Chapter 44 Full Bellies, Empty Promises
Aldo
Breakfast was the only honest pleasure left to me.
By the time I stepped out of my hut, I was full—truly full. Venison, fried root cakes, three slabs of honeyed bread, two wedges of cheese, and a bowl of stewed apples drowned in syrup. After the ache in my stomach turned from hunger to satisfaction, I wiped my fingers on a cloth and sighed, satisfied.
Evenings were a different matter. At night, I had to eat lightly. Indigestion ruined sleep, and poor sleep ruined judgment. I had learned that the hard way years ago—waking in the dark with acid clawing up my throat while decisions waited at dawn.
Unless there was a party. Then I allowed myself excess.
Ale had its uses beyond merriment. Enough of it and the body purged itself clean. A brutal but effective remedy. Empty stomach, peaceful rest.
But this morning, I had no party to prepare for. Only waiting.
I had expected Magnus to return before noon. Expected him to offer some form of departure, some cold courtesy before vanishing back to his marble halls and silver corridors.
He had not.
That unsettled me more than I liked to admit.
Magnus was many things—ambitious, cruel, brilliant—but he was predictable in his arrogance. He liked to be seen leaving. Liked to remind us that he walked our camp by choice.
The fact that he had not come to say his goodbyes meant one of two things.
He was still here.
Or something had gone wrong.
I waddled through the center of rebel headquarters, my boots sinking into the damp earth. Smoke and pine thickened the air. Men crouched over whetstones, sharpening arrowheads. Women hauled sloshing buckets from the well. Scouts filtered back in pairs from the outer perimeter. Everyone looked busy.
But they were watching me. Not openly. Not boldly. Yet I felt it.
I didn’t take what Magnus had done to Rowenna lightly. No man with any spine did. She shared Ryven’s bed—my best commander’s bed—and that made her one of ours. Letting an Imperial dog mount her with half the camp knowing made me look soft, weak, bought. But Magnus brought the grain wagons, the salted pork, the barrels of ale that kept my people from starving or turning on each other. Crossing him meant empty bellies and knives in the dark. I’d told myself the trade was worth it. One woman’s tears for a hundred full stomachs. I still tasted the lie every time I swallowed.
Leadership was not purity. It was compromise.
But allowing him freedom within our encampment… That had been a mistake.
Halfway across the clearing I spotted her—a cloaked figure ducking out of Ryven’s hut. Broad shoulders, tall enough to make the doorway seem small. Only one person moved like that. My heart gave a thick thud. I quickened my pace as much as my bulk allowed, belly swaying, breath already short.
Ryven could not openly challenge Magnus. But his people? They were loyal first to him. And to Rowenna.
“Helga!” I called.
The figure stopped. She turned slowly and gave me a shallow bow that was more mockery than respect.
“What were you doing in Ryven’s hut?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
Helga Kraven was a monument of muscle and stubbornness. Taller than me by a head, shoulders wide as a doorframe. Her jaw was square, nose crooked from old battles. One punch from her could drop a grown man flat.
She smiled, lips pulling back to reveal teeth stained yellow-black from years of pipe smoke and dark ale. If I loved food, Helga loved her vices. I had rarely seen her without that infernal pipe hanging from her mouth.
“That isn’t Ryven’s hut anymore,” she said.
I froze. “What do you mean that isn’t Ryven’s hut anymore?”
“Ryven moved into mine last night. I moved into his.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I’m just fetching a barrel of ale from behind his—my—old place. Bringing it home.”
“When did this happen?” I demanded. “And why was I not informed?”
“Last night,” she smirked. “While everyone slept. Ryven couldn’t settle. Kept pacing, waiting for that Imperial bastard to show up and play his games. He knocked on my door, asked if Rowenna could stay with me for the night. I told him they should both take my hut instead. Easier that way. I don’t have much to move.” Her eyes flicked over me—my straining tunic, the way my gut pushed against the leather belt. “Unlike some.”
The jab landed. I felt heat crawl up my neck.
"Besides, I couldn’t let my commander lose sleep over an Imperial mage who tortures his own blood,” she went on. “We fight the Empire. What kind of hypocrite would I be if I stood by while he rapes one of ours?”
Her words cut deeper than I expected.
My people were restless. Discontent brewed quietly, like stew left too long over flame. Magnus wandering freely through our camp had made things worse.
If I wished to remain leader of this rebellion, I would have to prove I could protect them—even from the man who fed us.
Helga studied me.
“Quiet, aren’t we, Aldo?” she said. “You forbid our men from mistreating our women. Yet you turn blind eyes for him.”
She reached into her robe and pulled out a battered flask. Tipped her head back, drank deeply. The robe parted enough to show she wore nothing underneath—broad chest, heavy breasts, the dark triangle between her thighs. She didn’t care who saw. Never had.
A cold realization slid through me.
“Helga,” I said slowly. “What did you do?”
She corked the flask and smiled lazily.
“I taught him what real power feels like. A lesson he won’t forget.”
My stomach lurched. “What did you do to Magnus?”
“Nothing he didn’t survive," she answered casually.
“Where is he?”
“Tied up in my hut.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry. Turns out he liked the schooling.”
