“Sarah, come on,” Kael urged, turning back. Sarah hadn’t moved.
She stood frozen, a dark curl escaping her scarf, amber eyes locked on him, framed by the fir trees of the hushed woods, their boughs hung with snow.
“We don’t have time for this. The Crown's coming.” The words left his mouth, but it was a voice from years ago that echoed in his mind—Oona’s voice: ‘Stay with your sister.’ But that was another time, and this was not the last Android war.
“They are already here,” Sarah said ominously, breaking his connection with the past.
A shadow cast over him, stretching long and dark across the pristine snow.
Kael spun to face a tall figure outlined against the sun, the Crown’s insignia gleaming on his breastplate.
“Stand still,” the soldier commanded, his crossbow leveled at Kael’s chest. “Hands up.”
Kael saw no way out and complied, raising his hands deliberately.
The soldier kept his crossbow trained on Kael as another stepped from the trees and, in one smooth motion, plucked the blade from Kael’s belt and flung it into the deep powder. Then he grabbed Sarah by the arm. She didn’t resist. Her eyes never left Kael’s face.
“I’m a Crown Lord,” Kael said, his tone carrying the authority of his station despite the position he was in. “You’ll be answering for this.”
The soldier merely smirked, his gaze sliding past Kael to Sarah, his prize. “That may be, but Sorian’s got a price on that one’s head, and a dead lord don’t tell stories.” He raised his sword, the steel catching the winter light as he positioned it to strike.
A rustle of movement, the crunch of boots on snow. Both soldiers straightened immediately.
Sorian emerged from the trees, his blue cloak billowing in the cold breeze, stark against the white landscape. He moved with the casual confidence of a man accustomed to command, to being the most dangerous person in any gathering.
“Ah, soldier, good work,” Sorian said, smooth as polished stone. “I knew you’d find her. There will be a reward.” His gaze shifted to Kael, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “And look, Lord Kael has brought her right to me.” He smirked as he realized the predicament of his friend.
Kael just glared at the soldier, slowly lowering his hands and moving to retrieve his sword from the snow, his movements deliberate, daring anyone to stop him.
“Sorian, good to see you,” he said calmly despite the tension cooking between them.
“I wish I could say the same, Kael.” Sorian didn’t finish his smile. “You’ve kind of made a mess of your assignment. Edric murdered. The town in rebellion. The signal lit, and not by you.”
Kael walked over to Sarah, where the soldier held her. “Nevertheless, I’ve found the real prize—her.” He looked directly at Sorian, a cold certainty in his gaze.
“I know, Sorian, you were never interested in Edric or Threadneedle. You sent me here as a patsy; you wanted the Covenant.”
In one lightning-fast movement, Kael drew his sword, pressed it against Sarah’s throat, and pulled her from the stunned soldier’s grasp. “And she is the key.”
Sarah felt the cold steel press against her skin, grazing the very pendant that Kael had given her as a promise, now a symbol of his betrayal.
Sorian’s eyes widened, a rare flash of fear, before he regained control.
“Well, Kael. You still have some wits.” He took a step closer, and Kael pressed the sword deeper in, drawing a thin line of red along Sarah’s neck.
Pupils wide with terror—and hurt—Sarah looked at Kael. She had always doubted he had truly changed; now here was proof he was a Crown’s tool, out for himself after all.
At the sight of her blood, Sorian stopped cold. He motioned for the soldiers to back away with casual movements, but he never let his gaze leave the blade at Sarah’s throat.
“If she dies, you have nothing, Sorian,” Kael said, his voice low but resonant in the still forest air. “There are two ways this ends. Either you tell the Crown she is dead, and they will blame you. Or I take her back myself, and you tell them the real story—how I brought the Covenant back to life, and back to them.”
Sorian laughed, a sound without humor as he realized the trap he was in. “Yes, of course. You were always ambitious, ever since they pulled you out of the orphanage.” He looked at Kael, examining him, as if seeing him anew.
“I saw it in you, Kael. Ruthlessness. When we were at the academy, I thought you were too merciful; it was a weakness. But now you have come full circle.” He shook his head, a gesture of appreciation for the ruthless ambition, the willingness to spill blood for power.
“You’ll get a governorship, a city or two. Maybe a whole realm.” He motioned to his soldier. “Accompany Lord Kael to the prisoner wagon. Do as he says.” He brushed the snow off his cloak with gloved hands, already moving on to his next concern.
