Page 46 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)

T he cave entrance was little more than a crack in the mountainside, easily missed if you weren't looking for it.

Two days of following scattered tracks and broken branches through increasingly dense forest had led us here, to this unremarkable opening that barely looked large enough for a person to squeeze through.

"This is it," Tarshi said quietly, running his fingers along the stone at the entrance. His sharp eyes caught details the rest of us would miss—scuff marks on the rock, a thread of fabric caught on a protruding stone. "Recent passage, definitely human-sized."

The three of us had to duck to follow the narrow passage deeper into the cave. The space opened up after a few yards, revealing a chamber large enough for several people. "No signs of struggle in here either," he called back, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

I squeezed through the entrance behind him and immediately spotted what had drawn Tarshi's attention—the remains of a fire ring near the entrance of the cave, carefully constructed from stones that had been gathered and arranged with obvious care.

The ashes were cold and scattered, but not so old that they had been completely dispersed by the air currents moving through the chamber.

"They stayed here at least one night," I confirmed, crouching beside the fire ring.

Jalend pushed past Sirrax into the cave with barely contained panic, his breathing harsh and rapid. "Livia! Are you—" His voice cut off abruptly, and I saw his face go white in the dim light filtering through the entrance.

I followed his gaze and felt my own blood turn to ice.

Scattered across the cave floor were pieces of Livia's armour—a bent breastplate, torn leather straps, metal fittings that had been deliberately removed rather than ripped away.

And there, dark against the pale stone, were stains that could only be blood.

"She's dead," Jalend whispered, sinking to his knees beside the largest stain. "Gods above, she's dead and it's my fault. I should have—"

"No corpse," Sirrax's voice cut through Jalend's rising hysteria like a blade through silk.

The dragon had squeezed his massive frame partway into the cave entrance, his golden eyes reflecting what little light there was.

"No drag marks. No scent of decay. She walked out. Stop whimpering like hatchlings."

The blunt assessment hit like a slap, shocking Jalend into silence.

I found myself studying the scene with new eyes, looking for what I had missed in my initial horror.

Sirrax was right—there was blood, yes, but not enough for a mortal wound.

The armour had been carefully removed, not torn from a corpse.

And now that I looked more closely, I could see two sets of footprints leading away from the cave, not just one.

"The shadow mage," Marcus said grimly, reaching the same conclusion. "He took her with him."

I headed back outside the cave, examining the surrounding area, looking for tracks or some sign of the direction they were headed.

The ground was a jumble of rock and hard-packed earth, scoured clean by the mountain winds. Finding a clear print was nearly impossible. I cursed under my breath, my frustration a hot, metallic taste in my mouth. Every second we wasted was a second she was with that… thing.

Then I saw it. A boot print, deeper than it should be, pressed into a patch of damp earth. Another, further on, where a heel had slipped on loose gravel. Two sets of tracks, leading north.

"This way," I grunted, pointing. "Headed deeper into the mountains. A man and a woman. He walks ahead, she follows."

Tarshi came to stand beside me, his movements silent. He didn't bother looking at the ground. Instead, he closed his eyes and tipped his head back, inhaling deeply.

“They’re far ahead. I can’t sense her.”

Sirrax came to stand next to him. “Cannot sense. Too far.”

“I guess we do this the old fashioned way then,” I said. “I’m a fair tracker, and they aren’t covering their tracks.”

“Well why would he?” asked Marcus grimly. “He’s a shadow mage. He’s hardly going to care if someone comes after him. He’s got powers even dragons can’t match.”

The reminder left us all standing silently remembering the carnage of the battle two days before. Eventually Tarshi spoke.

“If we can catch up to them, maybe I can talk to him? He’ll see I’m one of them. I might be able to get him to listen.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Septimus asked.

Tarshi gave a wry smile. “Then while he’s killing me, you can attack from behind and take the fucker out.”

No one laughed. It wasn’t a joke. It was the most logical, suicidal plan we had.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Jalend said, his voice tight. “But if it does…” He left the rest unsaid, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. We all understood. We would do whatever it took.

