The road to Veyre cut through low valleys and sparse woodland, the land growing darker and more uneven the father Hezekiah traveled.
The Argenthal fortress vanished behind him long before dusk, its spire swallowed by distance and fog, but the weight of it lingered all the same.
It was cold, unrelenting and carved into his spine.
He rode in silence.
Two Order sentinels flanked him at a careful distance, close enough to observe, far enough to remind him he was no longer trusted with command. Their presence was unnecessary.
He would not run. He wouldn't dare until he and his sister crossed paths again.
Hezekiah's hands rested loosely on the reins, posture straight, expression unreadable. To anyone watching, he was the image of obedience, looking composed and disciplined.
Inside, his
