Chapter 32 · The Price of a Son

"Don't touch that saddle again, Vittal."

Rhys said it low. Vittal's hands stopped cold.

Vittal Ograne didn't turn around. Kept working the buckle, fingers shaking so bad the leather kept slipping out of the strap. "Get out of my stable, Kaldane."

"Your son's missing and you're packing a horse." Ethlin stood in the doorway behind them, chest heaving from the run up from the tower. "You wanna explain that order of operations to me?"

Vittal spun. Knife in his hand—not drawn on them, just held, white-knuckled, like it was the only thing keeping his arm from shaking apart.

"You don't know what you're asking me to do."

"Then tell us." Sona stepped past Rhys. The burned ledger page still folded tight in her fist, the one she hadn't let go of since the stairwell. "Because from where I'm standing, a commander's about to abandon a keep full of people the night before it burns."

"It's not abandoning anything." Vittal's voice cracked on the word *anything*. "It's saving the one thing I can still save."

Rhys felt it settle in his gut like a stone dropped down a well. He'd seen this before. Not this exact moment—