," Korrash continues, his remaining eye fixed on the path ahead as we navigate between towering pines. "Said the hunting party was engaged, holding defensive positions. I sent reinforcements immediately."
Of course he did. Korrash has served as my captain for nearly a decade—he knows our protocols, understands the tactical requirements of defending Wintermaw territory against organized incursion. Faced with reports of my death and active combat, he would have responded exactly as training and loyalty demanded.
"How long have they been fighting?"
"Since that first night. It's been escalating daily." His scarred features twist into something approaching satisfaction. "But we managed to destroy their main camp. Burned it to ash and bone. Intelligence suggests what we're tracking now represents the last of their fighting force."
The strategic part of my mind processes this information with cold efficiency. Redmoon's base destroyed, their numbers reduced to whatever survivors managed to escape the flames—this should be simple cleanup, the final elimination of a threat that's plagued the northern territories for months. But the personal betrayal underlying it all burns hotter than tactical considerations.
Sareen. Beautiful, ambitious Sareen, with her copper hair and green eyes and the kind of curves that once made my younger self forget the importance of careful judgment. We'd grown up together in the clan, shared the awkward fumbling of adolescent experimentation, and I'd been fool enough to believe that counted for something beyond nostalgia.
When she'd approached me last spring with offers of alliance and the subtle suggestion that our childhood connection might develop into something more permanent, I'd been diplomatic in my refusal. Explained that Wintermaw's needs required political marriages, strategic alliances that would strengthen our position against external threats. Assured her that my rejection carried no personal slight, no judgment of her worth or desirability.
Apparently, diplomacy had been a wasted effort.
"Sareen poisoned my water skin," I tell Korrash, the words carrying the bitter taste of confirmed suspicion. "Probably nightshade extract, judging by the symptoms. Clever—disguised as bad water until the dose accumulated enough to be fatal."
Korrash's stride falters for half a step, his scarred features darkening with the kind of rage he usually reserves for active combat. "That treacherous?—"
"She needed cover for what she'd done." The pieces fall together with mathematical precision, each element of her plan revealing itself through the lens of desperate ambition. "Start a clan war, hide my assassination in the chaos of a larger conflict. Then position herself to benefit from whatever outcome emerged."
It's exactly the kind of scheme that would appeal to someone like Sareen—complex enough to demonstrate cleverness, cruel enough to satisfy her wounded pride, and ultimately self-serving in ways that prioritize her advancement over any consideration of honor or loyalty. She'd have offered herself to whichever chieftain emerged victorious, using her beauty and tacticalintelligence to secure a position of influence within the new power structure.
