Morning broke pale over the courtyard, dew clinging to the stones. A week had passed since Sal’s attack, but the keep still bore the echo of it. The household gathered at Petric’s summons, benches pulled close to the map table. Kelara stood just behind him, arms folded, unreadable.
Petric’s hand pressed flat to the map. “Alfareth West marches on our border. They send knights to stake claim in the Vale. Today we answer.”
Murmurs stirred. Nell leaned back with a low whistle. “That’s quick, even for you.”
Jorlan frowned. “We’ve only just repelled Sal. A counter-strike now—”
Petric cut him off with a glance sharp enough to still the words.
His gaze shifted to Jerric. “You stay behind. You’re not battle-ready.”
Jerric’s jaw tightened. “I can fight.”
“You can’t,” Petric snapped. The room froze. Then softer, but iron all the same: “Your wound hasn’t healed. You’d be a liability to yourself and to them.”
Color rose hot in Jerric’s face. “You’d leave me sitting while the rest bleed?”
“You’ll sit,” Petric said, final.
The silence that followed rang louder than any clash of steel.
— — —
They rode out by noon. The southern fields blurred into woods, then opened to the scar of a fresh encampment. Alfareth West’s crimson serpent banners snapped above mailed riders drilling in the Vale.
“Knights,” Bradan muttered, already stringing his bow.
Petric’s shield came up. His voice rang clear: “Forward! Break their line before it roots.”
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The clash came fast.
Nell and Tank tore into the first rank, hammer and axe pounding shields into splinters. Solin slid through their wake, blade angled precise as a surgeon’s cut. Josira darted in like flame, laughing in the faces of men twice her size, her dagger always finding gaps. Gung’s staff cracked skulls, swept legs, his fists finishing what wood began.
On the ridge, Bradan loosed shafts with mechanical rhythm, arrows thudding through armor joints. Lysa mirrored him, vaulting to higher ground, loosing two for every one of his. “Better form,” she taunted breathlessly.
“Better results,” Bradan shot back as another knight fell.
But Petric—Petric was fury.
He drove straight into the thickest press, shield smashing, sword biting deep.
A week-old cut from Sal’s blade tugged at his ribs, warning him—ignored, like most warnings he got.
Reckless. Too deep. A spear slipped past his guard, grazing ribs.
He staggered but roared louder, hammering forward.
“Lion! Your side—pull back!” Kelara’s voice cut through the din.
He didn’t hear—or chose not to.
At last he faced the knight-captain, serpent cloak dark with dust. Steel rang on steel, each blow heavy enough to rattle teeth. The knight pressed hard, but Petric’s shield slammed him off balance. A final stroke drove the lion’s steel through mail and bone. The captain fell.
The field broke. Crimson cloaks scattered. Alfareth’s lion banners were planted where the serpents had stood.
Petric stood over the fallen knight, blood soaking his side, his breath ragged. He forced himself upright, eyes blazing as he barked the order: “Station our own men here. The Vale is ours.”
— — —
Supper that night was heavy.
The long table groaned with food, but laughter was thinner, stretched like parchment. Nell tried, thumping Tank’s back and boasting of hammer blows. Bradan teased Lysa about her “showboating” on the ridge. Josira stole a cup straight from a guard and toasted herself.
But the cracks showed.
Kelara’s hand lingered on Petric’s shoulder longer than usual, steadying him each time he shifted too sharply. Clarien’s eyes followed the tremor in his hand as he reached for bread. Jorlan said little, gaze sharp, measuring.
Jerric sat stiff at the far end, silent, jaw set. He lifted his cup but never drank. He didn’t look at his father once. Petric noticed. Everyone did.
Petric’s fingers tightened on the cup, but he said nothing—leadership had its silences, and tonight they felt heavy.
For the span of a meal, the house of Alfareth looked whole. But beneath the candlelight, the seams strained.
The lion had hunted first. Fierce. Reckless.
And in the quiet that followed, the keep felt it.