I didn’t wait for more. I turned and half-stumbled toward the hut that used to belong to Ryven. My pulse hammered in my ears.
If Magnus had been harmed—truly harmed—there would be consequences. Severe ones. The Empire, or rather, he did not forgive humiliation.
I shoved the door open. Darkness greeted me.
Inside, it was dim, curtains drawn tight. The air smelled of sweat, musk, and something sharper—fear, maybe, or shame. Magnus lay on the bed, wrists bound to the headboard, mouth gagged with a strip of cloth. Naked. Exposed. His pale skin gleamed faintly in the thin light that slipped through the weave.
For a long moment, I simply stared.
Then, with a flick of my hand, I loosened the ropes and removed the gag.
“Magnus,” I said quickly, “I apologize. I was unaware Ryven had changed quarters.”
He rose without haste. He did not look furious. He did not look shaken.
With a casual snap of his fingers his robes flew from the floor and wrapped around him, fastening themselves neatly in place. He dressed like a man who hadn’t just been trussed and used—like nothing had happened at all, as though being restrained in a rebel hut was merely a minor inconvenience.
“What is the name of the shield-maiden?” he asked calmly.
My mouth went dry. “Magnus, I urge you—do not seek vengeance. My people are already uneasy. It will turn my people against you—against us. It helps no one’s cause.”
“I require only her name.”
“For what purpose?”
“To call upon her,” he said, adjusting his sleeve, “when I require her.”
I blinked. He… liked her? Helga terrified most men. They crossed the clearing to avoid her shadow.
Of all the reactions I had anticipated, that was not among them.
“Helga,” I said. “Helga Kraven.”
“Daughter of General Halwyn ‘The Hammer’ Kraven?” His brows lifted. Genuine surprise. “I did not know he had a daughter.”
“She was raised as a son,” I explained. “Halwyn has never accepted otherwise. That is why she drowns herself in ale. A father’s acceptance is a powerful thing. You, of all people, should understand that.” I hesitated. “Ryven was supposed to be your legacy at the Academy. Yet because of—”
“After Ryven has exhausted his fantasies of rebellion,” Magnus interrupted coolly, “he will return. Especially when I seize the throne.”
The door banged open. Helga ducked inside, a barrel balanced easily on one shoulder. She set it on the table with a thud that rattled the cups.
“Drink, anyone?” she asked, as though she hadn’t just bound and violated an Imperial Advisor.
Magnus regarded her openly.
“I am told you are General Kraven’s daughter. I require a commander for my forces. It would be an honor to have a Kraven lead under my banner.”
Helga stared at him. Then she laughed loudly. Unrestrained.
“Have you completely lost your senses, Imperial Advisor? Did I fuck your brains out of you?” she said. “I am loyal to Ryven. I will never serve you.”
“We shall see,” Magnus said mildly. “Where is Ryven?”
Helga's eyes hardened.
“Near the boundary of the Cursed Forest. Because of you.” She spat the words. “We already lost one commander to that place. I won’t lose another."
Magnus' jaw tightened.
“And if we do,” she continued, voice lowering, “if Ryven dies chasing some girl you’re obsessed with, hear me now: I’ll make peace with my father just long enough to slit your throat. Consider yourself warned.”
Magnus’s hand rose, magic crackling at his fingertips. Fury etched his face—he hated threats. I stepped between them, arms out.
“Magnus,” I said quickly, forcing calm into my voice, “Helga speaks from loyalty. Nothing more. We will find the girl. Give us time.”
“There is little time,” he replied coldly. “I require that girl. Much depends upon it. Inform Ryven I expect an update before dusk.”
He touched the orb at his chest and vanished. Silence settled.
Helga exhaled sharply. “What is it about this girl?” she asked. “I hear she’s from Dust. No one remarkable comes from Dust.”
“I do not know,” I admitted.
But Magnus’s urgency disturbed me. He had risked imperial notice. Deployed Enforcers. Pressured Ryven.
For a Dust-ranked girl.
That did not align.
“Has Ryven told her about Ansel yet?” I asked.
Helga shook her head. “He plans to tonight.”
“Before he does,” I said after a moment’s thought, “tell him to stop by my hut. I have questions for her. Many of them.”
Helga’s sigil flared to life against her collarbone.
She was being summoned.
She pulled on trousers and a tunic with quick efficiency, filled her flask from the barrel, and adjusted her belt.
“Lock the door,” she said. Then she vanished in a shimmer of light.
I remained alone in the hut. I lowered myself onto a chair, wood creaking under my weight.
The girl.
Red hair. Green eyes.
Protected by wolves.
Hunted by Empire and rebels alike.
And wanted desperately by a man who rarely wanted anything without reason.
This was no simple chase.
This was a fracture point.
If Magnus obtained her, the balance would shift.
If Ryven protected her, tensions would explode.
If my people believed I sided with the Empire over them—I would not remain leader long.
I pressed my fingers to my temples and exhaled slowly.
Food could not solve this. Ale could not purge it.
This girl—whoever she truly was—was becoming the axis upon which everything turned.
And I needed answers before Magnus decided to take them by force.