The air above the valley was sharp with winter’s breath. Clouds clung low, heavy with snow yet to fall, but in the shadow of the pines, the rebels moved like shadows.
Cael crouched at the crest of a ridge, his eyes fixed on the road below. A long column of wagons rattled along it—grain carts, guarded by soldiers in silver plate. Their torches sputtered against the cold, casting little circles of light against the dark.
“That’s the third supply train this week,” Rowan muttered beside him. His voice was low, rough, but steady. “They’re feeding the capital while villages starve.”
“And the capital keeps its chains,” Cael replied. His gaze hardened. “Not tonight.”
Elira knelt on his other side, her bow already strung. She pointed to the bend where the road dipped toward a shallow ford. “The
