It was an hour, maybe two at most, before West settled into a certainty that did not need confirmation. Tyrus was not among Delios’ dead. The mass grave had already given up everything it would. What remained was absence, and absence did not answer questions. Around him, the valley of the dead felt unchanged and yet emptied further, as if even the wind had grown tired of lingering there.
By the time Odessa and Delios had long since turned back toward Minht, their conversation carried ahead of them like something unfinished and intentional, West and Pearl were already being moved along the broken edge of the valley road. Evokian guards did not rush them, but they did not allow delay either. The terrain shifted gradually beneath their feet, from churned earth and scattered stone to the hardening paths that marked the approach to the city.
The closer they came to Minht, the more the world began to insist on life again. A small cluster of locals had gathered near the outer ration posts, their bodies thin enough to look carved rather than grown. Their attention shifted immediately to West and Pearl as they passed, not because of curiosity alone, but because of what they wore. Fine bright fabric, structured tailoring, spotless edges that did not belong in this hellish landscape. The contrast made them look almost unreal beside the dust-worn bodies of the villagers. Stares followed them longer than was comfortable, lingering in silence that held more weight than words.
At the gates, iron and stone rose into a reserved silence. Guards there exchanged brief words with their escorts before the world narrowed again into corridors of authority and polished constraint. West felt the shift more than he saw it, the way the city folded inward on itself, replacing dust with symmetry and hunger with performance.
The ballroom came after a long passage through interior halls that seemed designed less for travel than for transition. Every step carried them further from the valley’s raw exposure and deeper into something curated. Light grew warmer. Floors became smooth beneath their boots. The air lost its grit and gained the faint scent of oil and incense, as if the building itself refused to acknowledge what lay outside its walls.
Inside the ballroom, Delios had already claimed the center as if it belonged to him by default. Dinner had been ordered without announcement.
“It’s all bread, but you should be thanking me for allowing you a piece the rats have not chewed into yet.” His posture remained relaxed atop an ornate marble table positioned like a throne that had forgotten its purpose.
Odessa stood near the spread of food as attendants set what little there was across the surface. Bowls of broth sat thin and uneven, more water than substance, laced with stray herbs pulled from the outskirts. Bread was placed in uneven stacks, some already cracked at the edges as if it had survived too many hands before reaching this room.
An older man seated near Delios tore into his portion without hesitation. He dipped it into the broth too quickly, burning himself in the process, and the reaction slipped out of him before he could contain it. Around him, no one acknowledged the mistake, as if pain was simply another accepted currency in the room.
Pearl and West were brought in under the watch of an Evokian guard. The sound of their footsteps marked a brief interruption in the rhythm of the room, subtle but noticeable to anyone paying attention. Delios shifted upright from his position, his attention intensifying as if the arrival had been expected all along.
“Lady Pearl, Mister West.” His hand extended toward the empty seats positioned near Odessa. “Join us.”
A guard moved behind the chairs, pulling them back with practiced precision, inviting rather than requesting.
“So did you find what you were looking for?” Delios’ voice carried a lightness that did not reach his eyes. He leaned into his seat as if the question itself were an invitation rather than an inquiry.
West lowered himself into the chair as a woman set a steaming bowl before him. The heat rose in thin threads, carrying the scent of watered-down broth and something faintly bitter yet herby beneath it. He kept his attention on the surface of the liquid rather than the man across from him.
“No, he wasn’t there,” West spoke without lifting his gaze, as though naming the absence made it more real.
“Well, that’s too bad.” Delios let the words land with a softness sharpened just enough to cut. His attention drifted instead to the older man beside him.
The man shifted quickly when he noticed Pearl, pushing himself up with eager familiarity. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again, Lady Pearl!” He leaned across the table, reaching out as if her hand was already promised to him.
Pearl did not acknowledge him. Her posture remained still, composed in a way that made the gesture feel like it had struck air instead of intention.
“Sit down, Berry.” Odessa’s voice arrived before the moment could pass.
Delios’ hand moved faster. He caught the man by the coat and pulled him back into his chair with a collected ease that carried no effort, only ownership of space. The motion ended without grandeur, but the message lingered longer than it should have.
“Well, Dess.” Delios reclined again, watching Odessa as if the room had narrowed to her alone. “The man is not here. What now?”
“Three days.” Odessa broke a piece of hardened bread between her fingers, the motion unhurried. “Give me three days. I’ll scout the area. The storm will bring him in.”
Delios tilted his head slightly toward Berry.
Berry straightened as if agreement might improve his position. “Three days seems reasonable,” he echoed, then glanced toward Odessa and offered a careful nod she barely returned.
“I will give you all of tomorrow and not a day more.” Delios spoke with certainty that did not invite adjustment.
“That’s not even enough time to set up a camp.” Odessa exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes as if the limitation itself were an inconvenience rather than a constraint. “Listen to the consolation from the mayor.”
“This man is a fool.” Delios pointed toward Berry without looking away from Odessa. “It is why he sits on the small chair while I lay claim to the governor’s throne. I’ll grant you only one day, Dess.”
