I turn from the balcony, walking faster. My stride lengthens with each step until I'm jogging through the corridors, then running full out.
The temple door slams against the wall as I burst through.
The fire in the brazier gutters, nearly dead. Seris's blankets lie twisted and empty, still warm but vacant as a tomb. A clay cup lies shattered near the bed, its contents spread in a dark stain that gleams wet in the dying light.
Blood.
Deep gouges scar the stone floor—fingernail scratches, desperate and raw. The air carries the metallic tang of violence and something else: fear, thick as smoke.
"Seris?"
My voice cracks like breaking stone. The silence swallows her name, offers nothing back.
The growl builds in my chest, low and deadly, the sound of something fundamental breaking inside me. They took her. While I dreamed of gods and promises, while I planned and schemed and tried to find civilized solutions, they took the mother of my child.
This time, by blood, by blade, by every god left breathing in this rotting world?—
I will not be too late.
21
VARGATH
The inner ring of Azhgar blurs past me as I storm through corridors that suddenly feel too narrow, too confining. Guards flatten themselves against walls as I pass, smart enough to recognize the look of a man with nothing left to lose. My boots pound against ancient stone, each step echoing like a war drum through halls that have witnessed countless betrayals.
The council chamber doors stand before me—thick oak reinforced with iron bands, carved with the old symbols of authority. Voices drift from within, calm and measured, discussing trade routes and border patrols as if the world hasn't just cracked open beneath my feet.
I don't knock.
The doors explode inward under my shoulder, wood splintering against stone. Seven council members look up from their maps and wine cups, faces shifting from annoyance to alarm as they take in my expression.
My axe sings from its sheath, the blade catching torchlight as it embeds itself in the center of their precious table. Ancient wood splits with a sound like breaking bones, sending scrolls and goblets flying.
"Who took her?"
The words wrench out from clenched teeth, raw and deadly. Silence stretches between us, thick as blood.
Elder Grothak clears his throat, his weathered face a mask of confusion. "Vargath, what?—"
"The human is gone." I lean forward, both hands on the axe handle, letting them see the murder in my eyes. "Someone dragged her from the temple while she slept. There's blood on the floor and fear in the air thick enough to choke on."
Councilor Vex shifts in his chair, rings clinking against his wine cup. "Perhaps she simply... left? Humans are unpredictable creatures."
"With scratches gouged into stone? With her blood spilled on sacred ground?" I twist the axe deeper into the wood, watching them flinch. "Try again."
Zharra sits at the far end of the table. She studies her fingernails with elaborate disinterest, but I catch the tension in her shoulders, the way she won't meet my gaze.
"This is unfortunate news," Elder Korma ventures, her voice carefully neutral. "But surely you don't suspect?—"
"I suspect everyone." My gaze sweeps the table, cataloging every nervous glance, every guilty fidget. "Someone in this room knows exactly where she is. Someone decided that Maedra's murder wasn't enough of a message."
Grothak spreads his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Vargath, you're distraught. Understandably so. But accusing the council?—"
"The council that wanted her gone from the moment she arrived?" I pull the axe free, wood chips scattering across their maps. "The council that called her a threat, a contamination? The council that sat silent while Zharra suggested removing her quietly?"
Zharra's head snaps up, eyes flashing. "I made no such suggestion."
"You called for her removal. Your exact words." I point the axe at her throat, close enough that she can feel the steel's chill. "What did you do with her?"
