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CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

U lric pushed forward relentlessly, ignoring the bite of wind and the treacherous footing as they traveled down the ridge of mountains that separated Velmora from the Old Kingdom.

The direct route through Velmora would have been faster, but it would have left them exposed.

He’d reluctantly decided to opt for concealment but he was determined to make up as much time as possible.

Behind him, Wulf and Egon followed in grim silence. As Wulf had predicted, Egon had immediately volunteered to join them, even though he meant leaving his new mate. She had paled, but she hadn’t objected, tilting her head as if listening to something they couldn’t hear.

“I know it’s necessary,” she told Egon. “But hurry back to me.”

None of them spoke of the danger—of the madness of three warriors against an empire. There was no need.

Every step south carried him closer to Jessamin, and every hour that passed was an hour she spent in Lasseran’s clutches. The thought drove him like a lash. He had failed her once; he would not fail her again.

“We need to rest,” Wulf said as the third night fell, his voice pitched low.

He bared his teeth. “No.”

“The horses are spent. We’re spent.” Wulf’s tone remained steady. “And if we arrive too exhausted to fight, we’re no good to her.”

Logic warred with desperation in his mind. He glanced at their mounts, seeing the steam rising from their heaving flanks. Wulf was right, but the concession felt like betrayal.

“Two hours,” he growled. “Then we move.”

They made a cold camp in the shelter of a rocky outcropping. He couldn’t eat. His mind filled with images of Jessamin—her face as she’d tended his wounds, the trust in her eyes in the sacred springs, the hurt and rage when he’d accused her. The memory of that betrayal cut deeper than any blade.

“We’re close,” Egon said, breaking the silence. The big orc sat cross-legged, sharpening his axe with methodical precision. “Another twenty-four hours of hard riding will bring us to the outskirts of Kel’Vara.”

“And then what?” Wulf asked, looking at Ulric. “The city will be crawling with Lasseran’s guards.”

“We’ll go through the tunnels, smugglers’ paths, the sewers if we have to. They’re how the desperate survive in Lasseran’s paradise.” Egon’s massive shoulders hunched slightly. “I still remember them.”

They were obviously not pleasant memories and he put his hand on the scarred orc’s shoulder as he rose.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“I know firsthand what it’s like to live under his rule. We can’t let him win.”

“We won’t,” he vowed.

The approach to Kel’Vara was like watching a beautiful mask being slowly lowered over a rotting face.

From a distance, the city gleamed—black marble and silver spires rising from the cliffs like a vision from a dream, and the Obsidian Keep, dark and elegant, looming over it all like a giant bird of prey.

But as they drew closer, following Egon through hidden ravines and forgotten goat paths, the illusion fractured.

They passed hovels built into the rock, homes of the servants and laborers who weren’t permitted to soil the city proper with their presence.

Thin, haunted faces peered from shadows, then quickly withdrew. Fear was the currency of Kel’Vara.

“Here,” Egon whispered, leading them to what appeared to be a natural fissure in the cliff face. He moved aside a carefully arranged pile of rocks to reveal a narrow tunnel. “This connects to the old sewer system. It’ll take us under the walls.”

They left the horses in the shallow cave created by the fissure. It was somewhat of a risk but he pitied anyone foolish enough to take on three Norhaven warhorses.

The passage was not intended for anyone of their size.

They crawled more than walked, the stench of stagnant water and worse filling their nostrils.

He felt the weight of the city pressing down, but all he could think of was Jessamin.

Was she afraid? Was she hurt? The questions drove him forward through the suffocating darkness.

After what felt like hours, the tunnel widened. Egon stopped, putting a finger to his lips, then pushed open a rusted grate. They emerged into a wider sewer tunnel, this one high enough to stand in.

“We’re inside the walls now,” Egon murmured. “The lower city is above us.”

They moved silently through the labyrinth of tunnels, Egon navigating with the confidence of one returning to a nightmare he’d never truly escaped.

Occasionally, they heard voices from street level—commands, arguments, the mundane sounds of city life continuing oblivious to the predators moving beneath.

Finally, they emerged through a forgotten maintenance entrance into a narrow alley.

The contrast between the dark, crumbling alley and the gleaming street beyond was stark.

Here, the facade of Lasseran’s paradise was cracked and peeling.

The buildings were finely wrought, but many of them were half-empty or boarded up, their facades crumbling.

In the streets, people hurried along with their heads bowed.

Children played, but their laughter was muted, cautious.

