The heat remained coiled low in his blood, but his mind had fought its way back to reason.
Varkas drew a long breath and waved off the onlookers gathered outside.
“It is nothing. Return to your posts.”
Every instinct urged him to drag the brute out into the hall, but he had given her his word. He had no choice but to bear it.
Swallowing a sigh, he moved to step back when the chamberlain emerged hesitantly from the dispersing throng.
“Forgive me, Your Grace… but there is a matter requiring your attention…”
Varkas turned a sharp, irritable glare on him, and the middle-aged man shrank back, his jaw snapping shut. Forcing himself to summon what little patience remained, Varkas asked,
“What is it?”
“The Guild Master of the White Silver Alliance has been waiting several hours. He insists he has urgent intelligence for you, Your Grace…”
Catching the hardening line of Varkas's brow, the chamberlain's voice withered to a whisper. Varkas exhaled slowly.
“Tell him I will be there shortly.”
As the chamberlain scurried off, Varkas turned back toward the bedchamber.
She had already shifted to sit on the edge of the mattress, running gentle hands over the wolf to quiet its restless whimpers. He observed them a moment before speaking in a low, restrained drawl.
“There is business to attend to. Get some rest.”
“I’ll wait…”
He had barely begun to turn away when that faint, strained voice caught him.
Stopping, he looked over his shoulder. A flush had crept up the pale line of her neck. Toying absentmindedly with the wolf’s pointed ear, she forced out the rest of the words.
“Come back here.”
She rested her cheek against the wolf’s thick fur and fixed her gaze steadily upon him.
Varkas stood captured by those jewel-bright eyes, transfixed, before slowly nodding.
The faint curve of a smile touched her lips. At that sight, an unfamiliar warmth stirred deep in his chest.
Only after a long silence could he give that feeling a name.
It was hope.
“Forgive me for coming without prior word, Your Grace. But the news could not wait…”
The moment Varkas stepped into the drawing room, the man pacing nervously before the window blurted out the words in a rush.
Foregoing pleasantries entirely, Varkas dropped into an armchair. He gestured with his chin toward the seat opposite.
“What have you learned?”
“Just as you commanded, Your Grace, I kept watch over the northeast to track those still loyal to House Heimdal. Along the way, I came into possession of rather critical records…”
Perched tentatively on the edge of the settee, the northerner reached into his coat and produced a worn, dog-eared ledger. Varkas took it and flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing deeper with every line.
The yellowed parchment detailed massive shipments of grain, iron ore, and even warhorses. When his eyes caught the crest stamped neatly beside the totals, a dry, humorless chuckle broke from his throat. It belonged to an eastern house he knew far too well.
“It appears several lords bordering Balto have been colluding with the North. I thought it best to bring this straight to you, Your Grace.”
“…I appreciate the discretion.”
Tossing out a curt word of thanks, Varkas rolled the ledger tight in one fist and rose to his feet.
“I will have quarters readied for you. Stay and rest as long as you need.”
“There is one more matter, Your Grace.”
As Varkas made to leave, the man spoke up again, urgency sharpening his tone.
“Bjorn Blodar Heimdal has vanished.”
Varkas's gaze narrowed.
Bjorn had been the very spearhead of the rebellion, supposedly besieged alongside his father in Amasec. For him to go missing meant the rebels had broken the perimeter.
He studied the man with cold skepticism.
“Amasec is under complete blockade. Has he not simply withdrawn into the depths of the fortress?”
“He is not a man to idle away behind stone walls. For him to remain unseen this long defies reason.”
Pulling a handkerchief to blot the cold sheen of sweat from his forehead, the northerner continued, his voice trembling.
“He may well have slipped out of Amasec long ago. In fact, I am certain of it. By now, he must be rallying whatever forces he has left, preparing a counterstroke.”
“You fret over ghosts. What can one man accomplish now?”
A faint scoff cut through Varkas's lips.
“The tide has turned. The northern lords have bent the knee, and the diehards have already been purged. Even if he did escape, he is in no position to turn the war.”
“You say that only because you do not know him, Your Grace.”
Desperation edged into the man’s voice.
“Bjorn will never accept defeat quietly. He is out there, orchestrating something catastrophic. You must hunt him down before it is too late.”
The sheer terror in the merchant's voice gave Varkas pause.
What he knew of Bjorn was limited to his frightening talent with a blade, his fierce charisma among the northern factions, and an uncanny mind for tactics. Beyond that, he knew nothing of the man's inner nature.
Yet anyone who could instigate so reckless an uprising was clearly not bound by ordinary logic.
After a heavy pause, he gave a curt nod.
“Very well. I will see to it.”
The merchant’s shoulders slumped, visibly drained of tension.
Leaving the drawing room behind, Varkas headed straight for his study.
He would need to verify Lowell Draven’s claims first. He was not foolish enough to put blind faith in the words of a known opportunist playing both sides.
Settling behind the desk, Varkas pulled out a sheet of parchment and penned an order instructing an inquiry into the lords along the Balto border. The dispatch was addressed to Daren.
A quiet deployment of a small escort under the guise of requisitioning military provisions would allow them to keep watch without raising alarms.
Adding several precise directives, Varkas sealed the missive with red wax and handed it to a waiting runner.
By the time he finished, night had fallen completely.
Setting his desk in order with brisk, restless motions, he left the study. Hurrying down the quiet hall, he spotted the guards keeping watch outside the master bedchamber.
He dismissed them with a silent gesture, then knocked lightly upon the wood. No reply came.
Hesitating a brief moment, he pressed down on the latch.
The dim room smelled faintly of something dry and medicinal.
He soon found the source: a thin wisp of smoke curling lazily from the small brazier by the window.
‘Did she burn sleep-herb?’
Wondering if the ache in her leg had flared up, he walked to the bedside and drew back the hangings. The gray beast lay sprawled across most of the mattress.
He eyed the dead-asleep wolf before looking to his wife curled beside it. She seemed lost in deep slumber as well.
Varkas breathed a hollow sigh and sat quietly on the edge of the mattress. Just then, a soft, drowsy groan broke the silence.
“…Are you back?”
Her voice thick with sleep, she blindly reached a hand toward him.
“Take me out of here, quickly. I barely managed to put him under.”
Varkas stared down in silence at the woman, whose eyelids still fluttered shut, before slowly leaning down over her.
The moment he slipped his arms beneath her back and waist to lift her, the slumbering wolf kicked its legs in a sudden twitch.
He froze instantly. With a faint grumble, as if muttering in a dream, the beast settled back into stillness.
A breath left him, followed by a faint, wry smirk. What in the world was he doing, creeping around like a thief in his own estate?
The absurdity of it faded quickly as she pressed her lips close to his ear, whispering,
“Hurry, before the smoke wears off.”
Varkas rose at once. Snatching the cloak off the wall, he wrapped it snugly around her thin nightgown. Stepping out into the corridor, he looked down the quiet stairs and the lamps burning low along the wall.
After a brief pause, he chose to carry her up the stairs. Taking her to her former chambers risked drawing the attention of the maids.
Instead, he carried her straight into the bedchamber adjoining his study.
END