The air shifted at the name. Not silence exactly, but a tightening. Odessa leaned forward across the table, her gaze holding his with a pressure that did not need volume to exist.
For a moment, nothing else in the ballroom moved.
Then Odessa exhaled, and something in her expression loosened just enough to pass as amusement. A small smile surfaced, careful and willful, like a blade returned to its sheath without being disarmed.
“You always had a way of making me burn inside.” Her tone carried warmth shaped too precisely to be innocent.
“That’s because you’ve always desired what you cannot tame, Dess.” Delios leaned in closer, as if distance itself were an insult. “Officer, bring us a bottle. One of the good ones.”
His eyes never left her face.
“Oh? The good bottle?” Odessa’s smile widened, but it did not soften. “Well then, should we assume we will be making camp here?”
“Camp? Out there?” Delios let out a faint scoff, almost amused. “My dear Odessa, this city is mine! I will provide a room for Lady Pearl and Mister West.”
His hand reached for her glove, not gently, not aggressively either, but with the certainty of someone testing a boundary they expected to hold.
“But for you,” his voice deepened slightly, “I’m going to keep my eyes on you all night.”
Delios pressed a single kiss to her gloved hand.
Odessa pulled back just enough to reclaim her space without making it a rejection that could be named. A faint flush touched her expression, quickly composed. She lifted her hand and fanned herself once or twice, as if the air had suddenly grown too warm.
“Well.” Her tone turned lighter, almost girlish in a way that did not match the steadiness in her eyes. “If you will excuse us, Captain.”
She rose from the table, and Pearl followed without hesitation. “Pearl, if you will accompany me to the latrine.”
West shifted slightly, watching them go. For a moment, it looked like he might stand, but the motion never completed. Delios gave a subtle nod to one of the guards, and the final decision was made without him.
The guard stepped forward, guiding the two women away through the side of the ballroom.
West remained seated as a bottle arrived at the table. Dark glass, sealed tightly, poured with elegance that felt misplaced in a room like this. Drinks were filled for everyone, even the women who had just left the table.
No one spoke as the cups were distributed.
The silence that followed was not empty. It was waiting.
Delios drained his glass in a quick, single motion, the amber liquid disappearing as if it had never needed to exist in the first place. He set the cup down with muted finality, then exhaled through his nose.
“If I intended to poison either of you,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I would not have called for the good liquor.”
The words landed lightly, but the room adjusted to them anyway. Berry followed his example with less confidence, taking a cautious sip. The reaction came almost immediately, a tightening of his face as the burn caught him off guard.
“Such a fine spirit,” Berry managed, though the words came through strain more than appreciation, as if politeness itself required endurance.
Delios watched him for a moment, then turned his attention back toward West. The motion was unhurried, but precise, like a door being closed without sound.
“Tell me, Mister West,” Delios began as he poured himself another drink, “is Odessa still the great lay I remember her to be?”
West paused mid-breath, the question sitting in the air like something deliberately misplaced. He turned slightly, studying Delios with a confusion that did not rush to resolve itself.
“I’m not sure I follow.”
Delios leaned back, amusement forming at the edges of his expression before settling fully into it. “This is how I know you’re full of shit.” He swirled the drink slowly. “If you really were the man who killed 'The Great' General Dresdi, Odessa would have devoured you by now.”
A faint smile followed the words, as though the insult and the observation were the same thing.
“Oh…” Berry’s voice slipped out before he could contain it, attention boosting as the pieces began to align in his mind.
Delios pointed casually toward West, his finger tracing the air like he was correcting a known error. “Perhaps you were not aware, Mayor, but Mister West here is the man who slayed the great general, according to our friend Odessa.”
Berry turned fully now, studying West as if recalculating the shape of the room. “Is…that right?”
West met his gaze without reaction as Delios continued. “True or not, it means nothing to me. Odessa has her plans. She always does. I am not blind to her tricks.”
Delios set his cup down, the sound soft but decisive. His gaze narrowed slightly, not in suspicion, but in interest that had found something worth holding.
“But I’m curious, Mister West.” He leaned forward just enough for the distance to change. “How deep are you?”
West did not look away. He did not adjust his posture. The stillness in him felt less like restraint and more like certainty.
“Well, Captain,” West said evenly, “maybe it has not occurred to you that a man who could not just talk the late great general into a legal duel, but also emerge triumphant from said duel, would be the right man for this job.”
A faint smile appeared as he lifted his glass. It met Delios’ cup with a smooth, deliberate clink.
“But what do I know?” West drank without hesitation, the motion fast enough to feel intentional rather than casual. “Women can be so unpredictable sometimes.”
He set the cup down again, settling back into his chair with an ease that did not invite further probing. “Tonight, however, I’m just watching over Pearl.”
Delios studied him for a moment, the earlier amusement thinning into something more analytical.
“That is not a light task,” he said slowly. “Pearl is a very valuable asset to Odessa. They are placing a lot of trust in you.”
West offered no reaction beyond a small shift of his eyes toward the direction the women had left. “Pearl seems like a nice girl.”