The scent of the place was wrong, too. The air was heavy with fear and resignation.

They remained in the alley long enough to strip out of the clothes they’d worn through the sewers and put on plain dark leathers.

“Keep your heads down,” Egon warned, handing each of them a cloak and pulling his down around his face. “Even here, orcs will draw attention.”

They moved through the lower city like ghosts, sticking to shadows and back alleys. The higher they climbed through the tiered districts, the more pronounced the disparity became. Lavish villas stood alongside the crumbling quarters of those who served them.

“We need information before we go any further,” Egon said, leading them to an old tavern in a back alley. He knocked on the door, a complex pattern of taps and pauses. After a moment, the door swung open and they stepped inside.

The interior was dimly lit, the windows boarded up. A small group of people turned to stare at them. Egon’s gaze swept over them, lingering on a scarred old human in the corner.

“Tolbrayth.”

“Egon,” the old human said gruffly. “Been a long time. Thought you’d escaped this place.”

“I did. But now I’m back and I need information.”

Tolbrayth studied him, then nodded. “What’s the question?”

“The Princess Jessamin. Where is he keeping her?”

Tolbrayth didn’t even blink. “The Obsidian Keep, of course.”

“Even if he planned to use her in a… ritual ceremony?” The question emerged before he could stop it. Tolbrayth gave him a penetrating look, then nodded.

“Yeah. Rumor has it there’s trouble between Lasseran and the Veilborn.” Several of the people nearby quickly sketched an X over their hearts at the mention of the priests. “Wouldn’t wanna bet on the outcome of that dispute.”

So Lasseran isn’t quite as all-powerful as he wanted people to believe. He pushed that thought aside to deal with later. Right now, all that mattered was Jessamin.

“What kind of resistance are we likely to meet at the keep?”

“Resistance? You plan to fight your way in there?” Tolbrayth stared at them disbelievingly. “They’ll cut you down before you make it within fifty feet of the walls.”

“There must be a way in.” He felt the first stirrings of desperation, the walls of the city closing in around him. “A secret passage, a sewer line, anything.”

“You think if there was a way to get to Lasseran, we wouldn’t have taken it? He’s our enemy too,” Tolbrayth said harshly. “He’s got his own private army and the Veilborn at his back. Until now anyway. But they’re not gonna help you,” he added before Ulric could suggest it.

“There’s a passage from the gladiator quarters to his underground fight pit,” Egon said slowly. “It’s guarded, but not heavily. Once we’re inside, I can create a diversion while the two of you find her.”

“I don’t think we should split up,” Wulf said immediately, putting his hand on his brother’s arm. “It’s too risky.”

“It’s our best chance for success and you know it. Don’t worry,” he added, a surprisingly sweet smile crossing his battle-scarred face. “I promised Lyric I’d make it home to her and I won’t break my promise.”

“Lyric, eh?” Tolbrayth grinned at Egon. “‘Bout damn time. If you can make it inside the Keep, there’s a network of servant’s tunnels. Lasseran doesn’t want to sully himself by having any contact with servants.” The old man spat. “I’ll draw you a map.”

A short time later they were on their way. Each of them had a copy of Tolbrayth’s map in their pocket. He’d even marked his best guess as to the location Lasseran would use for the ritual.

“Inner chamber. No one is allowed to go there and it’s supposed to be a big secret.” The old man spat again. “Only makes it more obvious.”

They reached the Obsidian Keep just as dusk fell. It loomed against the darkening sky, a monument to Lasseran’s power and ego, and its black walls seemed to absorb the last light of day, as if even the sun feared to touch it.

They found shelter in an abandoned storehouse with a view of the keep’s main gates. Guards in black armor patrolled the walls, their movements precise, mechanical. The entrance was a killing ground—open, exposed, with no cover. Tolbrayth has been right about a frontal assault not working.

“I can feel her,” he said suddenly. Something inside him responded to her presence, a pull he couldn’t explain. “She’s in there. Alive.”

Relief and rage warred within him. She lived, but she was in Lasseran’s hands. His Beast howled for blood.

“It’s the mate bond,” Wulf said calmly. “The one you said didn’t exist.”

He ignored the provocative remark. If that pull helped him find her, he could only be grateful. “The sooner we get in there, the better.”

“We wait for the guard shift at midnight, then make our move,” Egon said, his eyes glittering. He looked at Wulf, then him. “Get some rest while you can. This is going to be a long night.”