The Qohorik defenders were returning the favour. Heavy catapults mounted on the surviving towers groaned in protest as they loosed their own payloads into the dark, though the sheer volu of Roman artillery dwarfed their efforts. Extensive, jagged craters already marred the inner facing of the western wall. It would not hold forever.
I kept pace beside Ana, my ribs protesting with a dull ache as we navigated the crowded, rutted path toward the ss tents.
We ducked into the largest pavilion. The air inside was thick with the sll of roasting goat, stale ale, and the unwashed sweat of surviving n. Long wooden tables were cramd with the battered remnants of the Falling Stars. As Ana stepped into the flickering lamplight, the conversation died out.
Dozens of grizzled rcenaries stopped chewing. One by one, they raised their dented tin cups to her in a silent, rugged salute. There was no cheering, only the deep, unspoken respect earned by a commander who had waded into the mud to drag them out of the slaughter.
Ana offered a single, respectful nod in return before leading us to a half-empty table near the rear.
We sat. A serving boy imdiately slamd a wooden trencher of salted at and a flagon of dark ale between us. My stomach twisted with sudden hunger. I reached for the at, tearing a tough strip loose with my fingers.
I barely had the chance to chew before the canvas flaps parted again.
He was not a rcenary. The man marching straight toward our table wore the pristine, un-dented ring mail and dark ash tabard of the Qohorik regulars. He had the clean, well-fed look of a soldier who had spent the day safely behind the city walls while others bled in the mud.
He stopped a foot from Ana's shoulder. "Commander. Your presence is requested at Eranis Manor."
Ana did not imdiately look up. She took a slow, asured sip from her tin cup, swallowing before she turned her vibrant green eyes on the regular. "I have just returned from the rearguard, and I have not yet eaten. Tell Elder Taroh I will attend him when I am finished."
"My orders were to bring you imdiately, Commander," the soldier insisted, his tone carrying a grating, bureaucratic authority.
The clatter of wooden spoons around our table ceased entirely. Half a dozen sellswords shifted their weight, their hands drifting casually toward the daggers at their belts.
Ana caught the shift in the room. Her jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the regular. "Very well," she said, her voice deceptively smooth. "I will co. But I will bring a personal guard with ."
The soldier glanced nervously at the heavily scarred rcenaries surrounding him before giving a stiff nod.
"I must also inform my vice-commander of my sudden absence," Ana added, standing from the bench. "We will fetch him from my tent, and then we will follow you to the manor."
The guard looked reluctant to let her out of his sight, but the murderous glares of the Falling Stars veterans quickly eroded his bravado. He complied with a curt nod, stepping back to wait by the entrance.
I didn't need to be asked. I stood up, ignoring the sharp pull in my stitched side, and fell into step beside her. I let my hand rest casually near the wire-wrapped hilt of Dark Sister. I lacked the strength for a prolonged lee, but I could still gut a single Qohorik ssenger if the need arose.
We left the ss tent, letting the chill of the night air swallow us again.
"Eranis Manor," Ana muttered, keeping her voice low enough that the escort trailing ten paces behind us could not hear. "Not the Council Hall."
I caught her aning instantly. "This is a private eting not one for the ears of the Council"
"It is perhaps related to the marriage between myself and his nephew" Ana noted, her boots crunching over the gravel. "He likely ans to force the vow before I decide to jump ship and abandon the city taking his treasures."
I ground my teeth together, a hot spike of Targaryen fury piercing through my exhaustion. "If that pale cunt tries to force you into a wedding bed while the walls are collapsing around us, we leave this goat-worshipping ruin tonight. The contract be damned."
Ana glanced up at the cracked, trembling walls as another Roman boulder shattered against the outer gatehouse.
"If the board turns against us, we will run," she agreed, her voice hard and pragmatic.
We reached the flaps of our tent, the Qohorik regular hovering impatiently in the mud behind us.
Ana dropped to a knee, pulling a heavy, iron-bound casket from beneath her cot. She threw back the lid, revealing the Valyrian steel claymore she had bled the Eranis family to secure. She lifted the massive weapon and offered it to , hilt first. "Take it. Keep it hidden beneath your cloak."
I offered a grim nod, taking the dark steel. Its weight was deceptive, light enough to manage even with my battered ribs.
"What of Marc?" I asked, shifting the heavy velvet of my cloak to obscure the blade. "Should we not apprise him of our departure?"
Ana moved to her makeshift desk, unrolling a scrap of parchnt. "He is walking the periter, posting the sentries. We will not find him in the dark. Better to leave a missive."
She scratched out a hurried note while I strapped on a shirt of boiled leather and light ringmail. Every movent sent a fresh spike of agony through my stitched ribs, but survival dictated necessity.
She folded the parchnt, pressing the Falling Stars signet into a hot drop of wax, and left it on the cot. "Co. Before our escort grows suspicious."
She swept past the tent flaps. I followed, pulling my dark hood low over my silver hair.
The Qohorik regular was waiting in the mud. He offered a curt nod and turned on his heel. We followed, keeping a asured twenty paces behind him.
"Why not take a proper guard?" I murmured, keeping my voice low. "Your veterans?"
"Eranis would view a full escort as a hostile gesture," Ana replied, her eyes tracking the distant, trembling silhouettes of the city walls. "If this turns foul and we are forced to flee the city, we cannot afford to draw the eyes of the watch. Besides, Marc and the hardened veterans are occupied on the walls."
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