Delios gave a dull laugh, short and disbelieving. “A nice girl? Mister West, you are truly in the dark! She is the bank.”
The word lingered as Delios leaned back again, voice gaining structure as he continued.
“Pearl knows where all the treasures are kept. Where each ship is at any moment. She even knows where Odessa keeps the other women. Without Pearl, the whole thing falls apart, they say.”
His gaze dropped briefly to West’s gloved hands, as if measuring what was hidden beneath them.
“Other women?” West asked as he met Delios’ gaze, and he held it there as he answered the question.
“The network Odessa has built is far more than a handful of dirty men on ships.” Delios let the words settle, his tone losing its earlier bite as something more premeditated took its place. “She moves money through the empire and beyond, planting women in shops, pubs, farms, inns. Anything she can then funds it all with the loot, and Pearl is the one who sees it placed where it needs to be. Every coin accounted for, every thread tied back to her.”
Berry, now more comfortable with the rhythm of the conversation, dipped bread into his broth again. “There’s plenty of reason to believe the events that took place in Vaga were orchestrated by Odessa and her web of women.”
West did not turn his head immediately. When he spoke, it was steady. “I was in Vaga. Dresdi’s men had already begun ransacking the city before the general’s death, and before the women took matters into their own hands.”
Delios did not interrupt. He let the account continue.
“More than twenty-three high-ranking officers were poisoned or assassinated by slave women. That’s without counting the lower ranks. The chain of command collapsed overnight. General Rombo assumed control of the southern territories after that.”
Berry nodded as if confirming a report already memorized. “It has been quite a disaster for the entire empire.”
Delios’ tone lowered slightly, the earlier playfulness receding into something more mindful. “Odessa sees the way forward. With the Red Dragon and imperial forces distracted under Rombo’s command, I predict she will take aim at the empire as soon as the snow thaws.”
West leaned back just slightly, as if the prediction itself had weight but no relevance to him.
“I’ll be gone by then.” His voice remained calm, certain in a way that did not invite argument. “If the Gods have a plan for her, it will be one that does not involve me.”
Delios went silent for a moment, not in hesitation, but in calculation. His gaze remained fixed on West as he lifted a single finger to the bridge of his nose, tapping it lightly as if marking a thought worth keeping.
“Well, as competent or ahead as you may think you are, Mister West,” he began, the smile returning with a quieter edge, “Odessa is not a foolish woman. Her game is a long one.” His voice lowered, losing some of its earlier sharpness and settling into something firmer. “You might have let her feminine innocence convince you there is a soul inside that vessel.”
He lifted his drink, watching the liquid shift within the glass.
“But I know better than anyone.” His eyes returned to West. “There is only darkness in that woman. A wicked, patient kind of darkness.”
Beside him, Berry tugged at his sleeve and exposed his hand, or what remained of it. The absence of the smaller two fingers was not hidden, only accepted as a cruel fate.
“Captain Delios is correct.” Berry held it there a moment longer than necessary. “Her heart knows only cruelty. Whatever love she shows is only a means to that end.”
Delios did not look at Berry, but the corner of his mouth moved slightly, acknowledging the addition without needing to affirm it.
“I tell you this, Mister West,” Delios continued, setting his cup down with care, “because if you truly are the warrior you claim to be, then you should understand what stands in front of you. I have prepared for whatever tricks Odessa believes she holds.” He leaned forward, just enough for the space between them to tighten. “If we meet on a battlefield under these conditions, I will treat our duel with the full respect one warrior owes another.”
The pause that followed carried weight.
“But if we can avoid the bloodshed,” he added more quietly, “then let us be strong men and swallow our pride.”
He finished his drink, the last of it disappearing as easily as the first.
West did not rush to answer. He let the silence settle before speaking, his tone even, poised.
“Truthfully, Captain, it is not a lie or deception. We are here in search of the man who wronged me and took what was mine. The Red Dragon.” His gaze held steady. “Odessa has her own interest in the blade. We made an agreement. Once we retrieve it, we part ways.”
“I see.” Delios tilted his head again slightly. “And… what is in it for you?”
“What do you mean?” West’s brow tightened just enough to show the question had weight. “I was wronged. I want what’s mine.”
Delios let out a soft chuckle, the sound low and unimpressed. “Do you truly believe Odessa is going to let you keep the Red Dragon?” His eyebrow lifted. “That blade will end up strapped to my unfortunate slug of a cousin before it ever rests in your hands. Surely you are notthat foolish!”
West did not react to the jab. “I am many things, Captain, but I am not under any illusion that Odessa gives anything for free.”
“Then what is it?” Delios asked, the curiosity now more direct.
West hesitated, but only briefly. “I was wronged,” he said again, though this time the certainty wavered at the edges. “And I intend to see that wrong corrected.”
“Revenge?” Delios studied him, something close to disappointment crossing his face.
“No.” West shook his head slightly. “It’s more… complicated than that.”
That answer lingered longer than the others.
Delios watched him in silence, measuring not just the words, but what had been withheld. Then, slowly, he leaned back, his attention drifting to the table as if the conversation had already given him what he needed.
