The wind off the eastern sea was sharp, briny, and bitter with betrayal.
Uthred stood at the prow of his warship, the Flameborn, watching the outline of Harrowport rise through the early mist. The harbor was smaller than Eldhaven's, nestled in a jagged cove, but vital. It was the last foothold before open sea—and the suspected meeting ground of Lord Caedros and foreign agents from the Dust Empire.
Vale stood beside him, wrapped in a crimson cloak. No armor, not today. She moved slower now, more carefully, her hand resting on her belly.
"I shouldn't have come," she said quietly.
"You're here. That's enough," Uthred said. "We finish this fast. In and out before sundown."
The warship cut through the water like a blade.
Harrowport's gates were open. Too open.
No bells. No flags. No resistance.
The governor, a frail, smiling man named Korran, met them at the docks with a procession of servants and guards.
"Your Majesty," he said with a low bow. "We are honored."
Uthred kept his hand on his sword. "Where is Lord Caedros?"
Korran flinched. "Gone, I'm afraid. Left two days ago, after... a diplomatic meeting."
Vale stepped forward. "With whom?"
The governor hesitated. "Envoys bearing the sigil of the Dust Empire. They sailed east."
"And you let them go?"
"I serve the realm," Korran said. "Not the bloodshed."
"Then you serve the wrong crown," Uthred replied.
He signaled Jorlan.
"Search the manor. Bring me every letter, scroll, and coin touched by that snake."
The manor was well-furnished but hollow. A mask of loyalty over a rotting skull. Behind a bookcase, Uthred's scouts found a sealed chamber. Inside, crates of Dust Empire gold, forged documents, and a map marked with six coastal locations—each with Eldhame banners scribbled over in red.
Vale held the map in shaking hands. "They've planned this for months. Years, maybe."
Uthred scanned the page. "This isn't just betrayal. It's an invasion plan."
Maera entered with a parchment still warm from the ink.
"It's a message," she said. "Intercepted from one of the manor scribes. Meant for Caedros."
Uthred read it aloud:
> "The Queen is vulnerable. Strike before the child is born. The heirs of flame must not live to rule."
Vale paled.
Uthred's jaw clenched.
"Double the guard. Nothing touches her. Nothing."
Jorlan returned minutes later.
"We've found a fast sloop docked in the south harbor. Caedros used it. If we move now, we might catch him."
Uthred nodded. "Then we move."
He turned to Vale. "You're not coming."
"I'm not staying."
Their eyes locked. Then she handed him her sword.
"Then take this. For both of us."
The Flameborn cut through the waves like a blade through silk. The wind whipped across the deck, and the salt stung Uthred's lips as he watched the white sails of Caedros's sloop ahead.
Jorlan stood beside him, spyglass in hand. "They're heading for the Horned Straits. If they pass that reef, we'll lose them in open sea."
"Then we don't let them pass," Uthred said.
He turned to the ship's archer crews. "Ready chain shot! Tear their sails, then prepare to board!"
The order echoed across the deck. The tension was thick with more than wind. Every man aboard knew this wasn't just a hunt—it was a reckoning.
As they closed the gap, a dark figure emerged on the deck of the enemy vessel. Clad in silver robes, face hidden beneath a porcelain mask etched with golden glyphs.
"A Dustblade," Jorlan whispered. "Assassins of the Empire. You only see one if they want you to."
The masked assassin raised both hands.
And the sea responded.
A massive wave surged between the ships, splitting the current like a serpent. The Flameborn buckled. Uthred grabbed the railing.
"Hold fast!"
They boarded amid chaos.
Grapples flew. Blades rang. Men screamed. The deck of the enemy sloop became a whirl of blood and steel.
Uthred found the Dustblade waiting for him at the aft.
It moved like a whisper.
Their blades met—sparks flew. The Dustblade fought with twin curved daggers, both coated in shimmering venom. Uthred's sword glowed red with runes from the fire-forging.
One strike, two. Parry. Spin.
Then a dagger grazed Uthred's shoulder.
Pain flared like flame. But he kept fighting.
"Where is Caedros?" he shouted.
The Dustblade said nothing.
But from the lower deck, a hatch slammed shut.
"Below!" Jorlan roared.
Uthred lunged, broke the assassin's stance, and buried his blade through its chest. The Dustblade dropped, mask shattering.
A woman. Young. Eyes glazed, lips curled in a satisfied smirk.
As if she had succeeded.
They found him in the hold—desperate, cornered, a blade at a child's throat. A merchant's boy, dragged aboard for leverage.
"Stay back!" Caedros screamed.
Uthred stepped forward, bloodied and breathing fire.
"You betrayed the crown. You sold Eldhame to vultures."
"Eldhame is already dead!" Caedros shouted. "You just light fires over the bones!"
Uthred dropped his sword.
"You won't leave this ship. But the boy does."
Caedros hesitated.
Then Vale's sword—still sheathed—struck him from behind.
Jorlan caught the boy.
Caedros fell, weeping.
The ship was set ablaze.
Uthred stood at the shoreline of Harrowport, watching the enemy sloop burn in the bay. The smoke curled into the sky like a banner.
Beside him, Vale leaned against him. Her hand rested on her belly again.
"He tried to end everything we've built," she whispered.
"And now we build higher," Uthred replied.
Jorlan approached.
"Word from the Dust Empire. They've declared Uthred's rule illegitimate. They want a trade prince on the throne."
Uthred looked to the east.
"Then they'll get fire instead."