“Svenn—”
“Your enemies need to die.” I keep my voice level. “Every last one who threatens you.”
“No,” she says. “I do not want you to go.”
“Rhianelle—”
“There must be another way.”
I reach for her hands, covering them with my own. “The threats against you are multiplying. They tried to kill you atTavan. If this goes on the entire southern region may fall. They will send more heads of your people.”
She flinches and closes her eyes. A single tear slides down her cheek. I reach up to brush it away, but she catches my wrist.
“I can’t ask you to kill for me.”
“You’re not asking.” I wait until she opens her eyes. “I choose this, Rhianelle. For your safety.”
I watch her carefully. Her hands tremble beneath mine.
“You’re not a weapon.” Her voice breaks slightly. “You don’t have to fight for me. Stay. Please.”
The desperation in her tone cuts deep. But I’ve made my decision.
“There is no peace while they hunt you like prey,” I say quietly. “Your hope for diplomacy is admirable. But hope doesn’t win wars.”
Her expression doesn’t clear the way I expected. Instead it clouds further. Her hands clasp together in her lap. She opens her mouth to respond when movement catches her eye.
Lord Clayborne emerges from the manor house, his expression grim as he approaches across the field. He carries something in his hand. A dispatch case bearing the royal seal.
“Your Highness.” He bows to Rhianelle. “Forgive the interruption, but this arrived by urgent courier.”
Rhianelle takes the case with trembling hands. She breaks the seal and reads the parchment. Color drains from her face.
“What is it?” I ask, though I already know it’s nothing good.
“The southern region. Ravenrock has fallen.” Her voice is hollow.
“It’s worse than we believed.” Clayborne’s jaw tightens. “The rebels are fortified. They’re stronger than they should be. Someone is feeding them Asterdust.”
“Asterdust?” Rhianelle mutters.
The Aldarelf inclines his head. “Confiscated stores have been found in two outposts.”
“Can Mavren help us?” she asks.
“The Orc King’s hands are tied, Your Highness.” Clayborne pauses. “The rebel clans don’t answer to him anymore. Possibly haven’t for months. There are also rumors of a rebel leader. Someone the clans are rallying behind for Asterdust.”
Rhianelle and I exchange a look.
Akaloth.The one who took Blaire and sent us elven heads on my wife’s nameday.
Mavren can no longer contain them. The Orc King’s authority over the rebels has collapsed and he knows it. Worse, the fae have no interest in restoring order. Rebel orcs bleeding Aelfheim’s southern border suits them perfectly.
“Can Ravenrock be reclaimed quickly?” Rhianelle asks.
“Not without cost,” Clayborne answers. “But if we wait, they will entrench further.”
The wind shifts through the wheat. Clayborne’s gaze drifts south, toward lands none of us can see from here.