As the soldier near Sarah turned, Kael suddenly moved the sword from her neck, shoving her roughly aside.
Sarah fell into the snow with a muffled cry as Kael’s blade drove into the soldier’s gut, piercing through leather and flesh with lethal precision.
Reeling with shock, the soldier grasped uselessly at the steel protruding from his abdomen before keeling over, crimson blooming fast and violent in the snow.
The second soldier lunged forward, sword raised, but Kael was ready. He ducked beneath the wild swing and came up inside the man’s guard, smashing the heavy pommel of his sword into the soldier’s temple.
The man staggered, his weapon skittering across the icy ground. He looked at his fallen comrade, then at Kael—calculating, deciding—before turning and fleeing through the trees.
Which left Sorian and Kael, alone but for Sarah, who remained where she had fallen, watching with those wide, wild eyes.
Sorian’s face burned with betrayal and fury as he unsheathed his own blade, the metal singing as it cleared the scabbard. He settled into a fighting stance, his movements fluid and precise, a reminder that he had not risen to command through politics alone.
“Run,” Kael snapped at Sarah, urgently. “Now!”
Sarah backed away, suddenly more afraid of Kael than she had ever been, her gaze fixed on the dead soldier whose blood steamed in the cold air. She spun around and ran, disappearing in the snow-laden trees.
Only Sorian and Kael remained, blades drawn, circling.
“This is your end, traitor,” Sorian spat, his earlier composure cracking to reveal the rage beneath. “You’ve spilled Crown’s blood.”
Their swords clashed with a sound like winter thunder, steel biting steel. Kael parried Sorian’s first strike, the force of it vibrating up his arm. They broke apart, circling again, each looking for an opening.
Sorian attacked with a flurry of precise cuts, each aimed at a vital area: throat, heart, wrist. His technique was flawless, honed by years of practice against the best instructors Crown’s gold could buy.
Kael gave ground, his footwork sure despite the treacherous snow. He deflected rather than blocked, conserving strength, and letting Sorian’s aggression work against him. Every swing that missed its mark cost energy; every moment of exertion in the cold air stole warmth from his lungs.
“I taught you better than this, Kael,” Sorian taunted, pressing his attack. “Always hiding behind defense. You always flinched when it counted.”
Their blades locked, bringing them face to face. For a moment, they were boys again in the academy yard, wooden swords in hand; but those days were long gone, buried beneath years of blood and ambition.
Kael broke the lock with a sudden push, forcing Sorian back. “You taught me how to survive,” he countered, following with a series of quick strikes that drove Sorian further back toward the trees.
Sorian deflected a cut aimed at his sword arm, countering with a thrust that Kael barely avoided. The point of his blade slashed his cloak, missing flesh by a whisper.
“And now I will teach you how to die,” Sorian said, his breathing heavy now despite his controlled movements.
Kael answered with his blade, a sweeping attack that forced Sorian to leap back, directly into the hollow hidden beneath the snow. His foot plunged into the mole’s hole, throwing him off-balance. He lurched forward, trying to recover, but Kael was already there.
A brutal pommel strike to Sorian’s wrist sent his sword spinning away into the snow. A kick to his knee dropped him to the ground. Suddenly, Sorian found himself looking up at Kael, at the sword poised above him, and at the face of the man he had once mentored now turned judge and executioner.
“Do it, Kael,” Sorian said, still in command. There was pride in him, a twisted satisfaction. “Take the Covenant. It’s what you are, Kael. Ambition. Own it.”
Kael raised his sword, muscles tensing for the final stroke. The blade caught the winter light, steel transformed momentarily to silver.
And then, the unmistakable sound of soldiers approaching, voices calling to each other through the trees, boots crunching on snow. A garrison heading their way.
For a heartbeat, Kael hesitated, the sword raised above Sorian’s exposed throat. Their eyes met—mentor and student, commander and subordinate, now enemies with a history too complex for simple hatred.
Kael quickly sheathed his sword, the decision made by circumstance if not by choice. Without another word, he whirled and ran into the forest, following Sarah’s tracks, the sounds of the approaching soldiers growing louder behind him.
As he ran, a question nagged at him, one he knew would haunt his dreams in the nights to come. Would he have struck the final blow?
And deeper even, a more troubling thought—did he want the answer to be yes or no?