"Let's move," I said, my eyes already fixed on the faint trail. "They have at least a day's lead on us. The longer we wait, the further they get."

We set off at a punishing pace, following the barely-there tracks that led us higher into the jagged peaks. The terrain was brutal, a vertical world of scree slopes and knife-edge ridges that tested our endurance to its limits.

I led, my eyes locked on the faint trail, while Tarshi and Sirrax flanked me, their senses stretched thin, searching for any hint of her presence on the wind.

The pace was punishing, a near-run over treacherous ground that stole the breath from my lungs and sent fire through my muscles.

We scrambled up scree slopes that threatened to give way beneath our feet and navigated narrow ledges with sheer drops that fell away into misty nothingness.

The sun beat down on us, but I felt only the cold knot of fear in my gut.

We were chasing a ghost, a creature of nightmare who could travel through shadows.

He wasn't just moving fast; he was moving with an unnatural speed that our mortal legs could barely match. Every hour that passed felt like a lifetime stolen from her. The hope I’d felt in the cave was dwindling, replaced by the grim certainty that we were walking into a battle we had no hope of winning. But we kept moving. We had to.

Sirrax, despite his injuries, moved with a grim determination, his face a mask of pain he refused to acknowledge.

The forest grew thicker as we climbed, the pines closing in around us, their branches blotting out the sun.

The air grew colder, and the silence was broken only by the crunch of our boots on pine needles and the harsh sound of our own breathing.

We followed the trail for several hours before the approaching darkness and our own exhaustion forced us to find shelter.

The rocky outcropping Tarshi selected was defensible and hidden, tucked between two massive boulders that would break up our silhouette against the sky.

It was also cramped, which meant we would be spending the night in uncomfortably close quarters.

The moment we began setting up camp, the underlying tensions that had been simmering since Jalend's failure at the battle finally bubbled to the surface.

"We need sentries posted at all approaches," Jalend announced, immediately falling back into his command voice. "Antonius, you'll take first watch with Marcus. Tarshi can—"

"Actually," Marcus interrupted, his tone deceptively mild, "I think we should discuss guard duty as a group. Make sure everyone's comfortable with the arrangements."

The challenge was politely phrased, but unmistakable. Jalend's face flushed red in the gathering twilight.

"I'm still the ranking officer here," he said stiffly. "The chain of command hasn't changed just because—"

“Because we’re no longer in your army?” Marcus finished for him, his voice dangerously quiet. “Your rank means nothing out here, Prince. Less than nothing. It’s a liability. It’s probably the reason she was taken. The only weakness of the Crown Prince.”

The accusation struck Jalend like a physical blow. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale and shaken in the firelight. He looked cornered, the weight of his title and the consequences of his choices crashing down on him all at once.

“That’s not fair, Marcus,” Septimus said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Isn’t it?” Marcus shot back, turning his glare on Septimus. “He led the army that trapped her. His father is the monster who started this war. Every bad thing that has happened to Livia since she left the capital can be laid at his feet.”

“Enough,” Tarshi’s voice was a low rumble, cutting through the tension.

"Your noise will bring every predator in these mountains down on us. The mage will hear your yapping from a league away." He pinned Jalend with a look. "You are a soldier. You know tactics. But this is not your war. We are not your men. We are her mates."

The words hung in the cold air, a stark and brutal truth. Jalend flinched as if struck, the fight draining out of him, leaving him looking young and lost.

“We're all tired, we're all worried about Livia, and we're all dealing with... recent losses. Fighting among ourselves won't help anyone. You’re her mate, as much as any of us,” I said to Jalend.

“You have every right to be here, to fight for her, whoever you are.

But Marcus is right. This is a council of equals now.

" I could see that Marcus's anger wasn't really about guard duty or chain of command.

It was about trust, and that was something my diplomatic training couldn't simply smooth over.

Jalend had betrayed us all, whether he meant to or not.

His very identity meant trusting him was dangerous.

I privately wondered if Livia knew, and if not, how she would react.

Our very presence here was all because of her vow to wreak vengeance on the Emperor, and I wondered if his son knew that.