POV: Raevan
The northern wind always tasted like warning.
It carried different dust than the southern dunes—sharper, drier, threaded with the scent of jagged rock and old battlefields. When it pushed through the Ashra banners, they snapped against their poles like they, too, remembered every rider who’d come over that ridge with steel in his teeth.
Today the wind brought something else.
Blood. Fear. Saren.
I stood on the inner wall, watching as two patrol wolves dragged a struggling figure through the gate below. The man’s wrists were tied behind him, his head covered with a rough sack. He stumbled once, twice, nearly went to his knees, but the guards kept him upright.
Kaide appeared at my elbow, breathing a little harder than usual. He must have run the stairs.
“Border patrol found him in a ravine near the north ridge,” he said. “Trying to cut through our ward lines. Didn’t run when they called. Didn’t surrender either.”
“Fought?” I asked.
“Like a cornered jackal,” Kaide replied. “He took one of ours down before they bound him. Not enough to be a mercenary. Too trained to be a lost trader. I ordered him brought straight to you.”
“Good,” I said.
The guards dragged the prisoner into the old stone chamber beneath the west tower—the one we’d long ago turned into an interrogation room. Bare walls. One table. A single lantern throwing harsh shadows. No distractions.
When he was forced into a chair, I stepped inside and shut the door.
“Remove the hood,” I said.
They obeyed. The sack came off with a rough pull.
The man blinked in the harsh light, squinting. He was compact, wiry, with sun-browned skin and dark hair shaved close to his scalp. His eyes were what gave him away—flat, assessing, not wild. He’d been hit; a bruise was forming across one cheekbone. His lip was split.
He looked at me. Not at the guards. Not at the walls. At me.
“Leave us,” I said without looking away.
“Alpha—” one guard began.
“Outside the door,” I repeated, voice sharper. “You’ll hear if I need you.”
They hesitated only a heartbeat before backing out, closing the door behind them. The latch clicked. The chamber felt smaller without their bodies in it.
I crossed the space slowly and sat on the edge of the table facing the prisoner, folding my arms. He watched each movement, measuring distance, strength, weak spots. Professional.
“Name,” I said.
He shrugged. “Don’t have one that matters.”
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Everywhere,” he replied.
“Try again,” I said. “North? East? Saren?”
A flicker. There it was—the tiniest flinch at the last word. Saren. Zarek.
I leaned forward. “You’re dripping his scent,” I said softly. “Don’t bother pretending otherwise. You were sent from Saren Province. The only question is why.”
The man swallowed, throat bobbing. “What do you want?”
“The truth,” I said simply. “Why were you cutting my ward lines near the north ridge?”
“You assume I was alone,” he said.
“I assume there are more,” I replied. “I’m giving you the chance to tell me where before they die badly.”
He hesitated, weighing something.
I waited.
Silence can be more effective than any blade when used correctly. I held his gaze, unblinking, letting the seconds stretch. Sweat beaded at his temple.
Finally, he exhaled, a ragged breath. “You’ll kill me either way.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “The question is how quickly. And how many of your friends I spare because you decided to cooperate.”
His eyes closed briefly. When they opened again, some of the fight had drained. “There’s a camp,” he muttered. “Three dunes north of where they caught me. Two ridges over. Hidden in a cut-out. Twenty men. Maybe more. Scouts. Waiting for word.”
“What word?”
“That the wards are weak enough,” he said. “So the rest can ride through.”
Cold slid down my spine. “The rest?”
He licked his split lip. “You have something our lord wants very badly. He’s tired of sending whispers. Now he sends steel.”
“Say his name,” I ordered.
He didn’t try to dodge. “Zarek.”
My hands curled into fists.
Of course.
“What does he intend?” I asked. Voice steady. Wolf pacing inside me, wanting blood.
The man’s gaze flicked away, then back. “A raid to retrieve what’s his.”
The words slotted into place with ugly precision.
What’s his.
He didn’t mean territory. He didn’t mean trade routes.
He meant Soraya.
Heat roared through me, hot and lethal. My wolf lunged against my ribs, snarling.
“He thinks she belongs to him,” I said.
“He thinks anything he can touch belongs to him,” the man replied, bitterness in his tone. He regretted that sentence the moment it left his mouth. His lips clamped shut.
Interesting.
“You don’t sound devoted,” I observed.
The man huffed a humorless sound. “He said you were dangerous.”
“He was right.”
His shoulders slumped.
He talked.
I listened. Every detail. Every route. Every signal flag and whistle pattern. I memorized the shape of Zarek’s teeth, the way his hand moved through other men.
By the time the spy fell silent, his voice was raw.
I rose slowly. “You’ve bought yourself time,” I said. “We’ll see what else you can purchase with it.”
“What will you tell your elders?” he asked.
“That Zarek is finally stupid enough to send an army at my door,” I said. “And that Ashra will be ready.”
As I stepped out into the corridor, Kaide straightened from where he’d been leaning against the opposite wall.
“Well?” he asked.
I looked toward the north, where the wind howled between dark ridges.
“Zarek is coming,” I said. “To retrieve ‘what’s his.’”
Kaide’s expression hardened. “Soraya.”
“He thinks she’s a prize,” I murmured. “We’ll show him she’s a storm.”
The northern wind gusted, tugging at my cloak. For the first time in a long time, I welcomed its warning.
Let him come.