CHAPTER 428: ARRIVING AT THE CAPITAL

Lara’s thoughts strayed as the fire flickered before her, its warmth doing little to soften the chill that coiled in her chest. She thought of her family—of her father preparing for war, of her mother’s gentleness hidden behind a mask of sternness and indifference. What would they say if they knew she would stand not as a warrior or healer in the war but as a contender in the Queen’s tournament?

They should not be surprised, right? They had already seen how she fought and knew what she was capable of.

Across the flames, Logan sat quietly, the firelight carving harsh planes into his face. The distant thunder of waterfalls echoed from the cliffs, a reminder that here, in the mountains, they were far from the courts and crowns where names were measured in power.

"You should feel lucky," Lara said at last, her voice steady, carrying none of the storm in her eyes. "It means Master believes you’re ready to make a name for yourself."

Logan’s lips pressed thin, though he said nothing. Was he lucky? Perhaps he was.

He had expected this. Jethru never trained them merely for defense or discipline—he forged weapons. Still, a weight pressed against his chest as he considered what lay ahead. The capital was not just a place of glory—it was a nest of vipers, where politics cut deeper than steel.

For a heartbeat, another face intruded upon his thoughts: Thalia. He saw her soft smile, then his mother’s weary eyes, his younger sister’s laughter. I have to survive this. I have to win—if not for myself, then to protect them. I needed to be strong.

"Are you afraid?" Lara’s voice cut through the silence, her gaze unblinking.

Logan chuckled softly, though there was no mirth in it. "Only a fool wouldn’t be. But then, isn’t fear ... fear is where valor begins?"

Lara nodded, exhaling slowly as if trying to release her doubts into the flames. "I know what Master is up to. I promised I would help him regain what was lost—and clear his name."

Logan leaned forward. "Then tell me—what is Master’s history?"

Her eyes flickered, but her answer was firm. "That is a story only he can give."

The fire crackled, spitting sparks into the cold night. Neither spoke for a long while, each lost in their own storm of thoughts.

From the shadows, Alaric emerged and settled beside Lara, his eyes troubled.

"I think your master has gone too far," he said, his voice deliberate and heavy. "How could he throw you into this? The contenders are high-level martial artists—each one dangerous."

Lara met his stare without flinching. "Don’t you trust me?"

Alaric hesitated. I do, he thought, but how could he admit that the thought of anyone striking her or just touching her—even in combat—was unbearable?

"Don’t worry." She smiled faintly, trying to reassure him. "I’ll wear a mask. They could never guess that I am a woman." Her eyes gleamed with a spark of mischief. "By the way, are women allowed to fight in the arena?" She wanted to make sure that they were not violating any rule.

"The written rules do not explicitly say that females are not allowed to fight. Perhaps no one from the court thought that a woman would dare participate."

"Then that’s good news," Lara said brightly.

But Alaric’s heart sank. To him, it wasn’t good news at all.

"Don’t worry," she repeated, softer this time. The mask should protect me. No one would recognize me."

She paused to look at Alaric. "Isn’t this a good opportunity for us to enter the capital without a hitch?"

Alaric’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. She was right. By splitting into smaller groups, they could move without drawing attention, then regroup at Savadra at the appointed time.

...

Dawn came like a blade, slicing open the peaks with golden fire. The air was sharp, laced with pine and stone. The path downward was treacherous, a web of crumbling ledges and narrow passes where one wrong step meant a fall into eternity.

Abel whined to come along, but Lara held firm. "Shaya needs you more than I do," she told him.

"But Bener is more than enough to take care of her." He protested and begged Lara. Lara relented, though her eyes betrayed her worry.

In the end, Abel, with Alaric, Agilus, and Redon—Alaric’s loyal guard, accompanied Lara and Logan down the perilous trail.

Lara led the way, and Alaric let her. Her steps were light but deliberate, her hand never straying far from her sword. Logan followed with measured patience, his silence steadying her even as the wind whipped around them like an unseen foe.

To save time, they chose a treacherous shortcut across a jagged peak, the mountain itself seeming to test their resolve.

By the time the heights gave way to rolling hills and the silver ribbon of the river, their bodies ached with exhaustion, but their spirits bore a sharper edge—tempered by trial.

Before nightfall, beneath a canopy of stars so vast it humbled the soul, they arrived at Savadra.

And then Logan saw it. The capital!

To him, it was like a dream made stone. Towering walls caught the last light of day, banners of crimson and gold snapping proudly in the wind. Beyond the gates sprawled a labyrinth alive with sound and color—merchants shouting, nobles gliding past in silks, guards in gleaming armor. A place of glory... and danger.

Alaric showed the invitation to the guards at the gates, and they were granted entry. He guided them into the heart of the city, weaving through shadowed streets until they stopped at a brothel tucked discreetly in an inconspicuous quarter.

Lara’s glare was sharp enough to cut steel. "A brothel, Alaric? Have you been here many times?"

Alaric met her gaze with a meaning she couldn’t decipher, but before he could speak, Agilus laughed.

"Of course not! The deed is in my name, but the real owner is Alaric. He needed gold for his projects in Calma."

Lara blinked, stunned into silence. She could only nod slowly, her thoughts tangling.

Inside, perfumed courtesans crowded the stairway, blocking their path with practiced allure. Alaric ignored them all, his face carved from stone, leading the group straight to the third floor where six modest rooms awaited.

"Rest," he ordered. "Your body must recover. Tomorrow, the tournament begins."

"Aren’t we going to see Master?" Lara asked.

"I’ve already sent word to Jethru and Orion. They know we’ve arrived. They will come to us soon."