Recalled

Eryx was in a mood the entire ride back to camp. It tainted the air, driving Rhovan to fidget and hiss.

“Commander, permission to push him off the cart?”

“You—”

“If you’re going to be in a mood about the commander’s decisions, you shouldn’t enjoy the benefits of his leadership.”

“Denied,” Kael said. “Eryx is only doing his job.”

“The alpha will not be happy about you negotiating with them.”

“As I said before, he is welcome to appoint an official commander,” she said, pulling out her crystal board and taking notes. “And re-establish a proper camp. Though the deal was between me and him, not Hollowfang and Vuldra.”

“They are the enemy!” Eryx screamed. “What kind of shifter are you?”

“They are competitors at best. The enemy is the Wretched Choir.”

He hissed. “You sound like a witch.”

“Commander—”

“Denied, Rhovan.” She looked at Eryx. “Should you hate witches so much, get off and walk like a proper shifter.”

He hissed, his eyes flashing a reptilian amber. “I will be sure to send word about this.”

“Do. But do think beyond your pride for a moment. Cooperation with the Empire is inevitable. The Empire has an army. The Clan Council has a collection of badly organized militias… Is that not how I became commander of the western border?”

He snarled again but thankfully shut his mouth. Eryx had little tactical or martial skills, but he had connections within the Clan Council. His arrogance and luck were the only reason he’d outlived the previous commander, Commander Weiss, but he didn’t have the charisma to rally anyone in the wake of his death.

Or the sense to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

When they arrived back at camp, she watched over the storage of the payment, spoke with the night patrol before their shift began, and headed to her tent, located on the edge of the camp, just past the auxiliary staff tents, closest to the recently expanded barrier line.

After securing the flap of her tent, she sank onto the floor with a sigh and started to unbuckle her armor. She pulled the shoulder guard off and dropped it to the ground in front of her. The wound was deeper than she thought, based on the way it oozed in a steady stream. This numbness was a blessing in times like these. It happened sometimes, and she figured it was her magic making sure she could still function and heed the call for battle rushing through her veins.

Still, she had been careless. Stupid. She had reacted without thinking, blocking that blast. If she’d been faster, she would have been able to get the retreating men out of the way without getting injured.

She’d have to increase her agility training. Luckily, with the Calling coming, she would have the time. Once she’d gotten out of her chest plate, she called the mirror to float in front of her so she could see the wound clearly.

Her healing would kick in eventually, but if she didn’t want to wake up exhausted, it was always better to sew herself up. Kael pulled her shirt off, grimacing at the slow-growing black veins around the wound. Opening her medical kit, she pulled everything out and tossed her last vial of purification into her mouth. A chill rushed through her, then burned, rushing, and curling around the wound in her shoulder. She waited until the last of the veins turned bright gold and the black sludge leaked from the wound. Her eyes grew heavy, and exhaustion bowed her shoulders.

She’d have to work quickly. She flushed the wound before pouring asteron into it and leaning back as it set and packed the wound. Calling a thin stream of vire essence from her little bottle to form thread, she sewed the edges of it with neat stitches and applied a bandage.

With a sigh, she shuffled off her boots and dragged her rations towards her to eat and go through the tallies she’d gotten from the staff. With the payment from Thornspire, they had more gold to spend on bandages or more cots if necessary. They would definitely have enough food and supplies to keep the camp running.

Things were going well. Soon enough, they would be kissing borders with Vuldra, Thornspire, and Ashroot. That would make getting food easier, and Hollowfang might actually be able to set up a new town.

Most importantly, her time on the border was coming to an end. She could go on to finish her education and start fulfilling her mother’s last request. She let out a deep sigh of relief and finished eating before getting into her bedroll. Exhaustion was just starting to close her eyes when she caught sight of the letter to Kaelra.

The darkness took her, and Kaelra sat up. Heart racing. Hands shaking. Stomach roiling. The jittery, nervous anxiety pumped through her body. She snatched the letter out from the armor and held it in her hand. The sight of her stepmother’s seal confused her.

Her father’s wife had always hated her, and she made no qualms about letting her know. It had been a relief when Kaelra had been sent to the border. Yes, the years had been hard and dangerous, but not nearly as hard as ducking around the estate, avoiding her and her father as her life depended on it, because it did. Her brother had been off at St. Vale studying to prepare to take over the clan one day, and she had scraped together her fledgling education from books and maternal relatives.

What could her stepmother have to say to her?

Slowly, she opened the letter. The woman’s hissing and snarling malice dripped off the pages like a living thing.

Kaelra felt her nerves easing as she read. Apathetic to most of it, the threats to her life were liberally sprinkled throughout and were normal. Insults and all of the usual hallmarks of the woman’s thoughts about her were there. It was almost refreshing in its familiarity.

Apparently, she had given birth to a daughter, who was now four years old. She liked pink, ruffles, tea, and pastries, and was doing best in her etiquette class. Whatever that was. Kaelra wasn’t sure why she needed to know such a thing. Her stepmother had made it clear that it was unlikely Kaelra would ever return to the capital.

Her brother was back from school, which made her smile. She had no gift to give him for completing his training, but she would think of something.

Then, there was a whole section on the Brokenfang Clan’s customs and its heir, specifically preferences about clothing and measurements: pastels and a thin waist. She supposed the heir was a very skinny and fragile woman, based on the measurements. Odd. Kaelra wasn’t a seamstress by any means, so why…?

Her eyes landed on the last paragraph. Her breath froze in her chest, and every drop of blood turned to ice in her veins as if she had been dropped onto the peaks of the Laeryos Mountains on a midwinter night.

The alpha has decided it is time for you to be married.