“Supply routes, patrol schedules, fortress weaknesses—you’ve had access to it all.” I let the point hover near his face, watching his pupils dilate with terror. “How much did you sellto Oryx? How many of my warriors died because of information you provided?”
The questions hit their mark. Guilt flashes across his features before he controls it, but I catch the tell. He’s not just a would-be assassin—he’s been feeding intelligence to our enemies for months, maybe longer.
“I can start with fingers,” I muse, letting the blade drift closer to his face. “Small bones break easily, heal poorly. The screaming carries nicely in these stone halls.” I pause, studying his terrified expression. “Or we can skip the pleasantries and go straight to the parts that will make you beg for death.”
Bren’s eyes go wide, white showing all around the irises. His mouth opens and closes soundlessly, but there’s something else in his expression that makes my gut clench with sudden unease.
Resignation. Acceptance. The look of a man who’s made his peace with dying.
“Your choice.” I raise the blade toward his face with deliberate slowness. “But choose quickly. My patience has limits, and you’ve tested them by being here.”
He opens his mouth—whether to speak or scream, I’ll never know.
Instead, his body jerks violently, back arching off the stone floor with sudden, terrible force. Foam bubbles from between his lips, pink-tinged and foul-smelling, carrying the bitter scent of almonds and something else. Something wrong.
“Poison!” Malthak shouts, but I’m moving before the words register.
I drop to my knees beside the convulsing figure, trying to grab his thrashing limbs and hold him still. But it’s too late. Whatever he bit down on—capsules hidden in his tusks, certainly—has done its work.
The poison moves through his system with ruthless efficiency. His tusks are small things, barely more thandecorative points, but they were clearly modified for this purpose. Hollow channels drilled through the ivory, filled with toxins and sealed with wax that dissolves under pressure.
Bite down hard enough, and they release their contents directly into the bloodstream.
A spy’s last resort, designed to prevent interrogation and protect whoever sent them.
Which means Bren wasn’t just a turncoat looking for easy coin. He was trained. Prepared. Sent by someone with resources and knowledge of such techniques.
The convulsions rack his frame with inhuman intensity, muscles spasming so hard I hear bones crack under the strain. His eyes roll back until only whites show, and bloody foam streams from his mouth to pool on the stones beneath him.
Within moments that feel eternal, the thrashing stops. Bren lies still, eyes fixed on the stone ceiling in a death stare that holds more hatred than fear. Even in his final moments, he managed to deny me the information I needed most.
My fist connects with the nearest wall hard enough to crack stone. The sharp pain grounds me slightly, blood running down my knuckles, but the fury remains untouched.
“My own blood rots!” The words tear from my throat in a roar that shakes dust from the ceiling and sends echoes racing down the corridors.
Malthak scrambles backward, wise enough to give me space when violence simmers just beneath my surface. Young Lorun looks ready to bolt entirely, his hand trembling on his sword hilt.
“Hang the corpse on the outer gate,” I snarl at them. “Let everyone see what happens to traitors in my fortress. Let them see and remember. Let Oryx’s spies count the cost of betrayal.”
“Yes, Warlord,” they chorus, gathering the body with careful haste.
Footsteps echo in the stairwell, multiple sets moving with military precision. Captain Hadrun appears with several other officers in tow.
“Warlord, what happened? We heard—” Hadrun begins, but his words cut off when he sees the body being carried away.
“Another assassin,” I interrupt, my voice clipped and dangerous. “Sent by someone with access to poison and training in its use. Someone who knows this fortress well enough to position assets within our own ranks.”
Hadrun’s weathered face darkens with shock. “This is troubling news, my lord.”
“Yes,” I agree, watching his face carefully for tells. “It suggests exactly that.”
“The timing is... concerning,” he continues, playing his part with practiced skill. “Another attempt on the human’s life, just as Oryx’s army approaches. One wonders if her presence has somehow drawn these threats to Ironhold.”
There it is. The same poison he’s been dripping into every conversation since Zoraya arrived. The suggestion that she’s the source of our problems rather than their target. Carefully phrased, deniable, but consistent as water wearing away stone.
I step closer to him, letting my full height cast shadows across his weathered features. My voice drops to something deadly quiet, the tone I use just before violence becomes inevitable.
“Are you suggesting, Captain, that we solve our security problems by abandoning our protections? That we hand over someone under my personal guarantee to the wolves who circle our walls?”
