Chapter 26: Won The Battle But Lost The War

Valdor ran through the alley with Amor’s name trapped behind his teeth and every possible disaster already unfolding inside his mind.

The passage was narrow enough that his shoulders nearly brushed the walls whenever he avoided stacked crates, while the uneven stones beneath his boots threatened to shift beneath the force of each stride. Fading evening light reached only the first few yards from either entrance, leaving the center filled with bruised shadows, shuttered doors, and intersecting service paths whose destinations he did not know. Somewhere ahead, Amor’s heels struck the pavement in quick, increasingly distant beats.

The sound was the only proof that Amor remained unharmed. Valdor clung to it.

Every time the rhythm faltered, his thoughts supplied blood, hands, and the sudden silence of someone being dragged through a doorway. He imagined hired men waiting behind the stacked barrels, noble enemies emboldened by the rumors surrounding Maison Reverie, and desperate thieves willing to risk a Blackstone warrior for the wealth that was Amor’s body. He imagined Alphonsins sending someone to reclaim what he believed belonged to him.

Then the footsteps returned. Light, fast and infuriatingly far ahead. Valdor rounded another bend and saw lavender hair flash through the shadows before disappearing behind a row of hanging linens. His heart slammed so violently that the moonstone clasp upon his mantle seemed to pulse with it. He had faced charging monsters with a steadier breath.

"Amor!!"

His voice struck the walls and returned from several directions. The young noble did not answer. That silence made Valdor run harder.

His new clothing moved with him exactly as Master Edric intended, the layered robe panels lifting away from his legs while the reinforced trousers allowed a full stride without pulling. The tailor would have been vindicated by the garment’s performance if Valdor possessed enough space in his thoughts to consider anything beyond the figure ahead. Even the medical pouch striking his hip sounded like a countdown.

A door creaked somewhere to his left. Valdor turned so sharply that one boot skidded.

An elderly kitchen worker stepped into the alley carrying a pail, saw the enormous warrior bearing down through the shadows, and retreated indoors with a startled shout. The door slammed. Valdor barely registered that the threat existed only within his own fear.

He found Amor’s trail again. The click of heels continued beyond the hanging linens, accompanied by the whisper of silk brushing stone. Valdor shoved the cloth aside and nearly tore the line from the wall. Lavender appeared ahead, impossibly bright against the dark.

Amor was still moving. He had gathered the sides of his coat in both hands now, exposing enough of his fitted trousers and boots to run without tangling himself in the fabric. His breathing had become audible, but his pace remained swift and controlled. He leapt over a shallow gutter without hesitation.

Valdor’s panic shifted toward disbelief. Amor moved like someone accustomed to fleeing. Not like a nobleman who had occasionally hurried through city streets, but like someone who understood how to preserve momentum over broken ground, how to glance toward doorways without slowing, and how to keep his breathing quiet until exertion made silence impossible. Even his route through the alley favored open sightlines and avoided places where shadows narrowed around him.

Questions struck Valdor again. He ignored them.

The far end of the passage appeared ahead, framed by the warmer light of an open commercial street. Pedestrians crossed beyond it without concern, and the noise of evening traffic entered the alley in rising waves. Amor was almost there. Valdor felt relief begin before he could stop it.

Then a cart rolled past the opening.

For one fractured instant, its high wooden side blocked Amor from view. Valdor’s mind supplied an ambush.

A hand reaching from the cart. A cloth dragged across Amor’s mouth. Lavender disappearing behind wood while the wheels continued moving.

The cart cleared.

Amor remained there. He crossed the final stretch of shadow and emerged safely into the street, sunlight catching his hair, earrings, and the purple mountain-glass pendant resting at his chest. Nothing waited for him beyond the alley except ordinary shopfronts, pedestrians, and the long road leading toward the carriage district. He had proven his point.

Amor turned. Triumph brightened his face.

He lifted one hand toward Valdor as though preparing to wave, his breathing quick but his smile smug enough to announce that the entire chase had been unnecessary. The expression said the alley had contained no kidnappers, no monsters, and no danger worthy of Valdor’s concern. It promised unbearable teasing the moment Valdor reached him.

"You see?"

Amor called. He stepped backward. The heel of his boot caught against a raised paving stone.

His ankle turned beneath him. The triumph vanished.

Amor’s eyes widened as his balance collapsed, one hand reaching instinctively for empty air while the other clutched his coat.

