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The scout—he barely looked old enough to claim adulthood, with a youthful face tanned by days spent in the sun—nodded and stepped further into the large study on silent feet. He was obviously just coming off the assignment, still covered in road dirt and mussed from traveling non-stop across the kingdom. A faint dripping sound filled the tense silence between us. Dripping that seemed to be coming from behind the man’s back. Behar seemed keenly interested in our guest, rising from his plush bed under the double window to circle around the scout and sniffing intently. Then a low growl rumbled as he paid special attention to the sack I noticed tucked behind his right leg, held in a shaking hand.

“The camp I joined during my reconnaissance was attacked while I was scouting the woods bordering the Hollows. General Rimman had mentioned reports of unusual activity before I arrived, so I attempted to track the most recent sighting about a half day’s ride from where the Hollows and Julra met. But…” The young man gulped audibly. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t just leave his head there. Those tribesmen were… the things they were doing to the soldier’s dead bodies was horrific.”

He shuddered violently. Suddenly, it became very clear exactly what was in that burlap sack. Or more specifically, who.

“So, the camp was slain by Hollows natives? And you felt compelled to bring the general’s head into my study?” I tried to keep the disgust from my voice. He was obviously rattled by what he had seen and had to suffer alone with those thoughts the whole two-day ride by kisteral back to the palace.

“They were… doing unimaginable things to the others,” the scout continued, as if I hadn’t asked anything. The man plainly struggled with trying to recall what he saw, his face losing its color as his eyes set somewhere beyond my shoulder. “Somekind of ritual… cutting pieces out of soldiers and… they were stillalive!" he choked. "That was… the most brutal I’ve ever seen the tribes act.”

I moved quickly to the door, ushering in one of the guards to take the sack I assumed held the general’s head from the traumatized man. He flinched as the other guard rested a comforting hand on his shoulder and tried to pry the bag from his clenched fist.

“Did you notice anything else? Obviously, that behavior was more aggressive than normal, but did it seem like it was started by something or someone else?”

The scout’s head dropped so low his chin rested against his chest. For how long the silence stretched on, I didn’t think he was going to answer at all. But finally, after pulling in a deep, shuddering breath and letting it out, he did answer.

“There was… someone in the hills. Someone riding a kisteral and dressed in a cloak that looked to be lined with something dark, maybe trebegnon fur? They looked to have come from the same direction as the Hollows tribe. And… I think a chieftain was with them. He was dressed very differently from the rest and had these… unusual sigils painted in white on his bare chest. It was terrifying just looking at him.”

His description scrambled my thoughts. “The person in the cloak. Did you get close enough to see their face?”

The man shook his head slightly. “Sorry, Your Highness. I couldn’t get close enough before… everything happened at the camp.”

My thumb had drifted to my lips to bite at the nail, an unfortunate habit I carried from my youth. Instead of answers, all I had were more questions about what the hell was going on in the north. Surely the City of Scholars would send word if they felt a hostile attack was imminent. We rarely had encounters from the Hollows tribes in the last ten years or so. Theycertainly didn't participate in organized attacks, nor were they particularly known for joining tribes.

Lost in my thoughts, it wasn’t until a slight rattling of metal against metal pulled me back to the study. The sound was coming from the scout, now violently shaking so hard his armor was making noise. “I’m… I’m sorry, Prince Irin. I can’t—”

“You’re dismissed,” I cut him off. He was obviously about to fall apart. “Take a few days' leave and see a healer. I will send word if I need further information. Thank you for your service.”

The scout practically sprinted from the study, leaving me to stare blankly into the lit fireplace as confused thoughts and questions tumbled around in my head like leaves in a windstorm. First Haron running, now the Hollows tribes attacking, and everything that had happened in the last moon phase—it all seemed to rip me from my moorings and set me loose in the storm. My worry for her safety grew and festered into a thing that could kill me.

I had to figure out what Haron was hiding from me, and what exactly she was trying to accomplish by running off on her own. And now time was my enemy.

Chapter Nineteen

Haron

There is still a shroud of mystery surrounding what happened to the Hilj family on the last three days leading up to

the momentous Frigid War. From what Sinna and other royal staff refugees witnessed, the murderer of the Hilj

family appeared to be Prince Ettion Werren of Golath. There was no love lost between Julra and Golath, but Ettion’s

marriage to Maura was meant to begin mending their tumultuous history. Did Prince Ettion act on his own? Or did he

kill the Hilj family on orders from Golath?

-"The Tragic History of Julra," by High Scholar Yuret Wend, Year 39 of Ber's First Reign

Ithought camping in Ber’s Forest for a couple of days would shake that hound Beolf from my trail. From where I was positioned, I could keep an eye on who came and went from the north and east gates of Gilamorst and traveled north toward Covenant Crossing. It was the only logical way to go if Irin assumed I was heading to Julra. What I didn’t anticipate was Beolf coming out the very next morning with a whole fucking infantry of scouts and cavalry to run my ass down. I had barely made it halfway to Covenant Crossing when he caught up to me, and that was with me leaving before the crack of dawn.

“Halt, traveler!”

The litany of curses running through my brain miraculously stayed there, even as I pulled Maura’s reins to slow her down to a walk. There was no point in trying to outrun him now. That would only make me more suspicious and possibly end with an arrow in my back. I’d have to find a more creative way to lose the dolt before retreating to Julra.

Beolf came up alongside my left, and another spellcaster blocked me in from the right. Then he reached his armored hand out to rip the hood from my head.

“If you touch me, I guarantee you will lose that hand.” I glared at him from the limited shade, squinting in the bright sunlight even though my head was entirely covered. He was wise to snatch it back before I made the appendage rot.

Instead, he snarled a command. “Haron, get your ass back to Gilamorst immediately. Prince Irin is worried about your safety and sent us to escort you.”