58. The Red Rising
Norman
The fire in my study burned low, casting amber light across the stone walls and the scattered maps that cluttered my desk. A cold wind howled outside the window, pressing against the thick glass like some hungry thing begging to be let in.
Brak stood near the hearth, arms folded, his scarred face drawn in sharp lines of concern.
Salt leaned over the map beside me, one finger tracing the northern border near the southern woods.
“All outer posts are sealed,” she murmured. “Wards are up, and the sentries know not to move from their stations until dawn.”
“Good,” I said.
Brak grunted and we both looked at him.
“The boys know the drill, but they are on edge. The new recruits haven’t lived through one yet. I made it clear, no heroes, no risks. If they hear somet
