Page 23

We arrive in Aurelius by mid-afternoon. The streets are bustling with villagers as they scurry through the mist. The cobblestone roads are very uneven and loose in several places.

The architecture is the same here as I’ve seen in several other villages and towns on our journey—tall, thatched roofs, large windows, and dark oak or mahogany doors.

The mist shrouds the village like a widow’s mourning veil, hiding the sad truths within.

Every establishment appears to be a carbon copy of the last, except for one.

I halt my steed to glance at the vines and flowers creeping their way up the trellises and walls.

Hanging baskets of different arrangements cover every inch outside of this unique building.

It’s chaotic and beautiful. In the last ten years, I’ve not seen such finery, even in the palace.

My gaze shifts to the sign above the door—The Violet Lily Shop .

I’m drawn to it. There’s a lightness radiating from within—like hope for a brighter tomorrow; a promise that the shadows of today won’t be our reality forever. I allow myself to linger for just a moment before continuing on, even though I feel the need to return.

“What in all Celestae?” Riordan asks, entering the village square.

Thirteen suits of armor lay in a crescent formation along the cobblestone.

“Try to locate the captain,” I say, dismounting my horse, Danté.

Laisren, Riordan, and Virgil dismount as well, walking through the square to carry out my orders.

I walk up to the nearest suit, nudging it slightly—only to find it hollow.

I go to another, and the same empty sound reverberates.

No remains of a body are found within the suits of armor.

This doesn’t make any sense. It appears as if their bodies were sucked out while standing in formation.

I’ve seen many things as High General over the years, but I’ve never seen anything of this nature. There’s no way a common woman could’ve done this without some level of training. I continue to the others and each one is the same—empty armor without a body.

A set of heavy steps approaches me from my flank, stopping only a few feet away.

“Did you find him?” I ask, quietly.

“Yes, High General,” Virgil’s deep voice replies.

I stand then, adjusting my helmet. “Very good. Bring him to me,” I say.

“Unfortunately, I cannot, General. This is something you’ll want to see for yourself,” he replies.

There’s uncertainty in my friend’s one good eye. He looks apprehensive, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. My body goes rigid, alert in case there’s danger. I trust my cadre and their reaction to any situation. So, Virgil’s hesitancy sets me on edge.

“Lead the way,” I command.

Virgil guides me through the maze of bodies until we’re at the far side of the square where Laisren and Riordan are standing.

Their bodies are blocking something from view.

As I step around them, I see why. There’s another suit of armor with markings along the shoulder to indicate rank.

Unlike the other suits, this one still contains a body: the captain.

He’s been dead a little over a week from the looks of it.

Rust-colored flecks dust along the torso and legs.

The upper body caves in places, like he was stepped on.

As my eyes move up, I see the deep lacerations to the neck and face.

They appear to be in a zigzag formation.

Claw marks, perhaps? Well, except for the neck, which is ripped out, leaving a gaping hole—most likely the killing blow.

Strange.

I look at my men, seeing their confusion mirror my own.

“Laisy, I need you to appoint a well-trained soldier to take the captain’s place. I’m sure one of the brutes we brought will be more than sufficient for the job. Catch up with us once the task is completed,” I say.

“As you wish, High General.”

“You two come with me. We need to find her,” I say, turning toward the nearest establishment. From the heady stench of ale wafting from the building, I assume this must be the village’s tavern. “Let’s see if anyone’s willing to talk.”

“Yes, High General,” they reply in unison.

The tavern’s interior is made of oak, stained a dark color to make the atmosphere appear inviting.

A roaring fire comes from the hearth that stands in the center of the space, and chandeliers made from the bones of wild animals cascade dim light across the establishment.

Two patrons are seated at one of the long, empty tables, but upon seeing us, they swiftly exit.

Taking off our helmets, we make our way to the till, where the barkeep is wiping down the insides of tankards. It isn’t until we stop directly in front of the small man that he looks up. His features pale as he drops the mug. His eyes sweep between the three of us.

“Hi-Hi-High General,” he stutters, bowing at the waist. “Th-This must be th-the C-Cadre with you. ”

“Only my third and fourth commanders,” I reply, nonchalantly. “The second is currently taking care of business elsewhere,”

I slap three gold coins down in front of the nervous man.

“I need information,” I say, “and you’re going to willingly tell me.”

The barkeep flinches, but quickly nods his head as he reaches for the coins. I pull it just beyond his eager fingertips and tsk. “Answer my questions, and this is yours.”

He fidgets, wiping his hands along his trousers. “O-Oh, of course,” he says.

“What happened to the soldiers stationed here?” I ask.

“I don’t know all the details,” the poor man blabbers, “but I can tell you I saw a woman in our village yelling at them. Her skin was a glowing aura. She was covered in blood with the look of death in her eyes. Then she held out her arms and rivulets of… light? Yes, that’s it.

Light seeped from her, and she disintegrated the men surrounding the captain into ash. ”

I slide one of the coins toward him, which he greedily stows away in his pocket. “Do you know why she was angry?” I ask.

One of the waitstaff rounds the corner, collecting the tankards left by the patrons who left hastily.

Once she retreats to the washroom, he glances around, leaning in closer.

His next words are barely above a whisper.

“They say the captain ordered her entire family—all eight of them—to be executed for hiding her ability,” the man replies, shaking his head.

“Some of them were children. A tragic fate, if you ask me.”

Riordan, Virgil, and I share a wary glance.

We never voice our opinions on the decrees of the king.

As long as Domnhall is at the king’s side, bloodshed will continue to flow like rivers.

Murdering innocent people for the sake of power never bodes well for any party involved.

Yet Tiernan is so obsessed with power that he’ll do anything to achieve it.

His cruelty knows no bounds, and his paranoia worsens by the year.

If I hadn’t been at the war front for the last ten years, I’d be in the same position as the soldiers stationed in each town and village.

I’d have no choice but to obey .

I swallow the anger that threatens to erupt, then pass the next coin. “Do you know what happened to the captain, or why he wasn’t killed in the same manner?” I ask.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Laisren enters.

He takes long strides towards us before taking a stance next to Virgil.

The poor barkeep trembles at the sight of us, a small bead of sweat perspiring on his forehead.

Stories of my cadre have reached even the southernmost region of Malvoria.

I’m sure the stories told are ones of bloodshed and death, highlighting the vicious things we have been ordered to do.

The residents will never know we desire the same as they do—peace.

It’s better this way.

It’s easier to get answers if they believe we’re depraved.

I slam my fist into the counter. “Do you know what happened?” I ask again.

He shakes his head, focusing on me once more.

“I’m sorry, High General. I-I was hiding after that point.

No one really knows what happened to the captain.

We all hid in fear that she might harm us as well.

By the time anyone was brave enough to venture back out to the square, he was a bloody heap,” the man replies, exasperated.

“Here,” I say, sliding a fourth coin into his clammy fingers. “An extra coin for your troubles. I have one final question for you, though. Do you know who the woman is that murdered them?” I ask.

He shifts slightly, as if unsure if he should answer.

Emotionless, we stare at the little man.

“Well?” Laisren says, impatiently.

The barkeep sighs deeply. “I personally don’t know the lass, but Ives, our evening barkeeper, does. H-He’s the one that told me her name.”

“Which is?” I growl.

“Maeva,” he replies. “The woman’s name is Maeva Cale, and I can tell you where she is.”