“Well,” he said at last, voice returning to something almost conversational, “I hope things work out for you, Mister West. You seem like a good man.”
The compliment sat uneasily in the space between them.
Delios reached for the bottle again, but this time he did not pour. His fingers rested along the neck of it, turning it slightly as though considering a different kind of offer.
“There are other ways…this could end,” he added, almost casually. “You strike me as someone who…understands when the tide shifts.” His eyes flicked back to West. “Men like you do not survive long by tying themselves to the wrong cause after all.”
The implication was placed carefully, not forced.
“If Odessa’s plans fail,” Delios continued, “she will not fall alone. She will take everyone tied to her down with her. That includes Pearl.”
He let that settle before speaking again.
“Now, I am not an unreasonable man. If circumstances were to change… if Pearl were to find herself in my custody rather than hers…” His fingers tapped lightly against the bottle. “I would see that she is kept safe.”
The word carried a different weight when he said it. Predestined. Defined by him alone.
“And you,” Delios went on, his tone deepening just slightly, “would find a place at my side instead of across from me. A man who can stand where you stand now would not go unrewarded.”
Silence followed, not empty, but deliberate.
West did not answer.
His expression did not shift, but something in his stillness hardened, as if the offer itself had already been dismissed before it could take root. His gaze drifted for the briefest moment toward the direction Pearl had gone, then returned to Delios without acknowledgment of what had just been placed before him.
The air held there stretched thin.
Footsteps approached from the far end of the ballroom, soft at first, then clearer as they drew closer. Odessa and Pearl returned under the escort of Evokian guards, their presence breaking the tension without resolving it.
“Welcomeback, ladies!” Delios’ tone shifted easily, warmth slipping back into place as though it had never left.
Odessa’s eyes moved across the table, taking in the details with silent precision before settling briefly on West’s empty cup. “So,” she said, turning slightly toward him, “what are we talking about?”
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Delios let out an amused laugh. “You know well the conversation was about you. It’s always about you!”
Odessa looked back at West. He gave her a slight nod, nothing more. It was not enough to explain anything, and she knew it.
She reached for the bottle instead, lifting it without permission and drinking directly from it before sliding it back across the table.
“Well then, Delios,” she said, her tone sharpening beneath the surface play, “if that tongue of yours is done playing games with West, perhaps you can play with me instead?”
Delios grinned, taking the bottle in turn. “Officer, show Lady Pearl and Mister West to the guest quarters.” He did not look at them as he spoke. His attention remained fixed on Odessa. “It is time for you to depart, Berry.”
Berry shifted, reluctant. “But, Captain…! I…washoping—”
Odessa’s hand rose, stopping him before the words could finish. Her smile showed just enough edge to end the thought entirely. “It is time for you to depart, Berry.”
A guard stepped forward. “Come with me. I will lead you.”
West stood, but not before reaching for the bottle and slipping it into his coat with a motion that passed as casual to anyone not watching closely. Pearl noticed but could only stare. West met her glance with a small smile and a quick wink, as if to smooth over what did not need explaining.
They were led through the governor’s mansion, the path winding upward through four flights of stairs before opening into a guest chamber that felt almost excessive in its comfort.
“You are to remain in these quarters until tomorrow morning,” the guard said. “If you require anything, knock on the door. A guard will be stationed on the other side.”
The door closed behind him with a loud, final sound.
West moved through the room without settling, his attention tracing the walls, the furnishings, learning the exits. He reached the window and forced it open with some effort. Cold air rushed in immediately, fidgeting and uninvited. The storm had worsened. Snow blurred the distance, swallowing detail, but the courtyard below remained just visible enough.
He measured the height with his eyes before pulling the window shut again, sealing the cold out.
He began to pace.
“Is something wrong?” Pearl’s voice came from the bed, where she had already settled.
“I have an uneasy feeling about Delios’ intentions,” West said, his steps slowing but not stopping. “I think…Odessa might be underestimating him.”
Pearl lay back, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling. “Perhaps he underestimates us.”
“You sound certain.” West moved closer.
“What good would doubt do us now?” she replied, her tone calm and collected. “We are here.”
She turned her head slightly toward him.
“Perhaps a drink will calm your mind.”
West reached into his coat and drew out the bottle, the glass catching a faint glimmer from the low light in the room.
“This is for when we’re back on the boat,” he said, turning it slightly in his hand before glancing toward her. “Unless you want to help me drink it.”
He moved toward the bed without much thought, lowering himself onto it with the same ease he had carried through the evening. The mattress gave beneath his weight, unfamiliar in its softness after everything the day had been. He rested his head against the pillow, close enough to Pearl that the space between them felt smaller than it should have.
Pearl sat upright almost immediately.
“What…are you doing…?”
West turned his head toward her, caught somewhere between confusion and sudden realization. “I just meant if you wanted to have a drink with me.”
“Why are you on the bed?” Her voice remained level, but there was no softness in the question.
West blinked once, as if the answer had not occurred to him until now. “I was hoping to get some rest.”
