Lysandra woke to the soft rustling of fabric and the faint warmth of sunlight filtering through the canvas of the tent. For a moment, disorientation washed over her, the events of the previous day blurring into a haze of pain and exhaustion. She blinked, her sharp eyes adjusting to the dim light, and slowly pushed herself upright on the cot she'd been laid on. Her shoulder throbbed dully, the bandages snug but not constricting.
As her gaze swept over the small interior of the tent, she noticed a neat pile of items placed beside her. Fresh clothes—a simple tunic, breeches, and a sturdy leather vest—were folded with care, their earthy tones practical for travel. Next to them, something glinted faintly in the morning light, and her breath caught.
Her daggers.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the familiar hilts, and a wave of relief swept through her. The blades gleamed faintly in the dim light, their edges sharp and well-maintained. Someone had taken the time to care for them, and the realization sent a flicker of gratitude through her otherwise guarded thoughts. Beside the daggers lay her satchel, the one she'd thought lost when she was taken.
With a quick motion, she opened it, her hands moving with practiced precision as she rifled through its contents. The small pouch of herbs was untouched, the folded map still neatly in place, and her handful of coins remained tucked into the inner pocket. As she dug deeper, her fingers brushed against something familiar yet unexpected.
Her rune stone.
She pulled it out carefully, her breath catching as the smooth, weathered surface of the stone rested in her palm. Its etched markings—symbols for fire, wind, and healing—gleamed faintly, as if they pulsed with energy at her touch. She hadn't expected to see it again, and yet, here it was. The magic bound to the stone had always been a last resort for her, a tool she relied on sparingly, but knowing it was back in her possession filled her with a sense of guarded strength.
As she studied the rune, something slipped from the satchel and fluttered to the cot beside her—a folded piece of parchment. Frowning, Lysandra picked it up, her eyes narrowing as she unfolded it. The handwriting was hurried but legible, the ink slightly smudged as if written in haste.
Do not trust Volatira's King.
Her heart skipped a beat as she read the words, her mind racing. No signature, no explanation—just the cryptic warning staring back at her. She turned the note over, searching for anything else that might give her a clue, but it was blank on the other side.
Her fingers tightened around the parchment as her thoughts churned. Who had left this? And why? She glanced at the rune stone, then back at the note, her sharp eyes narrowing. This wasn't a coincidence. Whoever had returned her belongings and left this message knew something—something they weren't willing to say outright.
The faint sounds of the camp stirring outside reached her ears, pulling her from her thoughts. Lysandra glanced at the tent's flap, ensuring it was securely tied shut, before pulling out the rune stone from the hidden pocket of her tunic. Its etched symbols glowed faintly in the dim light, the energy within pulsing like a steady heartbeat. She held it in her palm, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the symbol for healing.
She whispered the familiar incantation under her breath, her voice barely audible as she activated the rune's magic. Warmth spread through her hand and into her injured shoulder, the dull ache easing with every passing second. The relief was immediate, the knot of pain unraveling as the rune's power took hold. Lysandra exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulder cautiously to ensure the spell had done its job. The sharp pain had dulled to a manageable throb, and for now, that would have to be enough.
She quickly tucked the rune back into its pocket, her movements swift and practiced. Magic like hers wasn't something she advertised, as it was illegal in Volatira and punishable by death.
Once she was certain no one had seen, Lysandra turned her attention to the fresh clothes left for her. Pulling on the tunic and breeches with care, she adjusted the leather vest over her bandaged shoulder and secured her daggers at her belt. Her satchel was slung across her chest, its familiar weight a small comfort.
Her mind, however, was far from comforted. The note she'd found nagged at her, the cryptic warning about Volatira's King playing over and over in her thoughts. If the King couldn't be trusted, it changed everything about their mission. She needed answers, and there was only one person in the convoy she trusted enough to share this with.
Roderic.
Steeling herself, Lysandra adjusted the straps of her satchel and pushed through the tent's flap into the bright morning light. The camp was already bustling with activity, knights and Shadow Blades preparing for the day's travel.
Lysandra weaved her way through the bustling camp, her sharp eyes scanning the familiar faces of knights and Shadow Blades as they went about their preparations. The air was filled with the clinking of armor, the snorting of horses, and the low murmur of voices as the convoy readied for another day on the road. She kept her expression neutral, but her mind was racing.
As she moved between tents and wagons, she bumped into a few people along the way. First was Kellan, who was laughing over some joke with another Shadow Blade. He turned to her with a grin, but she cut him off before he could launch into his usual teasing.
"Kellan," she said curtly, crossing her arms. "Did you or anyone else put my things in my tent last night?"
Kellan tilted his head, his grin fading slightly as he frowned in thought. "Your things? No. Last I saw, your stuff was missing after... Why?"
"Never mind," she said quickly, brushing past him before he could press further. Kellan shrugged, turning back to his conversation, but she could feel his curious gaze lingering on her.
