"Felicia? What in the –"

  "Hush, Maegar. She is barely alive."

  The voices reached Darlac's mind through a thick veil. She was a piece of trash, empty, wrung out, thrown away. As well she should be. Cephal was dead, killed by her, his blood was seeping into her hair as she was lying beside him on the floor, her entire body shaking with shock, too weak even to crawl away to a quiet place and put an end to her own existence.

  An arm around her shoulder propped her up. Gentle fingers stroked her hair out of her face and cleaned her from the blood as best they could. It was not Maegar's rough and warm touch. Of course not. On top of her betrayal only she and the Horned Hunter knew about, Maegar had just seen her kill his best friend. He obviously didn't want her anymore. Hell, even she didn't want herself anymore. And why would he want her anyway, when he had Guelder?

  Yet, it was Guelder holding her in her arms, touching her face, whispering soothing words in a language she didn't understand, filling up her depleted body with life force, dripping a little water on her parched tongue from a canteen. For a moment, she let herself indulge in the undeserved consolation of being loved and cared for, despite all she'd done and failed to do. Until it all dispersed, giving way to resentment. Darlac hated herself for accepting help from the person who took what used to be hers, and hated herself even more for her ungrateful attitude. She wanted to tear herself out of the embrace and run away, never looking back, but her ailing body just wouldn't obey.

  Then it was suddenly over. Cold, sharp clarity alighted on Darlac's brain. Her mission was not yet complete, and she was not allowed to rest, heal or grieve until she finished it. The words she'd said to Tristian, apparently in vain, came home to roost in her head. Her feelings didn't matter in the face of duty. Vordakai was gone, but that didn't mean Varnhold was safe. She extricated herself from the embrace and got to her feet to face the baroness, turning her back to the corpse and the baron. She couldn't bear to look at either of them.

  "Your Grace, am I supposed to take the oath of fealty now, or –"

  "No, Darlac," said Guelder softly. "Not here, not now. Not unless you mean it."

  Darlac forced herself not to look away. Even if the baroness saw straight into her heart, even if she saw the tears of loss leaking from her eyes, this was no time for guilt or shame. This was a time for brazen impudence for the sake of Varnhold. Her homeland, if she could still call it by that name.

  "Am I still the General of Varnhold?"

  "Yes, you are."

  "Good. Have you brought in troops of your own?"

  "I did not come here to conquer. A garrison of 50 men is holding your capital, instructed to withdraw at once upon the baron's return. Apart from that, I only brought my field team... and, apparently, Tristian."

  "Thanks for that. I presume, then, you're aware of the presence of Tiger Lord invaders in Varnhold. Probably a special unit meant to attack Restov from the south."

  "Worry not, Darlac. To a certain extent, that threat has been taken care of, or at least diminished."

  Darlac paused, stopping herself from lashing out. She doesn't know. Of course not. How could she?

  "Those barbarians took my life, Your Grace. If not for Tristian, I wouldn't be here today, talking to you. Please forgive me if I do worry. Would you mind telling me more about your dealings with them?"

  The baroness took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts.

  "Several groups of Tiger Lords were sent here by their chieftain on a mission to find an artifact – as it turns out, the one wielded by Vordakai."

  "The Oculus of Abaddon."

  "Four fey creatures that called themselves Defaced Sisters brought them here, using existing gateways between the mortal plane and the First World, similar to the one we used in the Womb of Lamashtu. The artifact has been destroyed, and three of the four Sisters are dead. I have no information on the fourth one's fate."

  Darlac narrowed her eyes, looking the baroness up and down. Again, she sensed no deception.

  "Destroyed? Are you sure about that?"

  "Entirely. Tristian did an amazing job, but I had Harrim unmake its shards as well, just in case."

  Darlac took a slow, deep breath, struggling to stay calm and focused. So the Horned Hunter had deceived her. What else had he lied about? She pushed the implications out of her mind for the time being.

  "Good. Please continue."

  Darlac knew she was pulling the leopard's whiskers. Even though Guelder was fond of her and thankful for her sacrifice, such a disrespectful interrogation was not without risks. However, the baroness didn't seem to notice that she was practically reporting to someone below her rank. Efficiency before vanity. That was something Darlac had always liked about her, even when she otherwise hated her from the bottom of her heart.

  "Also," said the baroness, "I found out that the leader of the expedition force, a cleric of Gorum named Dugath, is not entirely loyal to the chieftain. We parted with him on friendly terms, amidst a clash between his supporters and those on the Sisters' side. I am not sure how that ended. All I know is that he planned to return to Numeria with the bulk of his men. The deadline for departure we agreed upon expires in two days."

  And now came the most brazen part, one the baroness could easily misinterpret, if she was in the mood to do so.

  "Your Grace, I request your help with arming the members of the Varnling Host you freed from the tomb. I will be thankful for any loot you can offer for this purpose. I am going to rally to my side everyone in relatively good physical and mental health, in order to ensure the safety of my fellow citizens on their way home. In case I locate any barbarians who refuse to abide by your conditions or display hostile behaviour, I request your permission to eliminate them. Also, please ensure that I can rely on the support of your garrison in case I find myself in need of it."

  Guelder took her time to consider. Darlac noticed how exhausted she looked. Just like herself.

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  That was the worst thing about the beast woman. She was so damn hard to hate.

  "You have my permission, General Darlac. I will instruct Hazel to provide you and your men with everything you need, and I will send a message to the garrison to prepare them for any eventuality. Are you sure you will manage?"