“I do not share a bed with…men.” Her hand shifted toward her waist, not fast, not aggressive, but intentional enough for him to notice the outline of the blade she kept hidden there. “It’s nothing against you personally.”
The meaning was clear regardless.
“Oh…” West rolled off the bed without resistance, his boots meeting the wooden floor with a dull, grounding sound. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.” His hands lifted slightly, open, as if to show there was nothing more behind the gesture.
Pearl watched him for a moment longer before her hand eased away from the dagger.
“My apologies,” she said, the tension in her shoulders softening just enough to pass. “But you will have to understand, I cannot take any chances.”
“That’s a good instinct.” West lowered his hands, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “They told me you were the brains around here.”
Pearl’s expression shifted, the edge of suspicion giving way to something quieter. She looked away as she settled back onto the bed, allowing herself the space again without fully surrendering to it.
West stretched out along the floor beside her, parallel but separate, the wood cold beneath him. He tucked one arm behind his head, the other resting over the bottle still held loosely against his chest.
“West.”
Her voice came after a pause, softer now, directed upward toward the ceiling rather than at him.
“Yes.”
“What was Lord Omni like?”
The question settled into him before he could prepare for it. For a moment, he said nothing.
“He…was a good man.” The words came slowly, as if they had to pass through something heavier before reaching the surface. He exhaled, the breath uneven. “I… yeah. He was a good man.”
The silence stretched again, but this time it carried memory with it.
“And old,” West added, a faint, almost fragile shift in his tone. “He was very old.”
Pearl turned her head slightly, her gaze drifting toward the edge of the bed, toward where she knew he lay. “He is well regarded in the northern valley. How did a boy like you become his servant?”
West closed his eyes, not to rest, but to see more clearly what rose behind them. West took a second as the memories flooded his mind.
“I was an orphan,” he began, his voice steadying as the memory took shape. “Raised by other orphans. We were thieves because there wasn’t much else to be.”
He shifted slightly on the floor, the wood pressing against his shoulder as he continued.
“When Lord Omni was being hosted by King Gaspar of Amber, the older kids saw an opportunity. They came up with a plan to steal his crown.” A faint breath of something almost like disbelief left him. “And the job of taking it fell to the smallest one among us.”
His fingers tightened slightly around the neck of the bottle.
“That was me.”
He let the words sit there before moving on.
“I got caught.” The simplicity of it made it heavier. “Not for the attempt itself, but for humiliating the king in front of his honored guest. That mattered more.” His voice dropped slightly. “They sentenced me to a life of slavery.”
The room felt quieter around him now, as if even the storm outside had pulled back to listen.
“Lord Omni…” West paused, his throat tightening before he pushed through it. “He couldn’t watch it happen. Not to a child.” A small breath escaped him, uneven this time. “So…he bought me.”
The word lingered, not softened, not disguised.
“He did the best he could, I suppose.”
In the dimness, a tear slipped free, lost quickly against the grain of the floor before it could be seen. His hand moved absently along the bottle in his coat, fingers tracing its shape as if it anchored him to the present.
Above him, the bed remained still, but the space between them no longer felt quite as distant.
Pearl moved before he could say anything more. She slipped from the bed and gathered the blankets, letting them fall in a loose bundle beside him before lowering herself to the floor. The cold met her just the same, but she did not react to it. She sat close enough now that the distance between them no longer felt guarded, only vigilant.
“Oh,” she said, adjusting the fabric around her legs, “so was he training you to be his champion?”
West let the question sit. The silence returned, not empty, but familiar, like something he had learned to live inside.
“No,” he answered at last. “I was just… there.”
Pearl studied him for a moment. “Does that upset you?”
West wiped at his eyes and pushed himself up, turning to face her fully now. The movement carried more sharpness than before.
“I know what you’re doing.” His gaze narrowed slightly. “You’re trying to get in my head.”
“My apologies.” Pearl did not retreat from the accusation, but she did not press it either. “It’s just… I have never seen a man cry before.”
West turned his head away, dragging his hand across his face again, harder this time as if it could erase the evidence. “I’m not crying. It’s late. And…I’m tired.” He exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. “You seem to be quite inquisitive right now.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice softened, stripped of its earlier probing edge. “Did I upset you?”
West looked back at her, holding her gaze this time. The tension lingered for a moment longer before easing, not fully gone, but set aside.
“It’s my turn to ask a question,” he said. “How did you end up with Odessa?”
Pearl hesitated, but only briefly. “I was a servant to her father when I was younger.” Her eyes drifted slightly, not avoiding him, but not fully present either. “When she burned the farm down, she liberated me. After that, she and Smoli raised me for a time… before sending me away to study in the capital.”
“You were a servant… for her father?” West repeated the words, carrying a different weight now.
Pearl broke the gaze, turning slightly away. She did not elaborate.
West let the silence acknowledge what did not need to be said. The difference between them settled quietly into place.
“Sorry,” he added after a moment, a faint attempt at levity returning. “It’s your turn to ask a question.”
Pearl nodded, taking the invitation, though her expression shifted as she searched for something lighter to ask. “Alright… what are your plans for when Odessa pays your salary?”
