Chapter 44

  After a brief silence, in which only the crackling of the fireplace and the soft jingle of a gold bracelet from one of the women filled the room, Rurik spoke. His words were calm, almost silky, yet there was something in his tone one could not quite grasp – an underlying sharpness that suggested he could command or kill with equal ease.

  “So, Paladin… why are you here?” he asked, and as he spoke, his gaze followed me like that of a predator gauging the distance to its prey. The women around him smiled faintly, whispered among themselves, or watched me through half-lidded eyes – all except one.

  The dark elf in the left corner leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on her knees, hands clasped together. Her eyes were sharp, almost piercing, studying me with a mix of curiosity and calculation. Every muscle in her body seemed ready to react in an instant – whether to strike or to flee.

  I held Rurik’s gaze without challenging him. No attempt to show superiority, but no sign of weakness either. Calm. Steady. As befitted someone who did not want to end up as prey in this room.

  “I was told,” I began at last, my voice firm, “you have information. About the dragon named Zarkhural.”

  For the briefest moment, something flickered across Rurik’s face – not fear, but something close to surprise. That flicker quickly shifted into something else: genuine respect. Yet it just as swiftly gave way to an amused curve of his lips, as if I had just told him a particularly daring tale.

  “Please…” He raised a massive hand, two gold rings glinting on his fingers, and made a casual gesture, as if brushing bothersome formalities from the air. “I may be the city lord of Thulegard, but I’m not much for titles and courtly phrases.”

  My stomach tightened. City lord? No one – not my informant, not Narla, not that cursed innkeeper – had hinted that the man I was seeking held the reins of all Thulegard. No wonder the elf had led me here as if it were an audience.

  “I can see your tension,” Rurik continued, leaning back as the heavy fur draped over his broad shoulder slipped slightly. A smile crept across his face, soothing at first glance – until one realized there was something lurking in it that should not be provoked. “But you need not be afraid. I would never harm a member of the Order of the Eagle.” He gave the faintest nod toward the eagle emblem on my sword’s pommel.

  Then he leaned slightly forward, his voice dropping to a tone both flattering and warning. “Besides… you’ve given me no reason to.”

  "I won’t either," I replied slowly, weighing every syllable. My voice stayed firm, though my heart beat just a little faster beneath my ribs. "I only want information about the Crimson Dragon. Then I’ll leave this place as if I were never here."

  Silence again. But this time it wasn’t the neutral pause of a conversation—it was the kind of silence that stretched taut between us like a drawn bowstring. I could hear the dull thud of my heartbeat in my ears, and even the crackling of the fire seemed suddenly too loud. The air in the room smelled of warm wax, perfume, and the faint tang of charred wood.

  Rurik’s gaze stayed fixed on me, as though he meant to read my face like a book. His eyes narrowed slightly while his fingers tightened, almost imperceptibly, around the heavy velvet of the blanket draped across him—as if he were trying to crush a decision inside it. The women around him had stopped moving; even the dark elf, who until now had been watching me from the shadows like a predator, now seemed to be waiting.

  I forced myself to appear relaxed, not tensing my shoulders, not tightening my grip on my sword. Inside, though, I was prepared for a reaction—good or bad—at any moment.

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  Then, after a yawning pause broken only by the fire’s crackle and the faint drip of wax from the candleholders, the city lord spoke. Not with the answer I had expected, but with a question, his voice soft—almost too soft.

  "May I confide something in you, Paladin?"

  I gave a short, controlled nod, my curiosity twined with a quiet edge of tension. My eyes didn’t leave his.

  He drew a deep breath, sighing a little too theatrically—like someone who knew full well he had everyone’s attention—before beginning. "I am officially the city lord of Thulegard…" His gaze drifted slowly across the room, as if to make sure everyone present heard his words, "…but in the end, I’m just the top dog."

