Chương 17: Chapter 16: Past Grievances

Elma and Christa held their position at the manor gates for hours. The distant, chaotic screams of the city bleeding into the estate were the only metric of time passing, bouncing off the polished plating of the Alloy guards stationed beside them. The massive vanguard that had breached the city was steadily dissecting itself, soldiers splintering off to return to their own bloodlines, until only a fractured remnant approached the gates. Valerius. And a handful of escorts.

Beside him walked a man cloaked entirely in black. As Elma locked onto the stranger, a sudden, dissonant ping registered in her threat assessment—an odd, structural familiarity radiating from his presence. They crossed the threshold. Valerius's gaze locked onto Elma, a smile splitting his hardened features. They closed the distance. The exact second their fields intersected with hers, Elma didn't need to estimate their TRO. It hit her nervous system like a lightning bolt.

It was the pressure of two distinct worlds colliding against her own. The sheer, crushing weight of two Strategois. Cold sweat instantly broke across Elma's forehead. She froze, every muscle locking down as her field strained against the intrusion. Valerius and the man in black halted in the exact same fraction of a second. Elma analyzed their abrupt stop. The localized pressure was mutual. They are feeling my weight, too. The tension shattered as a booming laugh erupted from Valerius's chest.

It was a massive, concussive sound that Elma had nearly deleted from her memory—he was exactly the same. The man in black stared down at her a beat too long, his pale eyes narrowing slightly.

"Remarkable control," he said, his tone flat.

"For her age." Before Elma could adjust her spacing, Valerius closed the gap, sweeping her off the ground like she was made of air.

"Look how much you've grown," he rumbled, the vibration of his voice rattling her ribs.

"I'm your father. Do you remember me?" Elma immediately initiated her countermeasure. She dropped her gaze, utilizing Jorm's established behavioral patterns to feign childish hesitation.

"You are?" Valerius grinned, vibrating with aggressive pride.

"A Tsar. Obviously. I've seen it since the day you were born. You'll be a Strategoi before anyone else even gets close, mark my words. It's in your blood. No wonder that filthy assassin couldn't take you." Elma forced a slight, nervous shift in her posture.

"Strategoi?" The performance felt mechanically heavy in her chest, a poorly fitted disguise, but she maintained the parameters.

"Strategoi is far too small a title for you, my little jewel! Hahaha!" Elma mentally adjusted her internal calendar. It is going to be an exceptionally long week. Christa stepped forward, her face a mask of a perfectly calibrated, aristocratic smile.

"Welcome home," she stated, her voice smooth. She inclined her head respectfully to the man in black.

"Varik. The realm owes you both a debt it can never repay. Your sacrifices at the Red Shore will not be forgotten, and we are endlessly grateful you've returned to us whole." The man inclined his head in a short, formal bow.

"Lady Christa." Valerius lowered Elma back to the stone. He turned his attention to Christa. The joviality vanished, replaced by a sudden sharpness.

"Are you fine? Were you hurt?"

"I am fine," Christa replied, her tone betraying nothing. Elma's eyes flicked over the woman's dress. The structural padding and fabric folds were arranged flawlessly. The heavy bandages binding Christa's torso were entirely invisible to a standard visual sweep. A highly efficient concealment. Satisfied, or at least unwilling to press the interrogation in the courtyard, Valerius pivoted. He began his march into the estate, the heavy, metallic grind of his armored boots echoing against white stone.

The heavy oak dining table felt like a council of war. The airspace above the plates was distorted by the sheer gravity of Valerius and the man in black. They spoke of the Red Shore between bites of roasted meat, trading military casualties and tactical maneuvers like currency. Elma, having left Jorm standing guard over the library with a coil of rope and explicit instructions to tie the Other up if he appeared, found herself only half listening.

Jorm was loyal and she was fast, but neither of those were the same as capable. Elma ran the numbers on whether a length of rope and a child that size would actually hold him, if it came to it, and didn't like the answer. Jorm wouldn't abandon her post. But the Other was cunning, and the odds that he could talk or trick his way past her weren't zero either.

"I was half a breath away from smashing your father's skull into the bedrock," Valerius stated, his voice a low rumble of genuine amusement.

"The man is a plague. He constantly gets under my skin." Varik didn't look up from his plate.

"I'm sure two dead lords would've been a tremendous asset in an already difficult battle."

"Two?" Valerius barked out a laugh that rattled every piece of silverware on the table.

"You forget yourself, Varik. You can't speak to me like that anymore. I am the Sovereign of Veraxys." Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Varik took a slow, measured sip from his silver goblet.

"I'm not from Veraxys."

"Perhaps a duel should settle it, then," Valerius grinned, leaning forward.

"If I win, you finally break your stubborn streak and join my nation."

"No," Varik declined, setting his goblet down. Elma sat still, processing the exchange. Her mind was tearing through the strange, dissonant ping radiating from the man in black. It was the coldness, the measured movements, it was structurally identical to her executioner. Fenric. Was Varik his brother? Varik's light blue eyes suddenly shifted, locking directly onto Elma.

"She is remarkably silent," he noted, his tone flat.

"I did not anticipate that an offspring of Valerius Altheris could possess such a trait."

"She takes after me," Christa interjected. It was her first contribution to the meal. She offered a light, brittle laugh. Valerius scowled, clearly annoyed by the observation.

"She is quiet now. But she has my blood. She will grow out of it in no time." Varik's icy gaze didn't leave Elma.

"Or, perhaps, you should strive to grow up to be exactly like her." Elma logged the observation. She liked this variable.

"Do not be absurd," Valerius snorted.