West blinked, the question catching him off guard. “My salary?”
“Well, yes.” Pearl shifted slightly, settling into the thought. “Odessa pays her men in the spring. If I remember correctly, she owes you about a quarter acre of land.”
“A quarter acre!?” The weight of it landed shockingly.
“Or two, maybe three pounds of silver,” Pearl added, her mind already moving through figures and records. “I would have to check the ledger.”
West let out a hushed breath, his gaze drifting for a moment as if trying to measure something he had never held before.
“She will pay,” Pearl said, certain, grounded in something practiced and proven. “She always does.”
“I…” West hesitated, the words slower now. “I don’t really know what I would do with it.”
The admission felt strange even as he said it. His hand rested loosely against the bottle, fingers tracing its shape as his thoughts slipped somewhere further than the room.
“That’s alright,” Pearl replied, her tone easing. “When the time comes, we can help you put it to good use. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to stay on the Blue Heart any longer than you have to.”
“I guess not.” His voice softened. “That’s a lot of loot.”
Pearl gave a small nod, watching him more closely now.
West shifted slightly, turning his head toward her. “What do you think I should do with it?”
She brought a finger lightly to her chin, considering him with a collected focus. “They say you’re good with medicine. You could open a shop. Somewhere busy. A place where people come and go, where coin flows steadily.” Her voice carried a thoughtful rhythm, as if she could already see it taking form. “Not just a place to treat wounds. A place people trust.”
West let the idea settle, strange but not unwelcome.
“Is that what Odessa does with the women?” he asked after a moment. “Delios mentioned something like that.”
Pearl’s gaze shifted, the question brushing against something she chose not to answer directly. The pause was brief, but enough.
“Actually,” she said, redirecting with soft precision, “it’s my turn to ask a question.”
West exhaled lightly, accepting the turn. “Alright.”
Pearl’s lips curved into a small, teasing smile.
“What’s your real name?”
The question cut across his words, gentle in tone but direct in intent. Pearl’s lips curved slightly, not pressing, but not withdrawing either.
West held her gaze for a moment, then let a small smile form in return.
“I think I’m ready to sleep.”
He leaned back, lowering himself onto the floor again, the conversation slipping out of his hands before it could go further.
Pearl let out a gentle laugh, catching herself quickly before the sound could carry beyond the room.
“But really,” West added, staring up at the ceiling again, “you should get some rest. I’ll watch the door.”
Pearl followed his gaze for a moment, though she saw nothing in the dark beyond the shape of the ceiling above them.
“Truthfully, I probably won’t get much sleep tonight.”
“The bottle is right here.” West tapped it lightly with his fingers, the soft sound filling the space between them.
Pearl considered that, then shifted slightly. “If you don’t mind… I’d like to hear the story of how Dresdi was defeated.”
West let out a flat breath. “It’s a long story.” A faint hint of something lighter touched his voice. “So you might want to get back into bed, just in case I bore you.”
Pearl rose without protest this time and returned to the bed, settling in as the blankets gathered around her again.
West remained where he was, his voice carrying upward as he began. He told it plainly, without embellishment, starting from the labor camp, moving through Vaga, and into the concluding moments that led to Dresdi’s fall. The story unfolded slowly, shaped more by memory than performance, each piece laid down with fragile care.
At some point between the end of the general and the image of Tyrus fleeing with the Red Dragon, the weight of the night claimed them both. Sleep came without formality, thin and incomplete, offering rest without comfort.
It did not last.
The first sound came faintly, distant enough to be mistaken for part of the storm. Then it grew louder. Hooves striking stone in rapid succession, breaking through the quiet with urgency. Shouting followed, intense and uncontained, rising from the courtyard below and cutting cleanly through what remained of the night.
West jolted awake, the remnants of sleep breaking apart as his body moved before his thoughts could catch up. The cold had settled deeper into the room, or maybe it had never left. Voices pressed faintly through the walls, muffled but urgent, threading through the storm outside.
Pearl still lay on the bed, her breathing calm, untouched by the shift. West moved to the window and leaned close, straining to catch meaning from the fragments below, but the words would not form. Only tone reached him. Tension. Confusion. Something was very wrong.
“What’s going on?”
Pearl’s voice came low, still half-caught in sleep.
West pushed the window open. The cold air cut into the room immediately, sharp enough to wake whatever remained dulled. He leaned out and looked down into the courtyard.
Men had gathered around a body.
The figure on the ground twisted weakly against the stone, blood pooling dark beneath him. Even from above, the difference was clear. He was not Evokian.
West narrowed his focus, trying to piece together the shouted fragments, but the storm stole the words before they could rise.
Pearl came up beside him and looked down.
The moment she saw the man, something in her broke through the calm she had held all night.
“That’s Ruzzo!”
She pulled back from the window, the cold no longer the reason.
“Who?” West did not take his eyes off the courtyard.
“He’s one of us…” Her voice tightened. “They must have found him outside the walls…!”