The next was Donall, who was seated by a fire sharpening his blade. He glanced up as she approached, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. "Lysandra."
"Donall," she said, keeping her tone steady. "Did you see anyone put my belongings in my tent last night? My satchel, my daggers?"
He shook his head, his expression unreadable. "No. I assumed they were still missing."
She pressed her lips into a thin line, her stomach tightening. "Thanks," she muttered before moving on.
Finally, she approached one of the knights, a younger man who was busy securing the straps on his horse's saddle. He glanced at her with wide eyes when she addressed him, clearly nervous under her sharp gaze.
"Did you or anyone else put my belongings in my tent last night?" she asked, her voice firmer now.
"No, ma'am," he stammered, shaking his head quickly. "I didn't even know they'd been found."
"Right," she said, her tone clipped. "Thanks."
By the time she moved past the edge of the camp, frustration had settled over her like a heavy cloak. No one had admitted to returning her belongings, which only deepened the mystery.
Pushing the thought aside for now, she finally spotted Roderic near the perimeter, speaking with one of the patrol leaders. His stance was as commanding as ever, his arms crossed as he listened intently. Lysandra didn't hesitate, striding up to him with purpose.
"Roderic," she said, her voice low but urgent.
He glanced at her, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. "Lysandra," he replied, his tone calm but questioning. "You're up early. Shouldn't you be resting?"
"We need to talk," she said firmly, ignoring his remark. "Privately."
Roderic arched an eyebrow but didn't argue. He turned to the patrol leader and dismissed him with a curt nod before motioning for Lysandra to follow. They walked a short distance away from the camp, the hum of activity fading slightly as they stopped beneath the shade of a large tree.
"What's so important it couldn't wait?" Roderic asked, his tone steady but laced with curiosity.
Lysandra glanced over her shoulder, ensuring no one was within earshot, before turning back to him. Her hand tightened around the strap of her satchel as she prepared to speak. "Something's not right," Lysandra said quietly, her voice steady but tense. She glanced around once more, ensuring no one was within earshot, before continuing. "My missing things—my daggers, my satchel—they were in my tent this morning."
Roderic frowned, his arms crossing as his stance grew more rigid. "And? Someone probably found them after the ambush and returned them. Why does that bother you?"
"No," Lysandra said, shaking her head firmly. "I asked around. Kellan, Donall, even one of the royal knights. None of them knew anything about it. No one's claiming they found my things."
Roderic's brow furrowed deeper, his sharp eyes narrowing. "That's strange, but it doesn't mean anything sinister. Someone might have returned them anonymously."
"It's more than that," she said, her voice dropping lower. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a folded piece of parchment, holding it up for him to see. "This was with them."
Roderic unfolded the note carefully, his expression darkening as he read the words aloud: "Do not trust Volatira's King." He stared at the paper for a long moment before looking back at Lysandra, his jaw tightening. "This was in your satchel?"
"Yes," Lysandra confirmed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "And I didn't put it there. Whoever returned my belongings wanted me to see it."
Roderic let out a low breath, his face hardening. "If this is true…" He trailed off, his voice grim. "The King of Volatira is supposed to be our ally. We're heading there to finalize a contract for the Shadow Blades to assist him in the coming war against Eldren. If he's not trustworthy, this entire mission could be a setup."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Lysandra said, her tone sharp.
Roderic folded the note and tucked it into his belt, his expression unreadable. "This changes everything," he muttered. "But we don't know enough yet. This could be a genuine warning, or it could be a ploy to throw us off balance."
Lysandra's lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't like guessing games, Roderic. And I definitely don't like walking blind into a meeting with a King who might be plotting against us."
"Neither do I," Roderic replied, his voice hard. "But until we know for certain, we have to play this carefully. If we act suspicious or accuse the King without proof, it could ruin the contract—and put the Shadow Blades in even greater danger."
Lysandra exhaled sharply, her frustration evident as she leaned forward, her voice low but firm. "What about Alaric? If this note is right, he's at the center of this. It's his father we're being warned about. Shouldn't he know?"
Roderic's jaw tightened, and he hesitated, his sharp eyes narrowing as he weighed her words. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but cautious. "Not yet. Alaric's already a target—his position makes him vulnerable to manipulation from both sides. If we tell him about this now, he might act impulsively or confront the wrong people, and that could jeopardize the entire mission."
Lysandra frowned, her fists clenching at her sides. "He has a right to know. This isn't just about him—it's his father."
"I know," Roderic said, his voice low but resolute. "But we need proof before we act. If the King is compromised, Alaric will have to make choices that could split his loyalty between his kingdom and us. Until we know for sure, it's safer for everyone if we keep this quiet and stick to the mission."
Lysandra's gaze hardened, but she nodded reluctantly, understanding the logic even if she didn't like it. "Fine," she said curtly.
"We'll tread carefully," Roderic said, his voice calm but firm. "I'll start asking subtle questions and watching for anything suspicious. You keep your eyes on the prince. If anything feels off, you come straight to me."