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As long as that wolf remained by her side, no one would dare lay a hand on her.
With that settled, he could focus entirely on resolving the heresy matter for the time being.
Varkas headed straight for the guard post beside the North Gate. There, he carefully examined the entry and exit logs from the day of the raid to the present, the duty officer’s journals, and the casualty rolls.
The toll was heavier than anticipated. Five soldiers guarding the northern wall, four gaolers stationed at the dungeon, and five servants within the castle had perished. Even the four servants taken hostage were found two days later as cold corpses.
The devastation did not end with the dead. More than a dozen others had sustained injuries so grievous that even healing arts could not mend them.
Varkas’s gaze, slowly moving down the long roster of victims, arrested at a single name.
“Did the healer also fall?”
“Yes, my lord. It is pitiful—he was found with a dagger driven straight through his heart.”
The captain of the watch, watching Varkas’s countenance with visible tension, answered with a heavy sigh.
“Tiuran resided quite far from the main keep, didn’t he? It seems he crossed paths with the villains as they fled through the North Gate and met his end.”
Varkas’s lips set into a rigid line.
At the thought of his wife, who had been sleeping defenseless beneath that very healer’s roof, a sudden chill seized his chest.
She had grown rather fond of the healer during her stay. The news would strike her hard. Varkas stared blankly into the distance for a moment before roughly raking his hair back.
Self-loathing flared within him for worrying about her grief in the middle of such ruin.
Nearly twenty lives had been lost. There was no cause to mourn one man more deeply merely because he had been close to her.
He dropped the roster onto the desk with an abrupt, dismissive thud.
“I will allocate a separate purse. Ensure that ample compensation is delivered to the families of the fallen.”
Leaving behind those brief instructions, he rose and stepped outside the guard post, only for a commotion nearby to draw his ear.
Varkas instinctively turned his head, frowning at the sight of guards lined up in rigid formation before the gate.
“What is happening?”
The sentry posted at the entrance whipped around in surprise.
“M-My Lord!”
Gazing up as though he had seen a phantom, the guard hastily scrambled aside, then bowed his head and stammered.
“Visitors have arrived, my lord… We were awaiting permission to grant them entry.”
Varkas narrowed his eyes and looked past the portcullis. Through the gaps in the iron grate stood a towering man draped in deep navy vestments.
Recognizing the visitor, Varkas knitted his brow. Roman Talis, a Holy Knight dispatched by the Central Church, stood waiting with two subordinates in tow.
“It has been a fortnight, Your Excellency.”
The man leaned in close to the iron bars, offering a mild smile.
“I heard you suffered an unfortunate mishap, but it appears your vigor has returned. Seeing you looking so robust with my own eyes sets my heart at ease.”
“State your business.”
Varkas brushed aside the hollow pleasantries, demanding his purpose at once.
The man rested his frame casually against the iron bars and murmured in a lowered voice.
“With the purge having ended in failure, the majority of the heretics have vanished without a trace, haven’t they? We can no longer simply sit back and wait. I have come to request permission for the Cathedral Guardians to initiate a direct investigation.”
“As I have told you before, I do not permit outsiders to comb through my domain at will. Stop wasting your breath and turn back.”
“If you remain unyielding, I shall have no choice but to solicit imperial cooperation for the investigation.”
Varkas, who had already begun turning toward the stables, halted and fixed him with a freezing glare.
“Are you threatening me?”
“Perish the thought. I am merely extending a courteous request for cooperation.”
The man lowered his voice further, tinged with quiet cunning.
“I, too, hold tedious formalities in little regard. Since neither of us desires to see this blown out of proportion, why not reach an amicable understanding?”
Varkas’s expression set like stone. He understood at once. The man was holding Talia over his head.
The words ground out between his teeth.
“Raise the gate.”
No sooner had the command left his lips than the iron grate slowly groaned upward.
Passing through the threshold with his men behind him, Roman Talis wore an unhurried smile.
“A prudent choice.”
Ignoring the faint smugness in the man’s tone, Varkas strode toward the post adjoining the curtain wall.
“Follow me.”
The giant trailed after him with steps deceptively light for his bulk.
Entering the office used by the wall watch, Varkas signaled to the waiting guards.
“All of you, out.”
Once the room was emptied, he turned to the massive figure lingering in the doorway and spoke flatly.
“What are you waiting for? Come inside.”
After sweeping the room with a calculating glance, the man gestured for his own subordinates to wait outside.
Left alone at last, Varkas seated himself at the council table and cut straight to the point.
“What is it you truly want?”
“It is as I said. Grant the Cathedral Guardians sanction to uncover the true scope of the heresy festering in the East.”
The man answered calmly. Varkas let out a dry scoff and reached for the wine flagon resting on the table.
“And I presume you demand the authority to dispose of the guilty as well?”
“If you fear we might carry out an indiscriminate slaughter of civilians, rest assured. If you so wish, we can conduct the inquiry jointly with the soldiers of Shearkan.”
The man offered the terms as though conferring a generous favor.
“Our purpose is to check the spread of heretical poison, not to hold a bloody festival in the East. I give you my word that the transgressors will be transported under the most humane conditions to face the judgment of the law.”
Varkas took a draft of the harsh wine, closely watching the man before him.
In his head, he knew there was little practical reason to refuse. He had no desire to see heresy spread unchecked across his lands either.
With the subjugation having unraveled, he possessed no proper justification to reject the Church’s involvement. Yet his instincts constantly sounded an alarm, warning him that this man was never to be trusted.
“If Your Excellency extends the courtesy needed for my duties to proceed without hindrance, I, too, shall see to your convenience.”
Gauging his hesitation, the man dropped a suggestive remark.
Varkas fixed him with frost-chilled eyes.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I shall quietly bury the numerous suspicions clinging to the Grand Duchess.”
The reply came without a trace of remorse.
“Rumors already run rampant that the Grand Duchess conspired with heretics to poison Your Excellency, do they not? Yet, seeing that no punishment has been meted out, it seems Your Excellency would rather keep this unsavory affair under wraps.”
· · ·
“I also have no desire to undertake the cumbersome task of hauling the Grand Duchess of the East before an inquisition for heresy. Aid me in my work, and I shall see to it that the whispers surrounding Her Grace are put to rest as baseless slander.”
“In other words, should I refuse to cooperate, you intend to make my wife the target of your hunt.”
The man answered only with a smooth, silent smile.
Varkas gripped the silver goblet so hard the metal began to buckle beneath his fingers.
He was being forced to choose between his duty as a lord and the safety of his wife.
It was not a choice that warranted any hesitation.
He had been raised to place the welfare of the Empire and the East above all else. He could not throw the gates of the Grand Duchy open to suspicious interlopers merely for the sake of a single woman.
And yet, the words that spilled from his mouth were entirely different.
“…Very well. I grant it.”
At that moment, a scalding, bitter sensation churned in the pit of his stomach.
Varkas knew what it was: defeat. An emotion that had coiled deep inside him ever since he had become entangled with her.
He looked down at the mangled goblet through dull eyes. The spilled wine soaked his fingers, hot and sticky as blood.
Whenever she was involved, he invariably chose wrongly.
Right and wrong dissolved into irrelevance, leaving him hurtling down the wrong path, driven solely by base impulse. Like a moth hurtling toward an open flame, knowing full well it would burn to ash.
“A prudent resolution.”
The man spoke in a velvety murmur. Varkas felt that if he looked upon that smug, amused face a heartbeat longer, he would seize the man by the throat and smash him into the table.
He pushed himself up and walked out of the room. And there, in the cold air, he swore to himself.
This was the last time. The very last time he would make the wrong choice for her sake.
END