"Ah!—"

A startled cry tore from him, sharper than the sound he had made when Alphonsins seized his wrist. His body pitched sideways toward the street. Valdor’s heart stopped.

He reached Amor before the fall completed. One arm locked around Amor’s waist while the other caught beneath his shoulders, absorbing the descent and pulling him hard against a broad chest. Amor’s injured foot struck the ground once at an unnatural angle before Valdor lifted enough of his weight away from it. The brief impact made Amor hiss.

Valdor froze with him in his arms.

The street continued moving around them. A fruit merchant shouted at a customer, carriage wheels rattled across stone, and someone laughed beneath a nearby awning. None of it reached Valdor through the roar of blood inside his ears. He looked down at Amor as though expecting to find an injury far worse than the one he had witnessed.

Amor stared back. His earlier triumph had transformed into embarrassment and pain, though neither seemed severe enough to justify the terror hollowing Valdor’s face. One lavender strand had fallen across Amor’s mouth. Valdor moved it aside with fingers that trembled almost imperceptibly.

"Where?"

He asked.

"Ngh, my-my ankle."

Valdor’s gaze dropped immediately. He lowered Amor with extreme care until the young noble sat upon a low stone ledge outside a closed bookshop. Then he knelt before him, unconcerned by the passing crowd or the expensive robes spreading across dusty pavement. His hands hovered near the injured boot.

"May I?"

Amor nodded. Valdor supported the heel and began examining the ankle without removing the boot, testing how much the joint had shifted and whether the leather had tightened around swelling. His movements remained gentle, but his face had gone unnervingly still. The anger there contained none of the heat Amor expected. Amor swallowed.

"It’s probably only twisted..."

Valdor did not answer.

"The alley itself was perfectly harmless..."

Amor added, attempting a smile.

"Technically, I made it through without incident."

Valdor looked up. The smile disappeared.

There was no amusement in the warrior’s eyes, only the lingering panic of a man who had watched every feared possibility gather around someone he could not reach. Amor’s attempt at humor suddenly felt cruel. He lowered his gaze.

Valdor returned his attention to the ankle. He pressed carefully along the outer bone, paused whenever Amor’s expression tightened, and then tested the heel. No deformity suggested a break, and Amor retained some movement, though rotating the foot produced immediate pain. The injury was likely a sprain.

"Can you stand?"

Valdor asked.

"Yes!"

The answer arrived too quickly. Valdor studied him. Amor straightened his shoulders and placed one hand upon the wall beside the ledge.

"I said it is minor."

He tried to rise. The moment weight touched the injured foot, pain shot upward through his leg. Amor’s face tightened before he could conceal it, and his knee buckled. Valdor caught him beneath the arms.

Neither spoke. Amor looked elsewhere. Valdor slid one arm beneath his knees and the other behind his back.

"Wait—"

Amor began. The warrior lifted him. The motion was effortless, bringing Amor securely against his chest before the young noble finished objecting. Valdor adjusted him until the injured ankle rested free of pressure, supported by one broad forearm while Amor’s back and shoulders settled into the other. The new mantle partly wrapped around him.

Pedestrians stared. Amor barely noticed. Valdor began walking toward the carriage district without asking for directions. He had memorized their route from the moment they stepped out and could identify the House Moons crest above the surrounding vehicles in the distance. His stride remained steady, controlled, and much slower than the run through the alley.

The silence between them was unbearable.

Amor rested one hand cautiously upon Valdor’s shoulder, expecting a lecture that never came. The warrior’s jaw remained clenched, his eyes fixed upon the road ahead. Every few steps, his hold tightened as though confirming Amor had not disappeared again.

"I suppose..."

Amor began.

"This proves the stones outside the alley are more treacherous than anything inside it."

Valdor continued walking. Amor waited.

Nothing.

He tried again.

"The footwear may share some responsibility."

Valdor’s gaze dipped briefly toward the short heels.

"No."

"No?"

"The stone did not make you run."

The answer was quiet. Amor bristled automatically.

"You didn’t need to chase as though an army had taken me."

Valdor went still. Only for one step. Then he continued.

Amor immediately regretted the words, but pride kept him from retracting them at once. The silence sharpened. The shoppers they passed moved aside before Valdor’s expression without understanding its cause.

The warrior’s anger was not directed entirely toward Amor. That gradually became clear.

