Page 81 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

The more Loren dwelled on it, the more he felt inclined to push for its approval. The construction of the building was already underway, after all. If his soldiers could focus less on petty city crime, they could return to their main purpose: war. They could even make offensive moves against the dhemons again after several centuries of being forced into a defensive position.

He settled into his office chair at the Hub and set aside the documents detailing the movements he had ordered and their outcomes. None required a response. The updates were mandatory, and so long as no immediate decision needed to be made on his part, all would be well.

But Loren did not get the chance to sit back and revel in his own genius. A knock announced an arrival just before the door swung open as though the visitor beyond owned the room in which he sat. He was halfway to his feet, prepared to tell off whichever insubordinate soldier who dared wander in before easing back again.

“Father.” Indeed, Loren looked up at his sire with a smirk. Notten’s problems were gradually fixing themselves without further intrusion from the army. “Come. Sit.”

At first, the Lord Governor did not move. He merely stared at his son with a mirrored, if slightly aged, face. When at last he stepped in, swinging the door closed behind him, he lowered himself into a chair as though fearing pins on its cushion.

“Are you well?” Loren tilted his head.

“Quite.” His father continued to stare. “I have been asked to speak with you.”

Loren frowned, his back straightening to prepare for the inevitable fight to come. Nothing good ever came from others using his father to garner favors from him. “About?”

“The plan you discussed with the Council.”

Then Loren stared back for a long moment. “Excuse me?”

“It is not sustainable.”

Leaning forward, Loren’s brows lowered as he studied his father. The Caersan was well-versed in Society’s games and did well at hiding his true thoughts. Whether he believed his own words or not was difficult to decipher. The way his father never faltered under his scrutiny, however, painted a clear image.

“For whom do you speak?” Loren rested his forearms on the desk between them. “Certainly, this is not your idea.”

Yet his father lifted his chin a fraction in defiance. “I speak for the Council. It will not work.”

Loren clicked his tongue. “Now, see…that is where you are wrong. It does work, and it will continue to work.”

“Lord Governor Nightingale has already received word from his lords that they are unable to keep up with the demand of the army.” His father bore into him with his icy eyes. “I see your thought process, and do not dare to pretend to understand the pressures you bear as General. That said, they are already struggling to provide for soldiers by way of housing and food. Not to mention the increased demand for donors.”

“There are plenty of Rusans in Waer and Eastwood to donate to my men.” Loren could not believe his ears. His own father was turning against him and throwing baseless claims at his feet. Rusan women had supplied blood to soldiers for centuries without complaint. There should be no reason for it now.

A silence stretched between them. The seconds crept by as the two Gard men stared at one another. When his father finally spoke, it was with the same restraint Loren recognized from his childhood. “Trade will falter.”

“So be it.”

“You cannot be serious!” Now his father was back on his feet, hands pressed into the desk to lean across, closing the distance between them. “Our livelihoods are in danger, and you condone it?”

Loren did not move. Did not flinch. He outranked his father and would not be threatened by his explosive tendencies. Particularly at the Hub, surrounded by soldiers who devoted their lives to him. “If we do not win this war and wipe the dhemons from Myridia, more than just our livelihoods will be in danger.”

Seething, his father stepped back, glaring down his nose at his son. “You are not thinking of your children or grandchildren. They will be the ones who suffer the consequences.”

“They will praise me for doing what no one else dared to do.” Loren stood calmly and made his way around the desk. His father did not balk. “I will raze them from this world before they kill us all.”

He crossed to the office door and opened it, his hands steady as always. If the Lord Governors were banding against him, he would need to take drastic action to ensure they did not usurp his power. So long as he remained in the good graces of the Princeps, and he doubted he would fall from such heights anytime soon, he would maintain his hold on Valenul.

“Are you removing me from your office?” His father did not so much as blink as he turned to stare at the open door.

Loren smiled, knowing full well it would not reach his eyes. “I have work to do.”

A pregnant pause stretched between them. A battle of wills.

“As you wish, General.” His father inclined his head and marched to the door. In the threshold, he paused to look back. “Your brother would be ashamed.”

“Darien is dead.” Loren’s grip tightened on the door handle, the first spike of pain jolting through him. How he had hated Darien…and how he had loved his perfect little brother. He missed him more than he would ever admit to himself. “And I will destroy the monsters who took him from us.”

Madame Ives’ modiste had always been one of Emillie’s favorite places, even long before befriending Revelie herself. The clean white walls and elegant decorations, including the brilliant emerald of plants, always brought her joy. Bright and inviting, the warmth of the main room eased the tension from her shoulders as she stepped through the door.

---