"You're out of your mind," Hesketh hissed, the veteran captain’s voice echoing with a raspy, wet rattle as he adjusted the heavy iron bracer on his good arm. The torchlight from the war room spilled out into the drafty brick antechamber, casting long, jittery shadows against the damp masonry. "That aqueduct hasn't been cleared of silt since the old King's coronation. Half of it is choked with runoff from the lower stables, and the other half is a labyrinth of rusted drain grates.""If it were clean and lined with velvet, Vane's guards would be using it," Zavi replied flatly. He yanked the leather strap of his baldric tight across his chest, wincing as the motion pulled at the freshly stitched muscle in his right shoulder. The pain was sharp, hot, and entirely real—no flashing red numbers, no floating interface warning him of diminished hit points. Just bone, sinew, and the cold reality of a body pushed too far. "Which is precisely why we're going through it. If we take the surface roa

"Keep your heads down," Zavi whispered, crouching low as the damp, biting chill of the stable yard swept over them like a physical blow. The air here didn't smell like the expensive perfumes of the inner palace or the cold, sterile stone of the royal keep; it reeked of wet straw, horse manure, rotting leather, and the heavy, metallic tang of unwashed mercenary blood.A few yards away, a pair of Duke Vane’s private guards huddled around a sputtering cast-iron brazier, their heavy iron greaves clanking against the cobblestones as they passed a skin of sour wine back and forth."They've got enough timber stacked in those main sheds to build a warship," Hesketh muttered under his breath, his voice a low, raspy gravel-scraping sound. The captain’s left thigh was still wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage from the earlier breach at the postern gate, but he gripped his short spear with a stubborn, bone-white knuckle fury. "If we don't light those wagons up right now, Vane's heavy infantry is go

"Move," Zavi hissed, his hand gripping the cold damp collar of Hesketh’s jerkin and hauling the older man backward into the shadowed mouth of the aqueduct just as a heavy iron-shod boot slammed down onto the flagstone they had occupied a heartbeat earlier.The spark of the boot striking the stone flashed bright orange in the gloom, casting jagged, dancing shadows across the slimy brick walls of the drainage tunnel. A mercenary with a broadsword slung across his back cursed loudly, kicking a pile of damp straw before turning away to vomit into the stable yard's drainage ditch."Close," Hesketh whispered, his breath hitching as he leaned his massive weight against the slippery brickwork. The captain’s injured thigh gave out slightly, scraping a dull, wet sound against the mortar. "Too damn close, lad. If that one hadn't stopped to empty his guts, we'd be carving our way out of here with kitchen knives.""We're going back the way we came," Zavi said, not looking back as he dropped to one

"If you drop him, Zavi, I’m locking the inner gate from the outside and telling Alaric you tripped over your own boots," Serafia’s voice cut through the damp stone corridor like a razor, sharp and entirely devoid of panic despite the soot staining her high-collared velvet doublet.Zavi didn't break stride, his shoulder still wedged firmly beneath the staggering weight of Captain Hesketh as they lurched through the low-arched service entrance of the palace keep. The heavy bronze doors slammed shut behind them with a booming concussion that rattled the torch sconces on the walls, instantly cutting off the distant, chaotic roar of Vane’s burning supply camp."I'm not dropping him," Zavi grunted, his boots slipping slightly on the blood-smeared flagstones before he caught his balance with a sharp twist of his torso. The old injury in his arm flared—a white-hot spike of phantom friction that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with bad angles and too many yards of wet stone c

"If you drop him, Zavi, I’m locking the inner gate from the outside and telling Alaric you tripped over your own boots," Serafia’s voice cut through the damp stone corridor like a razor, sharp and entirely devoid of panic despite the soot staining her high-collared velvet doublet.Zavi didn't break stride, his shoulder still wedged firmly beneath the staggering weight of Captain Hesketh as they lurched through the low-arched service entrance of the palace keep. The heavy bronze doors slammed shut behind them with a booming concussion that rattled the torch sconces on the walls, instantly cutting off the distant, chaotic roar of Vane’s burning supply camp."I'm not dropping him," Zavi grunted, his boots slipping slightly on the blood-smeared flagstones before he caught his balance with a sharp twist of his torso. The old injury in his arm flared—a white-hot spike of phantom friction that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with bad angles and too many yards of wet stonewo