Valdor replayed the argument as he carried him, hearing again the moment he said he would not give permission. The words had sounded like command, even though he intended only to refuse participation in a dangerous choice. He should have explained better. He should have recognized what control meant to Amor.

Valdor had already seen how Alphonsins reached without asking and spoke as though Amor’s choices belonged to him. He knew the bruises upon the wrist were only the visible part of something deeper. Yet in the urgency of protecting him, Valdor had used language that placed himself between Amor and a path rather than beside Amor upon it.

Then Amor ran.

Valdor should have anticipated it. He should have understood that a person who fought so fiercely for choice might accept danger before accepting another order. His own certainty had sharpened Amor’s defiance until the young noble believed proof mattered more than caution. Valdor had pushed without giving Amor a place to stand except opposition.

The logic was unfair to himself. Amor made the choice. Valdor knew that. Knowing did nothing to lessen the guilt.

He had watched lavender hair vanish because he had failed to explain fear without making care resemble a cage. Then Amor emerged safely and injured himself anyway. The result felt like punishment directed at both of them.

Amor watched his face. The hard expression remained, but anger alone would have looked different. Valdor did not carry him like someone restraining a disobedient child. He carried him as though terrified that loosening either arm might allow the world to take him.

"You’re angry."

Amor said.

"Yes."

"With me?"

Valdor took several steps before answering.

"Yes."

Amor’s defensiveness returned.

"I knew the alley was safe."

"You did not know."

"I had used it before!"

"Not today."

"There was nothing there!"

"That does not make the choice wise."

Amor’s fingers tightened against his shoulder.

"Yeah, well—you were telling me where I could and couldn’t go!"

Valdor looked down at him at last.

"I spoke like I could."

The admission stopped Amor. Valdor’s gaze returned to the street.

"I was wrong."

Amor had prepared several arguments.

None survived.

"I did not mean to command you..."

Valdor continued.

"I meant that I would not pretend the path was safe."

"You could have said that without standing there like a wall."

"Yes."

The answer carried no defense. Amor looked toward the pendant resting against his own chest. The mountain glass moved faintly with each of Valdor’s steps, still warm from where the warrior’s hand had touched it inside the jeweler’s shop. Only minutes ago, the bead had represented return.

Then Amor deliberately disappeared. Guilt began replacing irritation.

"You could have stopped me."

He said quietly. Valdor’s arms tightened.

"Yes."

"With one hand."

"Yes."

"But you didn’t."

"No."

Amor understood why.

Valdor could have seized him the moment he stepped away, lifted him from the street, or blocked the alley entrance with his body. The warrior possessed more than enough strength. Yet even while afraid, he refused to use that strength to imprison Amor’s choice.

He chased instead.

The distinction pierced through every old defense. Amor had reacted to the shape of control before examining the man standing behind it. His previous life taught him that stronger people eventually used their power, while Alphonsins confirmed the lesson by grabbing whatever he believed should remain. Valdor had frightened him by sounding similar, but he had not acted similarly.

Amor made the reckless choice himself. Valdor merely suffered it.

"I’m sorry..."

Amor said. The warrior kept walking.

"For injuring myself."

Amor added. Valdor stopped. They stood beneath the shadow of a closed silk merchant’s awning, only a short distance from the carriage square. Evening light caught the moonstone clasp upon Valdor’s shoulder, casting a pale blue sheen over the dark fabric. He looked down at Amor.

"Not for the ankle."

Amor frowned.

"Then what?"

Valdor’s expression tightened.

"For making me watch you disappear..."

The words entered the space between them with no protection. Amor became still. Valdor’s voice remained low, but the restrained emotion beneath it felt more powerful than shouting.

"You went where I could not see. I did not know what waited around the turn. I heard you but could not reach you..."

Amor’s guilt deepened. The warrior looked away, jaw tightening again.

"I imagined hands taking you. Doors closing. Blood. I imagined finding nothing."

The last possibility nearly broke his control. Valdor did not fear losing a debate. He feared losing Amor. The difference stripped every remaining defense from him.

Amor lifted one hand and touched Valdor’s chest where his heart is. The warrior’s skin was warm, his pulse still faster than normal beneath the markings there. Amor had thought the chase dramatic because he viewed the alley through past experience, confident in his ability to escape ordinary threats.

Valdor had seen only someone precious vanishing into darkness.

