CHAPTER 411: THE CALL OF THE SOUTH

Far to the south, the tang of herbs and the faint scent of crushed petals still lingered in the air where Shaya had finished her work.

The light in Bener’s room slanted through a narrow window, highlighting his pale face. His breathing was steady now, the pallor gone from his skin—the last traces of the poison and the aphrodisiac Briella had given him drawn out and destroyed.

"You know medicine?" Bener asked, his voice hoarse but tinged with curiosity.

"Yes," Shaya replied, her tone calm but confident. "I am a healer from Westalis."

"Westalis..." Bener murmured, rolling the name on his tongue. "We could use healers. Though... it will be dangerous. We’re going to war."

The thought wasn’t entirely selfless. In his mind, Shaya’s presence would be good for Lara—another woman among a sea of hardened men. But what surprised him was how quickly Shaya agreed, smiling as if danger meant nothing to her.

In truth, Shaya’s decision was already made long before he spoke. She had spent the past two years in Briella’s shadow, hearing whispers of Lara—the only woman to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Norse generals. She had glimpsed her once from afar, along with all of General Odin’s sons, but unlike most women who admired the men of that family, Shaya’s admiration had always been for Lara. The chance to follow her was not something she would let slip away.

Meanwhile, before agreeing to Bener’s request, Lara had tested Shaya herself. To her surprise, the Westalis healer moved with the confidence of one well-trained in the sword and skilled in unarmed combat, on top of being well-versed in medicine. She could dress wounds in half the time the trained soldiers in the Phoenix Legion could. She concluded that Shaya wasn’t as simple as she seemed.

In the end, Lara consented. She gave Shaya a set of fatigues and a man’s clothes—both for protection and anonymity. In an army of men, another capable woman was a rare asset. Quietly, she hoped for the day when women could stand openly as soldiers and fight beside men in the war to come.

...

Alaric did not intend to linger in Carles. Barely a day after reclaiming the newly declared city, Alaric and Odin’s thirty men—now reinforced by a hundred more—prepared to ride toward Anvoya, two days’ travel through the wind-scoured Graza Pass in Mount Hainai.

While the soldiers readied their mounts, the justice chamber of Carles City Hall was heavy with both light and shadow. The scent of sandalwood clung to the air, richer and more oppressive than usual. The golden morning sun streamed through tall, narrow windows, its beams catching the dust motes in slow, drifting patterns.

Alaric stood at the scarred oak table, leaning forward as if the weight of the news could be pressed away by force. The message had just arrived: the Queen’s birthday banquet. Turik could not have chosen better. Every noble, minister, and foreign envoy—everyone the kingdom could not lose—would be gathered in a single hall. And it was scheduled for the day before Alaric and Odin’s army would arrive.

"She won’t cancel it," Agilus said darkly, his voice breaking the stillness. "Helga would see it as an insult to her pride. Even if she knew the danger, she’d..." His words trailed off into bitterness.

Then he gave a short, humorless laugh. "She’d double the wine order and hire more musicians. Opulence as armor—she believes if she looks untouchable, she is untouchable."

"Then we must make her see it is a blade aimed at her own throat," Alaric replied. But he knew the truth—Helga’s will did not bend. It shattered only when the blow was fatal.

From the window, Odin Norse turned, his height casting a long shadow over the tapestries. "You’re thinking too much about the Queen. It’s her court you should watch. Someone in that hall will use Turik’s chaos for their own ends."

"Duval? Malik?" Agilus asked.

"Perhaps," Odin said slowly. "But there are others. Women in silk can be as dangerous as men in armor." He didn’t speak Mira’s name—he didn’t have to. Her ambition was known to many, but understood by few.

Outside, the wind clawed at the stone walls, carrying the distant echo of wolves.

"If Turik strikes at the banquet," Asael said, his tone measured, "it won’t just be the Zurans we face. It’ll be our own—each playing their own game, ready to profit from the chaos."

Odin met their gazes, the truth settling over him like the weight of steel. "Then the banquet will not only be Helga’s trap—it will be the spark that decides the fate of the capital."

"Father, what of the nobles already under Turik’s control?" Asael asked. "The Duke of Silverstone—if we don’t free him, Turik will wield him like a blade against us."

"You will lead your Alpha team and a hundred from the Phoenix Legion to rescue them," Odin said, his voice even but edged with command. "Didn’t Sigfred say they have people among the captured, just waiting for the signal?"

Asael nodded.

"Then strike hours before the Queen’s banquet," Odin continued. "Let Turik be the one caught off guard. Travel by night with the Airalleon, ride by day. You must reach the Silverstone Castle a day before the banquet."

...

An hour later, Alaric who had already joined the soldiers preparing to march to battle, was discussing with Odin replenishing their supplies when they came to Anvoya.

"I’ve sent word to Bernard, Ari," Agilus said as they prepared to depart again. The men were given fresh horses; they had come on foot through the secret path of Mount Roca to Carles, leaving their mounts in a village at its base. In time, those horses would be sent on to Anvoya.

"Bernard?" Galahad asked, tightening the strap on his saddle.

"A merchant we met in Legares two years ago," Agilus explained. "Business partner to Alaric and Lara. He helped us establish the trade routes in the fifteen towns south of Savadra."

Galahad nodded, glancing toward Lara—dressed as Kane Mendel—and then to the slender figure beside her, similarly dressed as a man. Bener was helping Shaya load her belongings. He introduced her to the others as the woman who had saved him from a humiliating end at Briella’s hands.

Briella herself had not escaped justice. Northem soldiers had seized her before she could flee, and now she awaited trial in the Carles tribunal—charged with espionage and rebellion.

She begged to see Bener one last time but he refused and sent her a message instead.

"A woman as poisonous as you deserves a just end—death by beheading!"