He worried she might take ill from lingering in such a piercing wind.
Leaning his shoulder against the window frame, Varkas tracked her every movement.
Her stride was far steadier now. When she moved slowly at an even pace, it was nearly impossible to tell her legs troubled her.
Yet that ease never lasted long. Her weakened muscles cramped under the slightest strain, and after ten minutes or so, her gait grew noticeably awkward. Though she hid it well, the pain clearly persisted.
Folding his arms, he tapped a fingertip against his sleeve before finally picking up his discarded coat. He would not be at ease until he had seen to her condition himself.
He skirted the heavy wooden desk and crossed the carpeted floor. Opening the door into the corridor, he ran straight into Daren coming up the stairs.
“Your Grace.”
Daren held a slip of parchment resembling a wire dispatch in one hand as he strode forward. Sensing trouble, Varkas knit his brows.
“What is it?”
“An urgent missive from the informants sent north. We should convene an emergency council at once.”
With a grim cast to his features, the man offered the rolled slip.
Taking it, Varkas swiftly read through the cipher, a mingled script of the East and the Imperial tongue.
The message was unequivocal. The North was preparing for war—and they meant business.
“Any word from our people in the capital?”
“None yet, sir.”
Which meant these unsettling maneuvers had not yet echoed back to the heart of the Empire. It also meant House Heimdal was treading with absolute discretion.
Varkas drove a hand through the hair falling over his brow.
“This alone tells us too little. Keep a tight rein on rumors until we grasp the true scale of it. Summon only the most trustworthy officers to the council chamber.”
“Have you anyone particular in mind?”
“Beirof, Lergen, Labomir… they will suffice.”
As he named the men he had kept close watch over, Daren stroked his chin with a nod.
“All discreet men. They won't breathe a word. I’ll have them waiting in the council chamber shortly.”
As Daren turned away, Varkas tucked the dispatch into his breast pocket and started down the stairs.
The volatile politics of the Northeast already consumed his thoughts.
He weighed the possibilities. By all rights, he should report this immediately to the Imperial Palace. Yet would that be wise?
House Heimdal would never have walked such a perilous tightrope without guarantees. They had almost certainly bought off key imperial ministers, alongside a host of other nobles.
If even a single vassal house turned traitor, the order of the Empire would unravel in an instant.
For now, the priority was gathering intelligence, quietly tightening the noose around Balto from the shadows.
He pressed his eyes, feeling an ache spread from his temples down the bridge of his nose. Just then, a cool, melodious voice drifted toward him.
“Varkas?”
Having cleared the Great Hall on his way toward the guardhouse, Varkas halted dead in his tracks.
His wife, who had been strolling the rear gardens moments before, was now seated near the pavilion before the main keep.
She rose abruptly.
“What brings you out at this hour? I assumed you were away tending to business…”
Hurrying toward him, she stumbled hard. He caught her by the waist before she could fall.
Drawing her slender, almost weightless frame against him, he felt his throat constrict and his mouth turn dry.
He frowned down at her flushed face.
Taking in the faint heat tinting her throat and ears, his body stirred unbidden. Forcing it down, he steadied her balance.
“Take care.”
“I always do. It was only because you appeared out of nowhere.”
She muttered the excuse with eyes lowered. Her tone was sharp as ever, yet somehow devoid of strength.
Straightening her askew collar, he brushed the back of his hand over her warm cheek.
“Your fever hasn't entirely broken. Why aren't you resting inside?”
“It was stifling in that room. The smoke from the hearth was stinging my throat…”
His eyes narrowed. Her dry cough had indeed grown worse since they began lighting the fires. He would have to arrange for heat powered by magic stones without delay.
“Even so, do not linger outdoors. The wind is sharp.”
“Then when am I ever to wear this cloak?”
She glared at him as if he were speaking nonsense. After a pause, he answered evenly.
“You may wear it when you go out with me.”
At the unexpected reply, her eyes, clear as an autumn sky, widened slightly.
As if masking a flicker of agitation, she lowered her long lashes and said detachedly, “You are run ragged as it is. Heaven knows when you’d ever find the time.”
“Soon—”
He meant to say he would make the time, but the word died on his lips as the intelligence from Balto flashed through his mind.
As he pinched the bridge of his nose in muted frustration, Talia read his face, stepped back, and spoke flatly.
“Never mind. Don't trouble yourself over me; go tend to your duties.”
With that, she turned back toward the keep. Almost reflexively, he caught her arm, his figure reflected once more in her startled gaze.
“I will see you to your bedchamber.”
“It is quite all right. I can walk on my own…!”
Ignoring her protest, he scooped her slight body into his arms.
After a sharp glare of resentment, she let her head fall against his shoulder in surrender. Holding her firmly against his chest, he flicked his chin toward the Quarter Dwarf hovering awkwardly nearby.
“Go to the guardhouse and tell them to wait. I will be down in an hour.”
“Y-Yes, Your Grace!”
Leaving the flustered servant bowing frantically behind them, he stepped into the foyer, drawing the eyes of the servants bustling through the halls.
Paying no heed to their stares, as though he were some passing spectacle, he climbed the stairs and noticed a maid lingering outside his bedchamber.
“What are you doing there?”
At his approach, the young girl started and curtsied in haste.
“Greetings, Your Grace. Her Grace asked for fresh fruit this morning, so we hurried to fetch some from the market. She was not in her chambers, so I was waiting for her return.”
He looked down at the tray in her hands.
In a silver bowl rested a bunch of wild grapes alongside neatly pared slices of pear.
She rarely took anything beyond fruit or honey-sweetened water, and even then, only after that nanny begged until she gave in. Hearing that she had asked for something of her own accord brought him a quiet relief.
Shifting her weight into one arm, he took the bowl with his free hand.
“Very well. I will see to it. You may go.”
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“You wished for fruit?”
Setting her down into a plush armchair, he knelt before her and found an uneasy look on her face.
Pressing her lips tight to compose herself, Talia spoke stiffly. “That is not what I asked for.”
“Then what was it?”
She hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her skirts, before finally murmuring in a low voice.
“Strawberries…”
His brow furrowed. Strawberries had been out of season for months.
As though well aware of the fact, she hastened to defend herself. “I only told them to look if any could be found. I was not making a scene or throwing a tantrum. Asking them to check the market is hardly an unreasonable demand.”
“You may send them on whatever errand you wish,” he said firmly.
A pang of frustration stirred within him at the way she seemed to measure his every reaction.
Did she think he would reprimand her over such a trifle? Feeling the tightness in his throat drop heavy into his stomach, he gently tipped her chin up.
“You want strawberries?”
“I only… thought of them, that was all…”
“Not today, but I will have them brought to you within a few days.”
Her eyes, which had been avoiding his, slowly lifted to meet his gaze.
With a quiet urgency, he added, “If there is anything else you crave, tell me. Anything at all.”
END