"I shouldn’t have done that..."

Amor said. Valdor looked at him.

"I am not apologizing for wanting to choose my own path..."

Amor continued carefully.

"But I am apologizing for treating your fear as ridiculous and making you chase me to prove a point."

The warrior’s expression softened by a fraction. Amor drew a slow breath.

"The alley was not truly the point."

"I know."

"No, I do not think you do..."

Valdor waited. Amor looked toward the carriage square, where House Moons’s black vehicle stood beneath a row of lamps. The distance to it suddenly felt easier than the confession he needed to make. He traced one finger over the edge of Valdor’s mantle.

"I was afraid we would arrive late..."

Valdor frowned slightly.

"And Father would decide today proved that allowing us to go out alone was a mistake," Amor continued. "He already knows about Alphonsins by now, or he will soon. If we returned late as well, he might insist upon guards, shorten every outing, or stop them until the situation settles."

"We would speak to him."

"You believe problems can be solved by standing in front of someone and saying what you mean?"

"Yes."

Amor almost smiled.

"That is very Blackstone of you..."

Valdor accepted the description. Amor’s fingers tightened in the fur near his shoulder.

"I did not want today to be the only day..."

The warrior’s steps slowed. Amor lowered his gaze, embarrassment softening his voice.

"There are more places I wanted to show you. More things you have never seen. And I wanted another carriage ride where no one would interrupt us."

The admission reached Valdor immediately. The fear that Amor had run because Valdor’s care mattered less than his pride began to dissolve. Amor had acted recklessly, but part of that recklessness came from wanting more time with him. The knowledge did not excuse the choice.

It made forgiveness easier.

"There will be other outings."

Valdor said.

"You cannot promise what Father permits."

"I can promise I will ask."

"He may refuse."

"Then we ask again."

Amor looked up.

"Dad will help."

Valdor added.

"Again, that’s not reassuring."

"He argues loudly."

"That is precisely the problem."

The faintest warmth entered Valdor’s eyes. Amor felt his own tension ease.

"We will speak to Lanslet together..."

The warrior said.

"If he requires guards, we explain why they are unnecessary. If he still requires them, we find a way they do not disturb you."

"You would tolerate guards?"

"For another day with you."

Amor’s heart stumbled. Valdor continued walking. The carriage waited ahead.

"I do not want to control your path..."

He said.

"I will tell you when I see danger. You may disagree."

"That sounds almost reasonable."

"But do not create distance between us only to prove you are free..."

Amor’s expression sobered. Valdor looked down at him.

"Freedom does not require refusing care."

The sentence settled somewhere deep.

Lovell had survived by refusing dependence because every person who claimed authority used it against him. Amor inherited wealth and affection but retained the same instinct to fight any boundary before determining whether it had been built as a wall or offered as shelter. Valdor was asking him to recognize a difference Lovell had never been permitted to learn.

Amor touched the mountain-glass pendant.

"I will try."

Valdor inclined his head.

"And you..."

Amor added.

"Will avoid phrasing concern like an order."

"Yes."

"You will explain instead of repeating no as though your size makes argument unnecessary."

"Yes."

"You will remember that I know this city."

"Yes."

Amor narrowed his eyes.

"You are agreeing suspiciously easily."

"I want you calm before treating the ankle."

"That is manipulation!"

"Yes."

Amor stared at him. Valdor’s scarred mouth moved by the smallest amount. The sight confirmed that the anger had begun loosening.

They reached the carriage.

The footman standing nearby took one look at Amor in Valdor’s arms and rushed forward, his face draining of color. The coachman climbed down as well, already imagining Lanslet’s reaction when the vehicle returned with the young heir injured after explicit instructions concerning unsafe routes.

"What happened?"

The footman asked.

"A stone attacked me first..."

Amor replied. Valdor looked at him.

"I fell."

Amor corrected. The footman opened the carriage door and lowered the steps, though Valdor ignored them and ducked through the entrance with Amor still in his arms. The interior seemed even smaller now that maneuvering required protecting the injured ankle. Valdor settled onto the floor with his back against the forward bench.

He placed Amor carefully upon the cushioned seat. The footman hovered outside.

"Should I fetch a physician?"

"No..."

Amor said.

"It is a minor sprain."

Valdor examined the ankle again.

"Send word to the estate shaman."

Amor opened his mouth. The warrior looked at him.

