Chapter 11: Cenric

Chapter

Eleven

CENRIC

I watch Everly's face carefully as she finishes her tale. Something's off. Her eyes dart away too quickly. Her fingers fidget with the bag tied to her waist.

She's hiding something.

But I don't press. Not yet.

"You should rest," I say, my voice low and controlled despite the rage simmering beneath my skin.

Those bastards who dared to lay their hands on her will die!

Relief flashes across her face as she nods. "Thank you, Cenric."

As I lead her back to the tent, my focus narrows to Everly's uneven steps and the slight tremor in her shoulders.

Who in Hades took her?

We reach the tent, and I hold the flap open for her. "Everything you need should be inside," I say as she hesitates at the entrance. "If you require anything else, just call out. There will be guards nearby."

She turns, her eyes meeting mine for a moment. In that instant, I see a glimmer of something before she masks it. "I appreciate your kindness, Cenric."

I smile, then step back, letting the tent flap fall closed between us.

Fire spikes through my veins as I stride away. Those men thought they could take her, hurt her, and walk away unscathed. They'll learn the price of such arrogance.

I'll find them. And when I do, they'll wish they'd never set eyes on Everly.

As I walk toward the command tent, my mind still churns with thoughts of Everly and the men who took her.

I push through the flap, where Luc and Gabriel stand over a map-covered table, their heads bent in discussion.

A broadsword hangs at Gabriel's hip, and he wears mail armor and a surcoat with our tribe's emblem—a serpent. He looks every inch the fierce Bloodstone warrior, his tall frame hardened by battle, though his silver-blue eyes hold a hint of weariness I've noticed creeping in more and more.

Beside him, Luc cuts a leaner figure but is no less deadly. A bow and quiver rest against his back, while twin daggers nestle in sheaths at his thighs. His sandy hair falls in unkempt waves, brushing his shoulders—probably because he hasn't taken the time to cut it. I make a mental note to tease him about it later. The shaggy look doesn't suit him.

"You're both late," I say as I move to where they stand. "I expected you weeks ago."

It's been months since I sent a missive to Luc, my cousin, telling him I needed his army to join mine in Karra.

Gabriel's lips quirk into a smirk. "You're in a foul mood. Did someone piss in your ale?"

Instead of answering him, I stare down at the map of Karra and its surrounding areas.

"Do you have a report for us?" Gabriel asks.

I place my hands on the table's edge as I speak. "The unrest in Karra is growing stronger by the day. I've seen it firsthand—whispers in taverns, furtive glances between its people, and an undercurrent of tension that wasn't there a summer ago." I pause, considering my next words carefully. "I believe that this isn't merely civil unrest. There's a pattern to it, a purpose."

"Then, we aren't leaving until we help you quell this rebellion," Luc says, his voice firm.

I turn and grab a jar of wine and three goblets from a nearby shelf. "How many men did you bring with you, Luc?"

"Two thousand," he says as I pour the wine and hand both men a goblet full.

"Good. Now, we have four thousand men here." I pour a third goblet to the brim and take a drink before continuing. "We may need every sword we can get."

Tension lines deepen across Luc's forehead as he leans closer to the map. "What's your plan, Cenric? You know this city better than anyone."

"We need to root out the source of this unrest," I say. "But we can't move too quickly."

Gabriel speaks up. "What about infiltration? We could plant some of our men among the populace, gather information from the inside."

It's moments like these that remind me why Gabriel is so valuable. His quiet demeanor often masks a sharp tactical mind.

Luc rubs his chin. "It's risky, but it could work. We need to choose our men carefully, though. Anyone too obvious would be spotted in a heartbeat."

I take another swig of wine, then speak. "There's more. Over the past few weeks, I've found some of my men dead in the city."

Gabriel's eyes narrow. "Accidents?"

My jaw clenches as I shake my head. "No. They were targeted. Throats slit in dark alleys. Bodies dumped in the river. It's not random violence. It's calculated."

Luc's hand tightens around his goblet. "How many?"

The words taste bitter against my tongue as I speak. "Twenty." I move to the tent flap, shove it aside, and stare out over the camp. "These attacks are direct hits against us."

I turn back around as Luc frowns.

"What makes you say that?" he asks.

"The precision of the attacks, the way they're targeting our warriors." Frustration seeps into my voice as I add, "It's too organized to be random violence. And I think it might even be aimed at Roland and his rule."

Gabriel's eyes harden as he speaks in a flat voice. "Why do you think that about our chieftain?"

"Just a feeling. But think about it. Who benefits most from destabilizing our hold on Karra? Who gains if Roland's power is threatened?"

"Most of the tribes would love to see Roland fall," Gabriel says, his voice colder than a glacier in the mountains.

"Exactly," I say.

As we continue to discuss strategy, my thoughts drift back to Everly. There's something she's not telling me, and I can't shake the feeling that it's connected to all of this.

But how is it connected?