Captain Alaric Darrow POV

  I slammed my good arm against the table.

  The motion sent a sharp throb through my shoulder, but the pain barely registered. After two days of forced rest, I was finally well enough to review the battle reports. I had expected grim numbers. I had not expected this.

  The casualties exceeded those of the last twenty Grand Beast Tides. That alone would have been enough to ruin my week. What followed ruined my month.

  The parchment in my hand bore Count Petrae’s seal, delivered to me by Tellus before he left. As I read his demands, my temper finally broke. That cunning old bastard would not miss a single opportunity, not even during a Grand Beast Tide. Compensation for reinforcements was expected. But he went further. He demanded payment in beast materials, also claiming reimbursement for the soldiers his grandson’s personal guard had healed during the tide.

  The royal family would reimburse the fort in gold, of course. They always did. But that gold would not replace what mattered.

  Beast materials were the real prize.

  I had planned to send a large portion of them back to my house. The market rate was low now, yes, but noble houses rarely cared about gold. My house would have been willing to pay slightly above market price to the royal army for the beast materials and still turn a profit in the future. More importantly, some of the Tier Four materials would have been invaluable in rearming the elite units of my household guard, enough to strengthen our standing.

  Now, I was nearly certain his grandson had arrived only when the fort stood on the brink of collapse. Perfect timing. Late enough to look heroic. Early enough to claim credit. When the stories spread, and they would spread, the commoners who had bled on the walls would remember only one thing: a young lord of House Petrae riding a majestic beast and turning the flow of the battle.

  With the arrival of just four men at the very end of the fight, the Count had gained everything at once, public recognition and control over valuable resources, while quietly restraining my house’s power.

  I exhaled through clenched teeth and turned to the next stack of reports.

  Squad performance.

  By royal army regulation, commendations had to be issued after a tide of this scale. Promotions. Honors. Recognition for those who had held the line.

  That was when I found it.

  One report stood out, wrong in a way that made my brow furrow.

  I read it twice.

  Then a third time.

  “Have these reports been confirmed?” I asked my aide without looking up.

  “Yes, sir,” my aide replied. “The private in question has not yet regained consciousness, but the injuries on his body match the statements from his squadmates.”

  A new Tier Two. Novice class.

  Led a squad against a combined Tier Two and Tier Three assault.

  Killed a Tier Three.

  I leaned back slowly. “Bring me his file.”

  When my aide returned, I scanned the name. Edward of Oxspell. I knew it. Fenward had secured medical training access for him early on. I had assumed he was a scholar type.

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  I was wrong.

  His combat evaluations were solid. His leadership indicators were even better. As I read deeper, I frowned, then found myself impressed.

  He had prior leadership experience, leading four conscripted criminals during construction duties while still ranking near the top in overall performance. Four of the most notorious men in the fort. Each of them was nearing Tier Three, and together they were already creating problems for me. They would be a nightmare for any new sergeant. Colin, who had replaced their previous leader, was not qualified to control them, especially with lower combat power. I could not even execute them, not after their contributions during the recent defense.

  As I continued going through the file, I found that he had also made several important connections. He had somehow managed to impress Cole, enough that Cole had already submitted a request to transfer him to Vanguard. Fenward had also recently requested his assignment as an aide, intending to groom him for a lieutenant track, along with a commendation from Rune Master Tharic Denmor.

  Then came the interesting part. Intelligence had filed multiple inquiries regarding his posting, and I could see why his first assignment had placed him somewhere far more dangerous than his level suggested. He had also been assigned to a position poorly suited to his class. Based on his training results and early stat evaluations, he could have been placed in Vanguard or even a knight order with ease. Even the highest knight orders valued strong low level fighters, and his designation as a support type only strengthened his case.

  Even I would have filed an inquiry or asked my house to look into it, if I had not already smelled the manipulation behind it. Such a mistake could not have happened without the Count’s knowledge. Whether he had been directly involved or not, he would have known about it. And I did not have the patience or the courage to play political games against that old man in Stonegate, not more than I already had to.

  I closed the file.

  “Sir,” my aide said.

  I looked up. “What is it?”

  “Lieutenant Tullius Cicero is requesting a meeting.”

  My jaw tightened.

  Just hearing his name soured my mood further.

  I still remembered his smug expression at the Count’s ball a century ago, when he defeated my younger brother in a duel. Back then, they called him a non elemental prodigy, placed as a royal healer in training. Now he was assigned to patch up common soldiers who would die before ever seeing the capital. Sometimes, that thought gave me a small measure of satisfaction.

  When he entered, I was reminded why his presence irritated me so deeply.

  Even now, he walked as if he were still an important noble. His uniform was tailored finer than mine, as if to remind me that his old noble house still survived in some form even after its extermination, like a relic of an age that refused to die.

  “Captain Darrow,” he said, delivering a flawless salute, as if mocking me.

  “Lieutenant,” I replied, allowing none of my feelings to show on my face.

  “I have come to make a request.”

  That surprised me. In my forty years of commanding the fort, he had never requested anything from me directly.

  I nodded.

  “I would like to request Private Edward be reassigned from Sergeant Alaric Fenward’s squad to serve under me. He shows promise and could be a valuable asset to the royal army.”

  Him again, and this time Tullius. He rarely took interest in people. In his entire tenure, he had trained fewer than five privates, all of them healers with high elemental affinities suited for healing. This was the first time he had shown interest in a non elemental soldier, and considering the history of his house, it was hardly surprising.

  If he had made this request yesterday, I would have agreed without hesitation. I would have transferred any private under Tullius just so I would not have to look at his face any longer than necessary.

  But I had just read Edward’s file, and placing him under another lieutenant could earn me some favors.

  “I do not believe that is appropriate,” I said calmly. “He is combat focused. He has leadership potential. Assigning him to a healer’s unit would waste that.”

  Tullius paused for a second, then said, “I understand.”

  Relief flickered through me as he turned to leave.

  Then he stopped at the door.

  “Captain, could you deliver this letter to Uncle Albrecht?” he asked, producing a sealed envelope.

  My fist clenched beneath the table. So that was his angle.

  Using the Count’s name for a private. Or perhaps this, too, was part of Petrae’s game.

  An idea surfaced.

  “Very well,” I said. “I will send the letter. I can also assign Private Edward to you.”

  “However,” I continued, “given the losses we have suffered, several lieutenants and sergeants are dead. If I am to place him under you, it will be as a sergeant. After all, you are the best person to train a young sergeant in leadership.” I gave him a faint smile.

  “This will not be permanent,” I added smoothly. “Once we have sufficient officers again, he may be reassigned.”

  Tullius nodded stiffly and turned to leave, slipping the letter back into his pocket.

  I was not finished.

  “And Lieutenant,” I said, my voice level, “in your twilight years, I hope you do not follow your house’s path.”

  He paused for a heartbeat.

  Then he left.