Chapter 197
ATASHA’S POV
I swallowed the last bite before I even really tasted it.
“What do you think?” Cassian asked again, watching me with that steady focus that made it hard to pretend I was composed.
The answer should have been that the reports scattered across the table were enough to turn anyone’s stomach. Grace had brought them in stacked high, each page inked with numbers I did not want to count. They were detailed reports of the dead, missing and critically wounded. The kind of information that used to make me push food away without a second thought.
Yet, none of it managed to stop my hand.
I reached for the next piece of bread, tore it in half, and dipped it into the thick stew waiting in front of me. The bowl still steamed, filled with chunks of browned meat, potatoes, carrots, and bits of herbs that floated on the surface.
Beside it, someone had set a plate with roasted root vegetables, glazed just enough to catch the light, and thin slices of spiced boar laid carefully over a bed of mashed turnip. There was cheese, too, and a dish of preserved berries that should have been a treat, but I popped one into my mouth between bites of meat as if they were nothing more than something to chew while I reached for the next piece.
I should have felt embarrassed by the way I was eating.
But I had never felt this hunger before. It felt as if someone had carved a hollow well under my ribs, and every bite I took barely reached the bottom. I did not know if it was because I had pushed my ability harder this time, or because the corrupted stone had reacted to something inside me, but the ache to keep eating made it impossible to pretend I was not starving.
“I believe, there are others hiding within the territory,” Grace’s voice cut through the sound of my chewing. “As I mentioned, Matron Yara still refuses to say anything useful, however-”
I leaned over my plate without thinking and reached for another slice of meat. My fingers brushed the edge of the dish and slipped. Something slick smeared across the corner of my mouth.
Before I could reach for a napkin, Cassian’s hand moved. His fingers caught my chin lightly, tilting my face toward him. The touch made me still more effectively than any command.
He used the cloth in his other hand to wipe the smudge from the corner of my lips as if this were somehow more important than the parchment covered in grim numbers on the table between us.
I froze long enough to stare at him, heat crawling up the back of my neck.
He lowered his hand, folded the cloth once, then glanced over my half-empty plates. “Bring more food,” he said, his voice returning to that flat command that did not invite questions. “Hot dishes. Something with
more meat. And milk.”
A servant who had been trying very hard to pretend he was invisible bowed and almost tripped over his own
feet on the way out.
Grace took that small pause as a chance to step back. “If Your Highness is tired, I can continue my report later,” she offered. “You need to finish-”
“Continue,” I said, cutting her off. I swallowed another mouthful and reached for the cup of milk they had already placed beside my plate. Naturally, this was because I have some other important things to deal with after breakfast.
Grace hesitated, her gaze flicking toward Cassian, clearly asking if he would override me.
He did not.
He gave a single nod, eyes dropping back to the report in his hand, though I could feel his attention still fixed on the conversation.
Grace exhaled and straightened, settling her shoulders in that way she did whenever she needed to force herself back into soldier mode. “As expected, Matron Yara is refusing to speak. She denies any agreement with witches, denies knowledge of corrupted stones, denies knowing who placed the anchors in the city,” Grace said. “We questioned her trusted assistants separately. Their responses were… different.”
I took another sip of milk. The warmth slid down my throat and hit my stomach like fire in snow. It barely dulled the hunger, but it helped keep my hands from shaking.
“The lieutenants insist Matron Yara made promises she never fulfilled,” Grace continued. “They say a man traveled with her group for weeks. They described him as quiet, polite, and forgettable. None of them can remember his face clearly. They all agree on one thing. Once he vanished, the others who supported him left as well.”
“Just like that?” Cassian asked without looking up.
“Yes, my lord,” Grace answered. “After his disappearance, the witches who were working from the shadows disappeared with him. No trails, no bodies, no reports of corpses matching their description. They left Matron Yara to face the consequences alone and abandoned the Demon Fang remnants who fought beside her.”
Cassian’s jaw tightened. He set the report down and leaned back slightly, the lines around his mouth deepening. “Do we have any indication where they went?”
Grace shook her head. “Not yet. We are still questioning the surviving rebels. Many of them were foot soldiers and messengers. None of them met the witches directly. They only heard rumors about a benefactor who hated Valemont blood.”
“The borders?” he asked.
“We have already doubled the patrols,” she replied. “Any southern caravan will be inspected. Anyone who passes through the eastern roads will be questioned. We are checking every merchant’s documentation twice. We are also reviewing all records of travelers who entered the territory in the last month, especially the ones connected to Matron Yara’s movements.”
I tore a piece of bread in half and chewed slowly as I listened. The heaviness in my limbs tried to pull me back toward the bed, but my mind refused to let go of the threads Grace had laid on the table.
Cassian nodded. “Expand it. I want the outer watchtowers sending daily reports for the next few weeks, not weekly summaries. Any sign of foreigners traveling together in small groups and avoiding the main trade routes should be reported immediately. Anyone carrying stones that do not match the usual fae stones or border markers should be detained.”
Grace inclined her head. “Yes, my lord.”
I reached for the milk again, fingers curving around the cup. The question slipped out before I could stop it fully.
“Why the North?” I murmured, almost to myself.
Grace’s report stopped mid-sentence while Cassian’s hand stilled on the parchments. Both of them turned their attention toward me at the same time.
I realized I had spoken aloud. I drained half the cup in one swallow and set it down, using the moment to gather the rest of the thoughts pressing against my tongue.
“I mean,” I said, looking between them. “Why now, and why like this?”
Grace shifted her weight, frowning slightly. “Because the North is the strongest ally of the Kingl,” she started. “If someone wants to weaken the Crown, they would attack here first, so-”
“That is not what I meant,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “If their goal was to destroy the North completely or weaken the strength of the King, they had a better chance before.”
Cassian’s eyes narrowed slightly. Yet, he said nothing. He didn’t need to. I knew, he knew what I was thinking. So, I pushed my plate a little farther away, not because I was full, but because I needed my hands free to count off the points crowding my mind.
“They could have done this during the tide,” I said. “That would have made more sense if they wanted us gone. The Lord of the North was not here. Every lieutenant was scattered. Everyone left in the fortress was injured or exhausted from fighting beasts. If witches had used corrupted stones then, if they had dropped half our forces in the middle of the tide, we would have been overrun.”
The memory of those endless nights flashed through me.
I met Cassian’s gaze again. “Yet they waited,” I said. “They chose to attack after the tide. After the soldiers recovered their strength. After you came back. After the North showed we could survive the worst wave we have seen in years.”
Grace’s eyes slowly widened as she followed the line I was drawing. The crackling from the fireplace suddenly felt too loud in the silence that pressed between us.
“Why do you
think that is?” I asked, looking from her to Cassian. “If this was only about killing as many northerners as possible, the tide was their perfect opportunity. They ignored that and chose a day when the garrison was alert, the walls were guarded, and the Lord of the North was standing in the courtyard, surrounded by his men. They chose a day where someone… someone that represents the King is here.”
Before anyone could speak, a soldier entered with a quick bow. “My Lord, My Lady, Lady Celeste of the South has rejected her meal again. She said she will not eat unless the consort sees her.”