  Darlac set her jaw and drew herself up to her full height.

  "Yes, Your Grace, I am entirely sure. I will defend my land. Even if it's your land now."

  She saluted, then turned and hurried out the exit to assess what she had to work with. Guelder followed her. She had a brief discussion with her Treasurer, then nodded towards Darlac in agreement.

  It was time to address the people. Darlac clambered upon a boulder for better visibility.

  "Citizens of Varnhold!" she exclaimed. Her voice was weaker than usual, but still carried well between the ancient rock formations and structures. The people's confused and haggard faces turned towards her. They seemed to welcome the bit of normalcy returning to their lives in their General's person.

  "Thanks to Baroness Guelder of Nightvale, we are alive and free to return to our homes." She paused, waiting until the people stopped cheering. "However, the danger is not over yet."

  She looked over the crowd. Some of the people cringed or shook their heads, but there were those who stood up taller.

  "The lich that kidnapped and imprisoned you is now history, but the barbarians who came for his artifact might still be roaming our... this land. If they are, despite the failure of their plan, that betrays their hostile intentions. Until we make sure that they have left our land, one way or another, we must consider Varnhold to be at war."

  There was movement among the people. Her honour guard, or what was left of it – Tehara and Gekkor – walked up to the rock she was standing on, followed by Tirval and other Varnlings. Darlac's voice grew increasingly strong and steady.

  "We all have been through a lot, but we cannot rest until this land is safe again. Therefore, I call upon all able-bodied and mentally sound people to report for duty. I need volunteers to protect Baron Varn and the civilians returning to their homes, and I need warriors to march with me and cleanse the land from eventual enemy threat. Previous military service is not a requirement, provided that you are proficient with weapons or tracking."

  "Those willing to join the escort unit shall gather to my side," said Tirval, stepping forward. "As you heard, General Darlac will lead the cleansing unit personally."

  As Darlac climbed down from the boulder, Tirval took her by the arm and looked into her eyes with a feverish, intense gaze.

  "Is it true?" she said softly. "Did she take our land?"

  Darlac had no strength left to try and explain the complicated technicalities, especially because she wasn't familiar with those herself. Most probably, not even Guelder was. So she simply nodded.

  "And what do we do about that?"

  Darlac bit her lip. She had no answers. Heavens, she wished she had.

  "It's the baron's will, Tirval."

  "I wonder what she did to him to influence his will."

  "This is a delicate situation, and at the moment we have more pressing matters to deal with. We'll return to the issue once we've seen the people home and kicked the Tiger Lords out, and once the Nightvale garrison has left Varnhold Town."

  "The Nightvale what? Darlac, there is only one way to view this. If you think otherwise, you're part of the problem."

  Darlac had to remind herself that it wasn't Tirval's fault her own loyalties were a hot mess at the moment, a gaping wound her friend was happily rubbing salt in. She had to find a balance, mediate, facilitate the transition, help keep the peace, and lashing out at dissenters was not the best way to do just that.

  "There's a lot to unpack here, and we'll go through it in detail once the immediate danger is over. Until then, focus on your current task and get the civilians safely home. This is an order."

  Tirval held onto her for another moment, searching for arguments, then abruptly let go. She saluted, made an about-face and left to start organising her group. Darlac felt like a grain of wheat stuck between two millstones, waiting for the grind to begin. She'd better find her own answers while chasing down the barbarian stragglers. How was she supposed to deal with this when she didn't even know her own place in the new order of things?

  And Tirval was not the only one she had to deal with.

  Although all her nerves stood on end at the thought of talking to Maegar, she couldn't leave on her mission without exchanging a few words with him. She found him leaning against the rock wall, alone, immersed in his thoughts.

  "Hey," she said softly.

  He looked up at her with his single remaining eye, and by the time she noticed what was going on, she was in his arms. But something was different. An invisible, unbreakable wall stood between them, made up from a friend's blood, a conqueror's kiss, a fey lord's lies, the shame of failures, scabbing wounds torn open by a new start. She couldn't melt into his embrace, as she'd done just a month ago, and she hated herself for that, too. Still, perhaps it was better this way. It would be easier for her to step aside and let things happen as they were supposed to.

  "Good to see you alive," whispered both of them at the same time, exchanging a timid little smile.

  The baron drew near for a kiss, but Darlac laid a gentle, forbidding hand upon his lips. He turned away, embarrassed.

  "Fair," he muttered. "I must have hit a new low in more than one way."

  "Hell, no. You're still... It's just that... never mind. We'll talk it through later, back in Varnhold Town."

  His wounded look told Darlac he understood her without words. Which didn't mean she would be able to avoid that conversation, though. At least she still had time to prepare. She squeezed his arms and hurried away, swallowing her tears. Feelings don't matter. Duty does.

  Immersed in her inner turmoil, she almost bumped into Hazel. Why did that godsdamned ranger always have to show up when Darlac's sanity was crumbling to pieces? If the ending she'd seen in the portal was real, was Hazel not in the same boat, or close enough? Would they once again reach for their usual fidget toy, Darlac's heart, to distract themself from the pain of rejection? The thought made her shudder, and not in a pleasant way.

  Well, they didn't look the part. They regarded her with an utter lack of affection, maybe even with a pinch of politely hidden revulsion, as if she were a bloody rag or a week-old corpse or something. Darlac had yet to decide if that was a good thing or not, but it definitely made her life more simple.

  "Nice to see you in good working order, General," said Hazel in an unusually reserved and professional tone. "Follow me. We have some soldiers to equip."