"Fine..."

Amor conceded.

"And it’s ’doctor’. Knows the word estate but won’t use doctor."

The footman bowed and hurried toward the driver, likely grateful that the disagreement did not require his participation. A messenger would ride ahead once they cleared the city. The carriage door closed.

Valdor lifted Amor’s injured leg. He rested the heel across his thigh, supporting the ankle with one hand while the other began loosening the boot. Amor watched him work, struck by the gentleness remaining even after anger. Valdor removed the shoe slowly so the leather would not pull against swelling.

The ankle had begun reddening. Valdor’s expression hardened.

"It looks worse than it feels."

Amor said.

"You lied when asked if you could stand."

"I was optimistic!"

"You winced before standing."

"My body lacked faith!"

Valdor removed the boot completely. The moonstone clasp upon his shoulder caught Amor’s attention. Its pale lavender center still carried the cooling enchantment Master Pellin strengthened earlier. Amor reached toward it.

"The stone..."

Valdor followed his gaze.

"The cold magic can help."

He unfastened the clasp from his mantle and held it carefully in his palm. After testing the temperature against his own wrist, Valdor wrapped the moonstone inside a clean strip of cloth from the medical pouch. He placed it lightly against the swollen side of Amor’s ankle.

Cold spread through the joint. Amor inhaled sharply. Valdor started to remove it.

"No..."

Amor said.

"Leave it."

The warrior maintained gentle pressure. The carriage began moving.

Its wheels rolled over the city stones before turning toward the western road, creating a quiet rhythm beneath them. Amor’s injured foot remained across Valdor’s thigh, cradled between his large hands while the moonstone’s magic gradually reduced the heat.

The gift already had purpose. Amor looked at the pale lavender glow shining through the cloth.

"I did say it might preserve medicine."

"You chose well."

"I usually do."

Valdor lifted one brow. Amor shifted carefully against the cushions, then reached down toward him. His fingers touched the braids near Valdor’s temple, brushing through dark hair and bone beads until they found the empty space where the purple mountain glass had rested. The warrior went still beneath the touch.

"May I?"

Amor asked belatedly.

"Yes."

Amor stroked the braid once.

"I am sorry..."

He said. Valdor watched him.

"Properly this time..."

Amor continued.

"I really am sorry for treating your fear like foolishness. I knew you would follow, and I used that certainty against you."

The warrior’s thumb moved along the side of Amor’s ankle without pressing the injury.

"I am sorry I spoke as if your choice required my permission."

Amor nodded. Neither apology erased the disagreement.

Valdor still believed the alley was an unnecessary risk, while Amor still believed he understood the route well enough to choose it. Yet the conflict no longer required one to surrender all ground for the other to feel heard. They had found the place beneath the argument where fear lived.

Amor continued touching his hair. Valdor allowed it. After several quiet minutes, the worst tension eased from the carriage.

Amor watched the passing countryside through the small window. The road stretched ahead beneath deepening evening light, and the estate remained far enough away that they would certainly miss the beginning of dinner. Oddly, the certainty no longer produced panic.

They would face Lanslet together.

Valdor shifted the wrapped moonstone to a slightly different position. Amor winced.

"Pain?"

He asked.

"Only my pride."

"That is more injured than the ankle."

Amor looked down sharply.

"I crossed the entire alley without difficulty!"

Valdor’s expression remained solemn.

"You defeated the alley and lost to a stone."

Silence followed. Amor stared at him in outrage. Valdor’s scarred mouth curved. It was not a full smile, but it carried unmistakable forgiveness.

"That stone was uneven!"

Amor said.

"Yes."

"And the light was poor!"

"Yes."

"My heel caught at an unusual angle!"

"Yes."

"You are agreeing while continuing to mock me, aren’t you?"

"Yes."

Amor lifted his fan and tapped the top of Valdor’s head with it. The warrior accepted the punishment.

Their carriage continued toward House Moons as the sun lowered beyond the fields, carrying two men who had begun the day unsure whether being mistaken for a couple bothered them and would end it arguing like one. Amor’s foot remained upon Valdor’s thigh. Valdor’s moonstone cooled the swelling.

Neither tried to reclaim distance.

---

By the time the estate gates appeared, evening had fully settled. Lanterns burned along the drive, and far too many servants waited near the front entrance for the arrival of one ordinary carriage. The physician stood among them carrying a medical case. Lanslet occupied the center of the gathering.