Boots thundered somewhere deeper in the mansion, the sound growing louder as it climbed. West turned from the window just as the footsteps rushed past their door and continued upward. A knock echoed from somewhere nearby, followed by low voices pressed too close to the wood to be understood.
West moved without hesitation. He grabbed the nearest piece of furniture and dragged it toward the door, the legs scraping hard against the floor.
“This is not good!”
The mansion had come alive. Doors opened. Orders snapped. The rhythm of control had broken into a frantic rhythm.
Then Delios’ voice cut through it all from the courtyard below, clear even against the storm.
Pearl rushed back to the window. West kept moving, dragging a dresser into place, stacking weight against the door as if it could hold back what was already in motion.
The door shuddered.
A heavy fist struck against the oak, once, twice, then again, louder each time.
“OPEN THIS DOOR!”
The voice carried command, not request.
Below, Delios barked orders, directing men back into the mansion as others poured out into the streets. Fire had begun to rise somewhere in the distance, a flicker at first, then something larger, feeding on whatever it could take.
Then it came.
A scream full of anguish.
Not close. Nor contained. It tore through the city from somewhere beyond the walls, raw and broken, followed by the piercing cry of a whistle that split the night clean in two.
“WE ARE UNDER ATTACK!”
Delios’ voice rang out, and the courtyard erupted into motion.
The pounding at the door intensified. Wood splintered under repeated blows, cracks spidering across the surface as the barrier began to give.
West stepped back toward the window again, his eyes flicking downward, measuring the distance, calculating the fall. Then back to the door. Then to Pearl.
She was already moving, her gaze scanning the room, assessing, preparing.
The wood gave way with a booming break. A chunk of the door split inward, and an arm forced through the opening, straining to push the barricade aside.
“You are under arrest by order of Captain Delios of the Evokian forces!” the voice shouted through the breach. “Surrender yourselves…NOW!”
The blade came next, slashing blindly through the gap, searching for flesh.
Pearl did not hesitate. She stepped forward and drove her dagger down into the man’s hand.
The scream came instantly. The arm recoiled, blood spilling through the splintered opening, and the sword slipped from his grip, clattering against the floor inside the room.
West grabbed it. He moved to the broken door and looked through the gap. The man staggered back, clutching his hand, blood pouring between his fingers.
Then Odessa appeared.
She moved through the corridor with uncontained fury, with an Evokian blade already in motion. She did not lose speed. The man at the door barely had time to react before she cut him down, her strike flawless and fatal. She did not look at him again.
She kept moving.
Steel rang out through the halls. Shouts collapsed into screams. Bodies hit the floor. The mansion had turned into a throat swallowing its own men.
“That was Odessa,” West said, already moving back toward the barricade. “We need to go!”
Pearl stepped in and caught his shoulder, stopping him. “Let her work.”
The words held him. For a moment, he resisted, then nodded, stepping back again. He returned to the window.
Delios still stood in the courtyard, unmoved at its center, two men flanking him as if the chaos belonged to everyone else. Fire had tightened its grip now, casting uneven light across the stone. Smoke climbed into the storm.
Delios looked up. His gaze found West instantly. And he smiled. A small, almost casual gesture followed. A simple wave.
Then Odessa emerged.
She crossed into the courtyard without fear, her pace consistent, and her blade still wet.
“While I sleep?” Her voice carried across the space, sharp enough to cut through everything else. “You coward.” She walked straight toward him.
Delios stepped aside just enough to reveal the body behind him.
Ruzzo lay crumpled on the stone.
“Your man.”
Odessa stopped.
Only for a second.
Her eyes moved over the body, taking in the wounds with a precision that spoke of experience. The cut at the knees. The strike through the chest. Realization came quickly.
“My men found him dying in the woods,” Delios said, his voice rising now, anger no longer concealed. “They saw others run. I told you…no fucking games, Odessa.”
“This was him!” Odessa’s grip tightened on her blade. “The Red Dragon… He’s here!”
“ENOUGH!” Delios’ hand dropped to the hilt of his sword. “Drop the blade. I am placing you under arrest.”
The two men beside him stepped forward, steel already drawn.
“I am going into the city to find him,” Odessa replied, her voice assertive and unwavering. “Call off your dogs.”
Delios drew his sword in one perfect motion.
“Then this is where we end things, Odessa.” He stepped forward, claiming the space between them. “Stand aside, gentlemen.”
“Sir—”
“I will give her a warrior’s death.” His voice snapped, cruel and absolute. “Stand aside!”
Odessa’s laughter cut through the cold like breaking glass, jarring and unforgiving.
“You forget,” she said, lifting her blade with an ease that bordered on insult, “I taught you everything you know.”
Delios raised his sword, his stance tightening as he settled into it. “I am a different man now, Odessa. I will give you one last chance to drop the weapon.”
“Come and take it, boy.” The amusement in her voice lingered just long enough to sting.
“Fine…” Delios gripped his sword harder, jaw setting. “You leave me no choice.”
He moved first.
His advance was controlled, guarded, the kind of discipline built over the years. Steel met steel with a violent crack, sparks scattering into the night as their blades collided. The rhythm formed quickly. Strike, answer, counter. To anyone watching, it might have passed for a balanced setup.
