Ten minutes. Long enough for anything to happen, for threats to materialize and disappear before anyone noticed something wrong. I drop the ale cups without caring where they land, liquid splashing across ground as I push past gathering crowds toward the eastern perimeter.
"Ursik!" I call out when I spot his familiar bulk near the weapons cache, relief flooding through me so intensely it leaves me lightheaded.
He turns at the sound of his name, gray eyes bright with excitement that immediately dims when he sees my expression. "What's wrong?"
"Where's Saela?" The question emerges as demand rather than inquiry, fear making my voice rougher than usual.
"She was with you," he says, confusion replacing excitement as he takes in my obvious panic. "I left her standing by the ale station when Jorik said there was an issue with the eastern watch rotation."
Ice crystallizes in my veins. "She wasn't at the ale station. I came back and you were both gone."
"Shit." Ursik's expression shifts immediately, playful demeanor replaced by warrior alertness that speaks to years of combat experience. "I told her to wait for you, that I'd be right back."
We're already moving back toward the main celebration area, pushing through crowds with urgency that draws curious stares. My eyes scan every face, every shadow, every possible hiding place where someone might have concealed struggle or confrontation.
"Saela!" I call out, voice carrying over ambient noise of festivities that suddenly feel like mockery of growing desperation.
Nothing. No response, no familiar voice calling back, no sight of dark wavy hair or gray-green eyes among the sea of orcish features. She's gone, vanished as completely as if the earth itself had swallowed her whole.
"When did Jorik pull you away?" I demand, mind racing through timeline calculations that make cold sweat break across my skin.
"Right after you walked away," Ursik replies, his own voice tight with a growing alarm. "Said there was a problem with guard rotations, needed someone to verify the eastern posts were properly manned."
Long enough for someone to approach her, to convince her to follow them, to get her away from the camp entirely. Long enough for carefully planned extraction to succeed while everyone was distracted by competitions and celebrations.
"Find Jorik," I order, though part of me already suspects what we'll discover. "Make sure he actually sent for you."
But before Ursik can move, I see Bronn pushing through the crowd toward us with an expression that makes my blood turn toice. His steel-gray eyes carry grim urgency that speaks to crisis beyond simple misunderstanding or communication failure.
"Kai," he says when he reaches us, voice pitched low enough to avoid attracting attention from nearby celebrations. "We have a problem."
"Saela's missing," I report before he can continue, words tasting like ash in my mouth.
"Shit." His jaw tightens with controlled fury that matches the rage building in my own chest. "Sera's gone too. Someone broke her out of holding twenty minutes ago—both guards were found unconscious, and the cell was torn apart from the inside."
The world tilts sideways as pieces fall into place with terrifying clarity. Sera's presence here was never a coincidence or escape from abusive treatment. It was reconnaissance, careful infiltration designed to gather intelligence about our defenses and identify the specific target they came to retrieve.
And while we were all distracted by festivities and competitions, while I was showing off like some love-struck adolescent instead of maintaining proper vigilance, they took her.
They took Saela.
Rage explodes through my chest like wildfire, hot and consuming and absolutely murderous. My hands clench into fists that could crush stone as protective instincts scream for blood, for violence, for anything that might undo the catastrophic failure that allowed this to happen.
"How many?" I ask through gritted teeth, my voice coming out as a growl that makes nearby orcs step back with alarmed expressions.
"Unknown," Bronn replies with military precision that barely conceals his own fury. "But they had inside knowledge—knew exactly when and how to extract both targets with minimal resistance."
"We go after them," I state with conviction that allows no room for argument or negotiation. "Now. Before they get too far ahead."
"Kai." Falla appears at my shoulder with a medical bag slung across his lean frame, blue-green eyes sharp with concern that extends beyond simple professional duty. "What do you need?"
The question grounds me slightly, focus shifting from blind rage to tactical assessment of what recovering Saela will actually require. I can't help her by charging into the wilderness like a berserker—this needs planning, strategy, overwhelming force applied with surgical precision.
"Trackers," I say, mind already cataloguing resources and calculating pursuit options. "Our best scouts and enough warriors to handle whatever resistance we encounter."
"Done," Bronn confirms with authority that brooks no delay. "Gather whoever you want. We leave within the hour."
Relief floods through me at his immediate support, gratitude mixing with determination as I realize I won't have to face this alone. Whatever political considerations normally guide his decisions, he understands that letting Stonevein take clan members—especially ones who possess dangerous knowledge about their activities—sets precedent no leader can afford.
