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His brow knitted. Every word she uttered felt like a blade scraping his insides raw.
“Why do you want a child so badly?”
Whether caught off guard or not, a fleeting confusion flickered across her features. Her unfocused stare broke, and she lowered her lashes, turning away from the subject.
“…Does there need to be a reason? Wanting a child is only natural for a married woman.”
Varkas took her chin in his grip and forced her gaze to meet his, staring into the dark hollows beneath her eyes.
“Have you forgotten the torment you endured throughout your pregnancy? You suffered for months, unable even to sit or lie down without unbearable pain.”
“…It wasn’t that bad. It was bearable.”
She remained stubborn.
A violent churn seized his stomach, and he drew in a deep breath of the freezing air.
Even now, the memory of her agony remained vivid. The sight of her weeping blood and tears before collapsing limp as a corpse felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday.
And what followed? Had she not entirely lost her mind to the despair of losing that child? Her body and mind had only just begun to mend, yet she wanted to throw herself back into that furnace?
He cut through her with icy finality, treating the matter as beneath debate.
“Say what you wish. It will change nothing.”
At that unyielding refusal, the faint flush vanished from her face, leaving behind an eerie stillness. Staring at him from deep within the shadows, she let out a hollow breath.
“Even if I beg for it?”
His jaw set tight. The sensation of a blade twisting through his gut grew sharper. Forcing it down, he kept his voice level.
“Even if you beg.”
Her expression froze into ice. Reaching toward her drained cheek on impulse, Varkas hesitated, then pulled his hand back into a clenched fist.
He knew it without needing to ask. She would not permit his touch again.
Just as expected, Talia turned her head away, her eyes fixing him with a stare as sharp as steel.
“Then there is no reason for us to lie together. If you will not give me what I want, get out of this room right now.”
Her lashing words struck him across the cheek. He lingered on the faint tremble of her lips for a second before slowly getting to his feet.
Keeping her cold glare on him, Talia pulled the duvet over her head and turned her back to the room.
Swallowing a heavy breath, Varkas turned away. With measured, quiet strides, he left the chamber.
For days, the rain showed no sign of letting up.
To escape the squalls, the people of Kalmor stayed behind closed doors, leaving the usually bustling squares and marketplaces deserted.
For the cavalry of Shearkan, wary of spies carrying word to the Zram, this isolation was a blessing. Veiled beneath the early rains, they assembled their troops near the Armund Forest completely unnoticed.
If this downpour held for a few more days, they could strike the bandits’ stronghold before word ever reached the enemy that a punitive force had been mobilized.
“The Lord of Dorcaen is waiting at Brinack and will join the vanguard on the appointed day.”
“What of the lords in the east-central region?”
“Nothing new since Sir Daren reported that he would conduct a discreet inquiry into their backgrounds.”
Beirof, delivering his report in a composed manner, added thoughtfully,
“A clumsy search could spark an unnecessary backlash among the nobility, so Sir Daren is treading carefully.”
Varkas, who had been studying the map spread over the table in silence, leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Tell him not to drag his feet. Any who allied with the traitors will destroy the evidence if given time.”
“I will dispatch a messenger pigeon at once.”
Beirof gave a nod and signaled the squire standing by the door. Catching the cue immediately, the youth slipped out of the council room.
Setting the map aside, Varkas skimmed through the newly compiled intelligence reports.
The campaign was coming together smoothly. The local lords, tormented by Zram raiders for years, had readily pledged their forces, and several devout patrons of the Imperial Church had opened their personal coffers to supply the troops. Thanks to their aid, a sufficient force was gathered without having to strip the main garrisons.
“By dawn tomorrow, we can tear this festering root out entirely.”
“Do you plan to round up the heretics at the same time?”
Lucas, who had remained quiet at the end of the table, spoke up. Varkas gave a brief nod, his expression indifferent.
“Once the raiders are crushed, there is no reason to leave the cultists untouched. The moment we ride out, arrest every name on that list. No exceptions.”
“…I have something urgent regarding that matter, Brother.”
Lucas’s voice carried an uncharacteristic hesitation.
“The Church is demanding custody of the apostates.”
Varkas's brow furrowed.
“Their sentiment is appreciated, but the Eastern Church lacks the numbers to hold that many prisoners. Tell them the Grand Duchy will make the arrests and hand them over to a tribunal overseen by the Grand Priest.”
“The thing is… the Central Church has sent Holy Knights.”
Varkas froze as he reached for the next parchment, then turned to his brother. Lucas scratched the back of his neck and continued,
“At dawn, a contingent of knights bearing the seal of the Central Church rode into Kalmor. Word must have slipped out from the Eastern Church.”
Varkas’s jaw hardened as the contents of the inquisitors’ reports rushed back to him.
He had wrung a promise from the Grand Priest to suppress the rumors surrounding Talia, but the cleric could never be fully trusted. If the priest went back on his word and brought up the suspicions of heresy hanging over her, shielding her would become nearly impossible.
The Central Church had long viewed the ‘bastard princess’ as an insult to their order. They would seize any pretext to drag Talia before a heresy trial, if only to humiliate Senevier.
Varkas tossed the report aside onto the desk and rose to his feet.
“I will see to this myself.”
Without waiting for a response, he swept out of the room.
Rain still poured relentlessly from the gray skies. Pulling on the black oilskin cloak offered by an attendant, Varkas led Toruk from the stables.
The horse reared, distressed by the howling wind and biting rain. Calming the beast, Varkas galloped out of Raedgo Castle, cleared the moat, and cut across the empty square.
Reaching the Great Cathedral took barely ten minutes. Ordinarily it would have taken twice as long, but the desolate streets allowed him to traverse half the city without delay.
“Your Grace! What brings you here without warning in this weather…?”
As he rode into the cathedral courtyard, a priest recognized him and hurried out from beneath the covered walkway. Dismounting, Varkas glanced toward the makeshift stable tucked near the garden wall.
The cramped shed was packed with towering destriers. There were at least fifteen.
His voice was clipped.
“I am here to see the Grand Priest.”
“His Eminence is at prayer. If you would step into the parlor and dry off, I will inform him at once—”
“No need. I will wait inside the chapel.”
Brushing past the cleric, he stepped into the towering stone edifice. Beyond the vast archway, a wide corridor stretched out, lined with flickering torches.
Breathing in the damp, heavy chill distinct to cathedrals, he crossed the deserted nave. Then he stopped, catching sight of an imposing shadow standing before the altar.
A broad-shouldered man in dark gray robes stood with his head tilted back, gazing up at the reliefs carved into the high wall.
Sensing an overwhelming pressure radiating from that motionless back, Varkas let his heavy footsteps echo through the silence.
At the sound, the man slowly looked back over his shoulder.
END