But it did not stay that way.
Within a handful of exchanges, something shifted in Delios’ expression. Confidence began to thin, replaced by something quieter and more dangerous. Doubt.
Odessa did not rush. She did not strain. Each movement came impeccable and exact, her blade finding angles that forced him to react rather than act. Even as they fought, she turned her wrist just enough to cut a shallow warning across one of the nearby guards, a message delivered without breaking her flow.
Do not interfere.
Delios pressed harder, trying to reclaim ground, but Odessa stepped inside his reach and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the stone hard, breath forced from his chest as the impact echoed through the courtyard.
She did not finish him.
Instead, she pivoted.
One of the guards moved in, too slow to understand his mistake. Odessa’s blade drove straight through his abdomen, the force of it folding him inward before he collapsed at her feet. She pulled free without looking down.
Delios rose again, faster now, anger replacing calculation. He reset his stance, forcing control back into his limbs.
The second guard lunged, desperation driving him forward. His sword met Odessa’s, but the exchange lasted only a moment. She kicked into his shin with brutal precision. The crack dropped him to one knee.
Delios seized the opening, driving low toward her legs, but Odessa moved before the strike could land. She lifted cleanly over his blade, landing behind the kneeling guard, using his body as space, as an obstacle, as nothing more than another piece on the board.
She slipped away from Delios’ next attack and reached down, pulling a sword from one of the fallen without breaking her rhythm.
“You were always a fucking idiot, Delios.”
He took a breath, chest rising sharply, eyes locked on her. “Do not take pride in cutting down my inferior officers.” His voice pushed through the strain. “Because I’m still standing, bitch!”
The rest of it fractured into wrath, into defiance that had already begun to crack.
Odessa closed the distance again.
Their blades met, iron ringing through the courtyard. Snow shifted beneath their feet, her movements light, serene, almost effortless against the weight of his. Delios matched her step for step, answering every strike, but the feeling had changed.
It no longer felt like a duel. It felt like practice. Like something she had already done before.
He saw it then. The calm in her. The control. The lack of urgency.
Delios took a step back.
“If you’ve had enough foreplay,” Odessa said, lowering her blade just slightly, “just say so.”
He drew in a breath and moved forward again, slower this time, cautious. Then, without warning, his hand shifted. A small blade flashed free and flew toward her in a tight arc.
Odessa did not expect it. But she reacted. Her hand snapped up, catching the dagger mid-flight, the motion immaculate and immediate. In the same breath, she sent it back.
The blade buried itself deep into Delios’ neck. For a moment, he did not move.
Then the blood came.
It poured from the wound in a sudden rush, dark and unstoppable. His hands flew to his throat, trying to hold something that would not stay. His knees hit the ground hard, the strength leaving him in visible pieces.
Odessa stepped forward, standing over him as he struggled.
“Such an awful performance,” she said, her voice quieter now, colder. “From the man I once called my ‘champion.’”
Delios looked up at her, something still alive in his eyes, something that might have been words if his body had allowed them to exist. Blood filled his mouth before anything could form.
“You shame me.”
She turned away.
He reached for her as she passed, his hand catching the edge of her coat, fingers tightening with what little strength remained.
Odessa stopped. Then she moved again. Her boot came down on his head.
Once.
Twice.
Again. And again.
The sound changed after the third strike; it was softer, cruel, but she did not stop. She drove her heel down a few more times until there was nothing left in him that could resist, nothing left that could be mistaken for a man.
Only then did she step back.
She pulled the heavy wolf coat from her shoulders and held it out, striking flame to it without hesitation. Fire took quickly, unnatural in its hue, a green glow spreading through the fabric as it burned.
The signal.
Behind her, the mansion corridors ran red. West and Pearl descended through them, stepping over bodies that marked Odessa’s path with brutal clarity. The smell of iron clung to the air as they emerged into the courtyard.
“Odessa… We need to get out of here,” West said, his voice cutting through what remained of the moment.
“Look at this.” Odessa moved to Ruzzo’s body and flipped him onto his back.
West stepped closer. His eyes moved over the wounds, the cuts at the knees, the strike through the chest. Recognition came fast.
“Tyrus…”
“He’s here.” Odessa’s smile returned, but it carried something ferocious now. “The whistle you heard earlier. He must have crossed paths with a guard. But he’s here!”
Around them, the city was breaking.
The fire from her coat had already begun to spread its signal. Whistles answered from distant streets. Steel clashed. Screams rose and tangled with the storm as Odessa’s forces surged into Minht from every direction. The Evokians responded in kind, but the order they held was already fracturing.
War had arrived.
Men began to gather at the edges of the courtyard, shadows forming into soldiers as Odessa’s forces closed in around the mansion. The space filled, tightened, being claimed.
West stood over Ruzzo for a moment longer, his thoughts pulling beyond the courtyard, beyond the fire and the noise.
If Tyrus was here, then this was no accident.
And if Odessa had closed the city around him, then the question was no longer whether he would be found.
It was whether anything Odessa owned could hold him once he was.