Page 86 of Savage Devotion
My hand shoots out without conscious thought, fingers closing around the blade just below the hilt. Steel bites into my palm, but momentum stops as if hitting stone.
"No."
I twist my wrist, leveraging the weapon from his grip with the sudden violence of someone who's had enough. The sword flies across the tent, embedding itself in a support pole with a sound like breaking bones.
Heldrik stares at his empty hand, then at the blood dripping from my closed fist, then at my face.
"This is what happens," I say quietly, "when someone threatens what I protect."
Around us, the tent erupts into chaos. Guards surge forward, weapons raised, voices shouting orders and threats. But none of that matters because Ressa sways against me, her face pale with exhaustion or shock or the choices that can't be undone.
"It's done," she whispers, so quietly only I can hear. "There's no going back."
"Then we go forward."
Heldrik backs toward the tent entrance, his face twisted with disgust and something that might be grief. "You've killed us all," he says, voice carrying the hollow certainty of prophecy. "But at least you'll die first."
He turns and storms from the tent, taking most of the guards with him. The sudden silence feels heavier than the chaos that preceded it.
Ressa collapses into my arms, not from injury but from the sheer emotional weight of what just happened. She's severed ties with her family, defied military authority, chosen personal loyalty over institutional obligation.
For me.
"What happens now?" she asks.
"Now we face whatever comes together."
"The camp will divide. Some will follow Heldrik's orders, others might stay with me. It could mean civil war within our own forces."
"Then we deal with civil war."
"Kaelgor." She looks up at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. "What if he's right? What if this destroys everything?"
"Then we build something better from the pieces."
Outside, I can hear the camp responding to news of the confrontation. Voices raised in argument, weapons being checked, horses being saddled. The aftermath of revelation spreads through the ranks like ripples from a thrown stone.
Some will see this as betrayal requiring punishment. Others might view it as evolution demanding adaptation. Most will probably just want to survive whatever comes next.
12
RESSA
The tent empties around us like water draining from a broken basin. Guards follow Heldrik's retreat, boots heavy on packed earth, voices carrying fragments of argument and disbelief. Within moments, only Kaelgor and I remain in the sudden stillness.
Blood drips from my arm where Heldrik's blade found its mark, not deep, but purposeful. A claiming cut, the kind meant to scar and remind. I press my hand against the wound, feeling warmth seep between my fingers.
"Let me see." Kaelgor says.
"I can manage."
"You're bleeding on my shirt."
I glance down and realize I'm still pressed against his chest, my wounded arm trapped between us. His leather vest shows dark stains where my blood has soaked through.
"Sorry." I try to step back, but his arms tighten around me.
"Don't apologize for bleeding when someone cuts you."
