Page 61 of Savage Devotion
"Vine-beast attack in the canyon. Three casualties." I keep my voice level, professional. "Alert the medical tent that we have injured coming in."
"Yes, ma'am."
As we continue toward the center of camp, Kaelgor speaks quietly enough that only I can hear. "This plan of yours. What exactly do you need from me?"
"Public disagreement about the raid. You argue against it, I override your objections. Make it clear that I'm prioritizing emotional satisfaction over tactical sense."
"And privately?"
"Privately, we plan the real operation. Small team, surgical strike, designed to follow whoever takes the bait." I pause, considering the implications. "But that means you'll be putting yourself at risk based on my judgment. After what happened today..."
"Today wasn't your fault."
"Three families would disagree."
"Three families will grieve regardless of who's to blame. The question is whether their deaths serve a purpose beyond adding to your guilt collection."
It hits harder than they should, probably because they're true. I've been carrying guilt like armor for so long that I've forgotten it's supposed to protect something, not just weigh me down.
I help transfer Kaelgor inside while they take the other stretchers to the burial preparation area. The medic, a grizzled veteran named Torres, immediately begins examining the puncture wounds with professional efficiency.
"Vine thorns," he observes. "These need proper cleaning and fresh stitches. You did good field work, but there's still debris in some of the deeper cuts."
"How long?" I ask.
"Hour, maybe two for proper treatment. Longer if infection's taken hold."
I nod and step back, but Kaelgor catches my wrist.
"The raid announcement. When?"
"Tonight. After evening meal, when everyone's gathered around the fires." I meet his gaze directly. "Last chance to change your mind about this."
"Are you changing yours?"
The honest answer is that every instinct screams against deliberately creating conflict between us, even artificial conflict. But those same instincts failed to protect Sean, Taren, and Senna. Maybe it's time to trust calculation over intuition.
"No."
"Then neither am I."
Torres clears his throat pointedly. "Unless this conversation involves immediate medical decisions, I need space to work."
I release Kaelgor's wrist and step toward the tent flap. "I'll see you at evening formation."
"Ressa." His voice stops me at the entrance. "When this is over, when we've identified the spy..."
"What?"
"We finish the conversation we started in the canyon."
Heat rises in my cheeks, but I manage a nod before ducking outside.
The next few hours pass in careful preparation. I review supply manifests and patrol reports, building a plausible case for the Bloodfang raid that will sound convincing to anyone listening. I also quietly identify potential assets for the real operation, soldiers I trust implicitly, whose loyalty to me outweighs any external influences.
The list is shorter than I'd like.
By evening, word has spread about the casualties from the canyon mission. Tension settled over a camp, reminding people of their mortality, and the mood around the cooking fires became subdued. Perfect atmosphere for announcing a risky operation that plays on desires for revenge.
