"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.

"Open the damn door, Serafia, before my shoulder gives out and we drop Hesketh right on his bleeding thigh," Zavi hissed through clenched teeth, his boots sliding half an inch across the grease-slicked stones of the inner archway."Keep your voice down," Serafia snapped back, her fingers already flying over the heavy iron lever that dropped the secondary security portcullis. "Vane's scouts are still swarming the outer bailey, and if they hear you whining like a scolded stableboy, they’ll bring the whole gate down on our heads.""I am not whining," Zavi grunted, staggering forward another step as Hesketh groaned, a wet, rattling sound that smelled heavily of cheap wine, unwashed wool, and old sweat. "I am negotiating with physics. And physics is currently winning.""Physics doesn't care about your sore arm," Serafia retorted, throwing her full weight against the iron-banded timber door until the deadbolt slammed home with a heavy, satisfying clunk. She turned, brushing a streak of blac

"Move! If you trip over your own scabbard this time, I’m letting the horses trample you," Serafia’s voice rang out clear and cold above the thunder of iron-shod hooves against the flagstones, cutting straight through the acrid fog that still choked the western postern arch.Zavi didn't bother offering a sharp retort. He was too busy throwing his entire weight against the swinging iron-barred gate, his palms scraping raw against rusted metal as he forced the heavy barrier outward into the gray, smoke-tinted dawn. His right arm, battered and overtaxed from hours of dodging mercenary blades and hauling timber across slippery courtyards, screamed in silent protest, but he locked his elbows and shoved harder."I’m not tripping," Zavi panted, his boots sliding half an inch in the mud before finding traction against a cobblestone ridge. "I’m just admiring the way Duke Vane completely miscalculated his exit strategy.""Save the tactical commentary for the history books," Serafia snapped back,

"If he tries to invoke ancient regional privileges one more time, I am going to feed his signet ring directly to the courtyard hounds," Serafia muttered, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her short sword as she wiped a smear of soot from her cheek.The heavy iron doors of the palace holding cells slammed shut behind them with a definitive, bone-rattling clang that resonated deep into the damp stone foundations. Duke Vane’s furious, muffled bellowing—full of threats regarding noble bloodlines, ancestral charters, and immediate capital retribution—was instantly cut in half by the thick oak timber and several inches of reinforced iron plate.Zavi leaned back against the exterior wall of the subterranean guardroom, letting out a long, ragged exhale that tasted faintly of woodsmoke and dried blood. His right arm throbbed in a steady, monotonous rhythm beneath his travel-stained tunic, the skin around his healing shoulder stretched taut and burning from the morning's exertions. He d

"If you stare at the candlelight with that much intensity, Zavi, you are going to manage to melt the wax before I can even pour the wine," Serafia remarked, her voice cutting cleanly through the deep, insulated silence of her private suite.She did not look up from the small silver tray where two crystal glasses caught the amber flicker of the hearth fire, her fingers steady as she tilted the heavy bottleneck. A rich, dark red liquid spilled over the rims, releasing a sharp, earthy aroma of aged plums, charred oak, and spice that immediately filled the room, banishing the lingering, ghostly scent of woodsmoke and old blood that had clung to Zavi’s clothes for weeks.Zavi did not blink. He remained seated in the high-backed wing chair near the fireplace, his uninjured hand resting flat against the worn leather armrest while his right shoulder gave a faint, involuntary twitch as the healing muscle tightened beneath his linen tunic. He kept his gaze locked on the dancing flame, but his m