He did not look calm. Vervath stood beside him with both arms folded, appearing considerably more entertained by the approaching vehicle than the situation justified. A messenger had evidently arrived early enough to report that Amor injured his ankle, though not early enough to explain how. Lanslet’s pale face held enough fear and fury to terrify several footmen.

The carriage stopped. The door opened. Valdor lifted Amor before he could protest.

Lanslet saw his son carried out in the Blackstone warrior’s arms, one boot missing and the ankle wrapped with a cloth containing the moonstone clasp Amor purchased that morning. Horror transformed his expression. He descended the entrance steps before Valdor fully cleared the carriage.

"My baby!!"

"Father—"

"What happened!?"

"It is minor."

"You are being carried!"

"I cannot comfortably walk."

"That is not minor!"

Lanslet reached for Amor, then stopped when he realized Valdor’s hold protected the injured ankle better than an immediate transfer would. His pink eyes swept over every visible part of his son, searching for blood, torn clothing, or additional wounds. Finding none reduced his panic only slightly. He turned toward Valdor.

"What happened?"

The warrior opened his mouth.

"It was my fault!"

Amor said. Everyone paused. Valdor looked down at him. Amor tightened one hand upon the warrior’s mantle.

"Valdor warned me not to take an alleyway. I ignored him, ran through it, and tripped after reaching the other side."

Lanslet stared.

"You entered an alley?"

"Yes."

"After I expressly warned you not to?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I was afraid we would be late and you would not allow us to go out alone again."

The honesty disarmed Lanslet more effectively than excuses could have. He looked from Amor to Valdor, noticing the warrior’s hard expression and the protective way he continued holding his son.

"Did you follow him?"

"I failed to stop him."

Valdor replied.

Amor’s eyes narrowed.

"That is not what happened!"

Valdor looked at him.

"You respected my choice even when it was foolish, then chased me when I made it recklessly..."

Amor said.

"Do not accept blame because you believe you should have controlled me more forcefully!"

Lanslet became very still. Vervath’s expression shifted from amusement to quiet approval. Amor looked toward his father.

"Valdor did everything he could without putting his hands on me against my will. The injury happened because I tried to prove I was right and stopped watching where I stepped!"

The admission cost him. That made it convincing. Lanslet exhaled slowly, caught between relief that Valdor had not endangered Amor and frustration that his supposedly intelligent child had sprinted through a city alley in heeled boots, however short they are. He touched Amor’s cheek.

"You frightened me."

"I know. I’m sorry Father."

"Apparently you frightened everyone today."

"I am beginning to notice a pattern..."

Valdor did not laugh. Amor glanced toward him and softened.

"We discussed it."

Vervath stepped closer.

"The ankle?"

"Sprained..."

Valdor said.

"Likely not broken."

The physician nodded, already preparing to examine it inside. Lanslet reached toward Amor again, but his son remained comfortably secured against Valdor’s chest. For one conflicted moment, the marquess appeared unsure whether to insist upon taking him. Amor solved the problem.

"Valdor can carry me to my room..."

Lanslet’s mouth opened. Vervath coughed into his fist to conceal a laugh. Amor looked toward his father with deliberate sweetness.

"Unless you wish to carry me up three flights yourself Father?"

"I carried you constantly as a child."

"You were younger."

Lanslet looked offended. Valdor began ascending the steps before the discussion could become physical evidence of paternal endurance. Amor rested against his chest, one arm curling around the warrior’s neck as the assembled servants parted. The physician followed close behind.

Vervath watched them enter the manor. Then he looked toward Lanslet.

The marquess remained at the base of the stairs, staring after his son with a complicated expression of worry, pride, and the dawning realization that Amor had publicly defended Valdor before the entire household. He had not merely enjoyed being protected.

He had protected the man protecting him. Vervath placed one heavy hand upon Lanslet’s shoulder.

"You feared the north would take him..."

Lanslet looked at him sharply. Vervath nodded toward the doors.

"Perhaps your son will also bring someone home."

The words offered more comfort than any talk of roads, vengeance, or mountain graves. Lanslet turned back toward the manor.

Upstairs, Amor’s voice could already be heard arguing that he did not require bed rest, while Valdor answered with a firm statement about swelling. Their dispute echoed faintly through the entrance hall.

Lanslet sighed. Then he followed them inside.