Page 78 of Savage Devotion
"Probably assume we're dead." His expression grows grim. "Cave-in like that, chemical explosion, survivors would be unlikely."
"Which gives us options."
"Such as?"
"We can return as we are—alliance partners who survived disaster through cooperation. Or we can return as something else."
"What kind of something else?"
I take his hand, fingers interlacing with a natural ease that suggests this gesture will become comfortable, necessary.
"That's what we figure out together."
The descent from the mountainside takes most of the morning, following deer trails and watercourses that eventually connect to established paths. We move carefully, not just because of Kaelgor's injuries but because we're both aware that returning to our respective forces means returning to pressures and expectations that don't account for what developed between us.
House Vaelmark will want tactical intelligence and strategic advantage. The Ironspine Clan will want assurance that its secrets remain protected. Neither will be particularly interestedin the emotional complications of enemies becoming allies becoming something more personal.
But as we reach the edge of familiar territory, I realize the complications don't matter as much as I thought they would. What matters is the steady warmth of Kaelgor's hand in mine, the way he automatically adjusts his pace to accommodate my shorter stride, the silent communication that's developed between us.
Trust, yes. But more than that.
Partnership. Mutual respect, shared survival, and emotional honesty build real partnerships.
Our forces find us before we reach the main camp, scouts from both sides converging on our position with the barely controlled urgency of people who've been searching for the missing. Relief and suspicion war across their faces as they take in our condition as injured but mobile, together but not restrained.
"Commander Ressa!" Lieutenant Morris reaches us first, eyes quickly cataloging visible injuries. "We thought you were killed in the tunnel collapse."
"Reports of our death were greatly exaggerated." I don't release Kaelgor's hand, making the partnership visible and undeniable. "We found another way out."
"Through Ironspine territory," one of the orc warriors observes, rust-red eyes flicking between us with obvious calculation.
"Through neutral ground," Kaelgor corrects firmly. "Ancient paths that belong to no clan."
The explanation satisfies immediate questions while avoiding details that would complicate the larger situation. We're allies who survived disaster through cooperation, nothing more and nothing less.
At least as far as official reports are concerned.
But when we reach the main camp and face the inevitable debriefings and medical examinations, Kaelgor's hand finds mine again, hidden from observation but warm with promise.
11
KAELGOR
The moment we enter the camp perimeter, I sense the wrongness threading through the air like smoke from a poorly banked fire. Conversations halt mid-sentence when we pass, eyes tracking our joined hands with the sort of calculated attention that precedes either celebration or execution.
Too quiet.Warriors don't go silent unless they're preparing for violence or witnessing something that demands absolute focus. Given the tension radiating from the Vaelmark tents, I suspect it's both.
"Something's happened," Ressa murmurs, her fingers tightening against mine before she releases them. Losing contact feels like stepping from sunlight into shadow.
"More than something. Your people are positioned for containment, not protection."
She follows my gaze, taking in the subtle repositioning of her forces. Guards flanked the command tent rather than patrolling the perimeter. Archers with clear sightlines to the central area where we're walking. Weapons loose in their sheaths but hands resting on hilts.
"Heldrik." The name escapes her lips like a curse.
"Your uncle?"
"My commander." Her jaw tightens. "And someone who views cooperation with non-humans as treason."
