Chapter 235 TEIGEN LIX
The Duke’s right hand moved slowly, his cloak brushing softly against the stone floor. His pale eyes gleamed faintly as he bowed his head—not deeply, but enough to show respect.
“My lord,” he said in a low, smooth voice, “you must not burden yourself with a child’s mistake. She is young, easily led by feeling and foolish words. This is not your failing, but the doing of the man who has led her astray.”
Cortez’s jaw clenched. “Ryker…” he muttered, the name bitter on his tongue. “I took him in when he had nothing. Gave him shelter, a blade, a purpose. And this is how he repays me?”
Fowler’s lips lifted slightly, though there was no warmth in it. “It would seem so. He has not only taken your daughter from your house, but from your honor. Worse still, he has turned her against her own blood.”
The Duke turned away, his face caught between sorrow and rising anger. “But she is my daughter, Fowler. My own flesh. If I name them criminals… I may lose her forever.”
Fowler stepped closer, his voice lowering, quiet and sharp as a dagger meant only for the Duke. “Better to risk losing her to your justice than to lose your rule to whispers of weakness. The lords already speak, my lord. They question you. If you do nothing, what will they believe of your strength?”
Cortez’s hands trembled slightly at his sides. For a moment, he closed his eyes, as though searching for something—mercy, perhaps, or strength. When he opened them again, the softness was gone.
He turned to face the hall, his voice now firm and unyielding. “Send word to Lord Sawyer. He has my full command. Gather every guard. Search the forests, the rivers, the mountains—leave no place untouched. Bring Elara back to me.”
He paused, his expression hardening further. “And Ryker…” His voice dropped, cold and final. “Bring me his head.”
The courtiers bowed at once—some out of fear, others with quiet approval. A messenger rushed from the hall to carry the order.
Fowler stepped back into the shadows, a faint, satisfied smile touching his lips. The Duke did not notice. His gaze remained fixed on the fire burning in the hearth, its flames reflected in his eyes.
His heart was heavy, but his face had turned to stone.
And so, the hunt began again—driven by a father’s pain, and guided by the quiet poison of the man he trusted most. The manor banners snapped in the rising wind, and the last echo of trumpets drifted down the valley. In the square of Kareth, villagers gathered in tight clusters, their whispers quick and uneasy. Eyes turned as Lord Sawyer rode in on his black horse and pulled the reins hard before the cottages. His face was set, his mouth a hard line.
The Duke’s command had given him power, and he wore it with hunger. His gaze swept over the people like a blade.
“Bring me the old man,” Sawyer called. “The one named Rae.”
A hush fell. Then the crowd shifted, and an old man stepped forward. His back was bent with years, but he stood firm. His gray hair caught the dull light, and his hands rested on a worn walking stick.
Sawyer narrowed his eyes. “So. The traitor’s father.”
Rae stopped before the horse and looked up without fear. His voice was rough, but steady. “I am father to Ryker, aye. And proud of it. He is more a man than you, even from the ground.”
A murmur ran through the villagers. Some nodded. Others shrank back, afraid of the guards.
Sawyer leaned forward in his saddle, his voice sharp with anger. “Your son has stolen what is mine. A prize promised to me, taken by a cur who forgot his place. And you dare stand proud?”
“I stand honest,” Rae said. “If Elara chose my son, then it was her will. No title or chain can change that.”
The words struck like a blow. Sawyer’s face darkened, his grip tightening on the reins.
“You speak of choice?” he said. “A duke’s daughter does not choose. She is bound to duty. Your son has broken that bond.”
Rae lifted his chin. “There is no honor in a bond made from greed. You call it duty. I call it hunger.”
The crowd stirred again. A woman clutched her child. A man bowed his head and whispered a prayer.
Sawyer drew himself up, his anger boiling over. “Enough. If you will not bend, then you will break.”
He turned to his captain. “Burn it. Every house. Every field. Leave them nothing. Let them see what comes of betrayal.”
A cry rose from the villagers.
“You cannot,” a farmer shouted.
A soldier struck him down with the shaft of a spear.
Rae’s voice rang out over the chaos. “Sawyer. Do this, and you will answer for it. Not to me. Not to my son. But to the goddess when she weighs your soul.”
For a moment, something flickered in Sawyer’s eyes. Then it was gone. “The gods favor strength,” he said. “And I am strength.”
He raised his hand. “Burn it.”
Torches flared. Soldiers moved through the village. Flames took hold of the thatch, and smoke rose into the sky.
The villagers cried out as their homes caught fire. Some tried to fight it. Most could only watch.
Rae did not move. He stood as the flames spread, his gaze fixed on Sawyer.
“If this is your strength,” he said, “then I pity you.”
Sawyer turned away and rode off.
Fire consumed the village. Smoke climbed high above Kareth. The cries of the people were swallowed by the roar of the flames.
Rae stood until the heat pressed against him and the air grew thick. His voice fell to a whisper.
“Run, my son. Live.”
…
The forest closed in around them. The ground was damp, and each step snapped twigs underfoot. Ryker led the way, his hand near his sword, his eyes searching the shadows.
Elara stayed close behind him, her breath quick. “They will not stop,” she said. “Sawyer’s men. I feel them still.”
“They are near,” Ryker said. “They have chased us since the river.”
Elara stumbled and caught herself against a tree. “What if they catch us?” she asked. “What if this ends in chains?”
Ryker turned to her. For a moment, the hardness in his face softened. He touched her cheek.
“Then they will go through me first,” he said.
“Do not say that.”
“It is truth.” He drew her close, his forehead against hers. “I will not let them take you.”
They walked on in silence.
Then Ryker stopped.
He lifted his head, breathing in. Something was wrong.
Elara saw the change in him. “What is it?”
He did not answer at once. Then he said, “Smoke.”
She looked where he looked. A dark line rose above the trees.
“No…” Ryker whispered.
He moved forward, pushing through the brush until the forest opened. Below them lay the valley. Kareth was burning.