“We received no distress message,” Drenz says.
The second delegate speaks, voice pitched lower. “When Warlord Rythar was unable to contact his command, he routed a distress message to the Concord Council. All subsequent attempts to reach him have failed.”
“Explain,” Drenz orders them.
The first delegate continues. “His last known position is in Reach’s End, across the perimeter of his home biome. A high probability exists that his strike force has been disabled, either through violence or a biowarfare event.”
The wordbiowarfarelands with a thud. I know instantly what they mean. Serpent-panther venom. The thing I can cure, the thing that’s now my signature on this planet.
Rythar should have had the antivenom with him.
“Contact him now,” I say to Drenz.
Drenz glances at me. I catch the flicker in his eyes—a warning. He doesn’t want them to know that he’s already tried, and failed, to contact Rythar.
“You did not enter the Green Reach merely to deliver a status report,” Drenz says to the delegates.
“Elena must come with us,” says the lead delegate, “to administer the antivenom, and for safekeeping. She will be under the personal protection of the High Lord. That is the last standing order from your Warlord.”
The chill that creeps into my bones isn’t fear. It’s the same wrongness as before, crystallizing now.
“Show me Rythar’s message,” I say.
The lead delegate inclines his head, as if this is a minor concession. He taps the tablet. The room fills with static, then Rythar’s voice.
The message is clipped. Barely more than a growl. “The woman must go to the High Lord immediately for safekeeping.”
That’s it. No context, no sign-off. He would never have called me “the woman.”
The lead delegate steps toward me. “We have a secure shuttle waiting. There will be no delay.”
I want to stall, to buy time, but the red marks on the map gnaw at me. If this is real—if the children in the settlements are at risk, if Rythar is at risk—then there’s no argument. If it’s a trick, I’ll go to the High Lord and face him on my own. Or with Maya. She’s with him already. By order of the Concord Stone. And Maya is sick—sick in a way Xythean medicine might not be enough to fix. If they take me to the Astral Spire, they take me to her. I could see with my own eyes what the Stone’s gifts are doing to her. I might be able to help her.
Drenz plants his feet, squares his jaw. “I invoke Warlord Rythar’s standing order,” Drenz says. “Elena is not to depart from the fortress during the Warlord’s absence. This is anabsolute directive, not subject to override without a personally delivered command.”
The lead Concord man inclines his head. “Exactly. This is why I am personally delivering the command. This comes straight from the Council.”
He touches the tablet. Light gathers above the table and resolves into a seated figure who rests on nothing. The High Lord. The officers drop to one knee. Drenz lowers his head, jaw rigid. I brace for the storm-feeling, the pressure that found me in my dream and filled Rythar’s command center before the light even finished forming. It doesn’t come. The light is right. The stillness is right. The voice, when it speaks, is the High Lord’s voice.
“Ex O Drenz. The Starfallen of the Green Reach passes to Concord Council custody, under my protection, until her Warlord is recovered.”
Still, nothing presses against my mind. No gathering air. “This doesn’t feel right,” I whisper to Drenz. “Ask him to explain.”
“It’s a recording. Not a live transmission,” the Concord representative says. “The High Lord has many duties.” The projection thins and is gone.
Drenz rises slowly. His gaze is hard.
I bite my lip. Rythar has explained in several ways how the rulers keep each biome secure. Stable. This feels like a coordinated strike, designed to undermine that. And it’s working. I’m just not sure who’s on our side.
“I don’t have any more antivenom,” I lie. I won’t hand it over to them.
The Concord delegate looks at Drenz. “It will be a tragedy to all of Xytheos if female or child lives are lost due to the venom.”
“Then I will hope that Rythar’s efforts are successful,” replies Drenz.
“What happens if I go with you now?” I ask the Concord delegates.
The third delegate, the one who hasn’t spoken yet, answers. “You’ll be under the personal protection of the High Lord. No harm will come to you. Your mate will be notified the moment communications are restored that his last orders were followed.” His eyes flick to Drenz. “This is the safest option for all parties.”