"I have no desire to become an insufferable monolith like you." The insult bounced harmlessly off Varik. His pale blue eyes continued to scan Elma. She didn't drop her gaze or feign childish shyness. She mirrored his exact, clinical evaluation, scanning him back.

"You are strange," Varik stated.

"You are stranger," Elma replied instantly. Valerius threw his head back with a rolling, full-throated laugh.

"She doesn't seem to like you, Varik! But then again, who does? You ice-cold Thornes are a miserable lot. It actively confuses me how I manage to remain friends with you." Varik set his silver goblet down.

"I spoke early. She's short-tempered." Elma tightened her jaw, understanding exactly why Valerius disliked him. Christa instantly intervened.

"How was the battle on the Red Shore?" Valerius tore a piece of meat from the bone, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand.

"We won. There is nothing left worth discussing."

"Barely," Varik corrected. Valerius choked on his food, a violent cough rattling his massive frame. He slammed his fist against the table. Varik ignored the outburst.

"We were going to lose," he stated coldly.

"If that Equitor had not showed up at the exact necessary moment, the entire world would have died." An Equitor saved them?

"You do not know what you are talking about," Valerius growled, recovering his breath. Christa's fake smile instantly dissolved. The sudden fracture in the warlords' unified front actively degraded her sense of safety. For the first time since entering the estate, Varik's icy exterior cracked, revealing a fraction of actual urgency.

"If we even hope to fend another wave we must unite the remaining territories. Everyone. It is our only option."

"We do not need them," Valerius rejected.

"Their combined forces do not even equal half of ours."

"Yet it is our only chance," Varik countered. Valerius reached back and tore the massive crimson hilt free from across his shoulders, slamming it down onto the table hard enough to crack the wood.

"We have the power of the Sun," he stated, absolute fanaticism bleeding into his tone.

"It was clearly not enough," Varik pushed back. He locked his pale blue eyes onto the sovereign.

"You are the only one who can do it now. We mustn't let our past grievances be our own undoing." Valerius tightened his grip on the hilt. His jaw locked.

"Past grievances," Valerius repeated, his voice dropping into a low rumble. He raised a hand, gesturing to the perimeter. A silver-plated guard stepped out of the shadows and bowed deeply at the command. Christa immediately stood up, her chair scraping against the floor. She reached down, grabbing Elma's arm to pull her away from the table. Before Christa could secure her grip, Valerius's massive hand clamped down over Elma's shoulder, anchoring her to the seat.

"Leave her," he ordered Christa, his eyes never leaving Varik. Christa froze. She stared at her husband for a long stretch of seconds, but the hierarchy was absolute. She released Elma's arm, turned, and rapidly exited the dining hall.

"Past grievances," Valerius repeated again. The heavy oak doors swung open. Two massive Alloy guards dragged a figure into the room, dropping him onto the stone floor. Thick, heavy chains bound his wrists and ankles. Nagin. Elma's heart rate accelerated on its own. The phantom, freezing edge of the scythe flashed across her sternum. Sensing the sudden shift in her breathing, Valerius tightened his grip around her small shoulder.

"He is nothing to be scared of," Valerius assured her, mistaking her adrenaline for childish terror. Valerius stood up, his massive frame towering over the table. He looked down at Varik.

"Once this issue is resolved," Valerius dictated, pointing a heavy finger at the broken assassin bleeding on his floor.

"And I verify that none of 'the other territories' are involved in it. Then, I will consider your alliance." Varik did not answer. For the first time, his jaw tightened in visible frustration. He reached out, grabbed his fork, and silently resumed eating. Valerius stood over Nagin. The broken assassin remained entirely silent, his breathing a wet, ragged wheeze.

"So?" Valerius asked, his eyes flicking to the man in black. Varik didn't look up from his plate.

"I do not know this one." Valerius looked back down at the bleeding figure.

"Who sent you?"

"Do not bother," Varik advised, his tone perfectly flat. Valerius didn't. He stepped forward, wrapped his massive palm over the side of Nagin's face, and violently drove the assassin's head into the reinforced stone wall. The concussive crunch of bone shattering against masonry echoed through the dining hall. Elma blinked, a momentary jolt of shock registering in her system. The sudden spray of crimson and gray matter painted the white floor.

It had been a long time since she had seen the raw, steaming insides of a living being. The sharp scent of fresh blood rapidly filled the airspace. Valerius casually wiped his blood-soaked hand on a linen cloth and tossed it onto the table. He turned his attention back to Varik.

"Do you know where Hephryx is working?" Hephryx. Elma leaned forward, her small hands flying to her temples. That name. Hearing it spoken aloud in this dining room felt like a surreal hallucination. Varik took another measured sip from his goblet.

"I do not know where he works now. But you can leave a message for him. He is not stupid enough to refuse it."

"Get the message out immediately," Valerius said, turning to the Alloy stationed by the wall.

"Only he would know who bought this thing from him." The Alloy offered a deep, rigid bow, and swiftly exited the room to execute the command. Elma remained still, her hands pressed against her head as she actively regulated her breathing. She forced her heart rate to decelerate, manually burying the sudden spike in her vitals. Hephryx. She waited for the name to lose its weight—the way a threat assessment downgrades once the danger has passed. He was a discarded variable. A solved equation. It didn't downgrade.

Something colder and steadier coiled tight beneath her sternum instead, and settled in to stay. She owed him her first life, and she'd paid that debt in full the moment the blade took her head. This one he had no claim on. If he had so much as breathed near the order that put that scythe in her chest, she would tear him apart without a single fraction of hesitation.