The smoke from the gorge had barely cleared by nightfall, but the political firestorm had already crossed the southern border.
In the royal map room, three intelligence ravens sat in iron cages near the high window, their black feathers ruffled against the winter draft. On the oak table lay three separate intercepted dispatches, each bearing the heavy red wax seal of the Bloodfang Alliance.
I sat at the head of the long table, a parchment ledger open before me, while Cassian stood near the hearth, pouring two crystal goblets of dark, spiced honey-wine.
"The casualty reports from Mistfall Gorge are confirmed," I said, dipping my quill into black ink. "Of the two hundred Bloodfang vanguard soldiers Julian borrowed, over a hundred and forty were captured or neutralized. Fewer than forty ma