  I knew instantly he had paused here on purpose. He wanted me to take the bait, to draw me deeper into his game. So I played along, though in the controlled tone of a man not entirely convinced.

  "For whom are you the top dog?"

  For a moment, his expression darkened, the charm replaced by a hard, almost growling undertone. "For Reyn… that bastard." He spat the name as if it tasted foul. "I claimed the throne honestly. With sweat, blood, and cunning. And Reyn… Reyn betrayed me and stole from me."

  I kept my expression unreadable, but inside I doubted his version of events immediately. In Thulegard, everyone seemed to have their own truth—and none hesitated to polish it to their advantage. But I also knew it was unwise to provoke him.

  "You want me to eliminate him," I said at last, more as a statement than a question.

  Now he grinned—slowly, almost with relish—and leaned forward just enough for the firelight to sharpen the angles of his face. "Exactly." His voice had dropped to a more intimate, almost conspiratorial tone—yet there was still an undercurrent that brooked no refusal. "Knock him from the throne, Paladin… and I will tell you everything I know about Zarkhural and the dragons."

  He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head, as if the matter were already settled. "Deal?"

  In that moment, I felt my fingers curl unconsciously into a fist, my shoulders locking as hard as forged iron.

  It wasn’t the moment itself that tightened my muscles—it was Gravor. His disgustingly self-satisfied grin burned like fire in the back of my mind, and before I could even see him, I heard him.

  That mocking, dark voice, far too familiar to me.

  “Beat it out of him! Go on! Let him feel his ribs snap!” he thundered in my head, as if he were sitting right next to me.

  I drew in a sharp breath, forcing it into a controlled, steady rhythm.

  No twitch, no falter. I pushed him back, shoving that demon deeper into the darkness of my mind, into the deepest, dustiest corner where he would have no influence.

  But Gravor was like a blade driven into wet wood—you couldn’t just pull it out, and you couldn’t erase the mark it left behind.

  “Transform,” he now purred almost with relish, “just a little… show him the wings. Let him know who he’s talking to.”

  “No!” I roared back inside my mind, sharp as an order barked by a general on the battlefield.

  “You will never control me again. Not after Simon.”

  The demon went silent for a second.

  Then came a theatrical, almost childish sulk before his presence retreated slightly.

  Not gone—just… waiting. Like a predator lying in the shadows, ready to strike later.

  I was abruptly pulled back to the moment as Rurik’s deep voice cut my name through the air.

  “Uh… hello? Earth to Paladin? You good?”

  To my surprise, there was no sharpness, no suspicion—only genuine concern. He studied me with slightly furrowed brows, as if considering whether he needed to step in.

  “There’s no problem,” I said, my voice a deliberately cold, monotonous stone that would show no cracks.

  “So… deal?”

  Rurik’s gaze swept over my face as though checking if I had changed my mind in the last minute.

  “Deal.”

  The word came out hesitant at first, then firmer, sharper—like a sword finally drawn from its sheath.

  I was already turning away, pushing aside the thought of lingering here any longer—but then I remembered what I had promised.

  I stopped, turning back to the half-giant.

  “One more thing.”

  His left brow arched, as if he sensed a condition he wouldn’t like.

  “I’m going to speak on behalf of the dragonborn.

  They deserve to be treated and accepted like every other people and race.”

  My voice was calm, but there was weight in it—no pleading, no begging, only a statement in which every single word was deliberate.

  “They’ve endured enough.”

  Rurik leaned back slightly, a crooked, hard-to-read smile on his lips. It wasn’t mockery, nor was it agreement—something in between. The face of a man who knew that such requests were rarely simple… and who still found it interesting that someone would make them.

  At last, I turned from Rurik, pushing past the stale air of the room. The velvet curtains parted under my hand with a muted sigh, their fabric cool against my fingertips, before falling back into place like the closing of a stage after a tense act. Behind me, Rurik’s voice followed, deep and deliberate:

  “I’ll think about your words, Paladin. I will.”