Page 154 of Salt Between the Wolves

At last she gathered her satchel.

"There may be records I haven't seen."

"May?"

"There are very few surviving accounts."

The implication hung heavily in the air.

Before leaving, she paused at the door.

"You should take this seriously."

Soren looked down at the mark stretching across his chest.

"I am."

Varda's expression suggested she did not believe him.

Then she left.

The door closed behind her, and silence reclaimed the room.

Silence reclaimed the room.

Soren remained seated long after she was gone while the fire burned lower and the pain continued to gnaw beneath his ribs.

Eventually he reached for the discarded shirt lying on the floor. The fabric felt damp in his hands, and when he turned it over, he found dark stains covering the inside.

There was far more blood than there had been beside the campfire, and far more than there had been that morning.

The bleeding was spreading.

The council chamber was quieter than usual, not because fewer people attended, but because everyone was choosing their words carefully.

Soren noticed it immediately. The moment he entered the room, conversations stopped, and several council members glanced toward him before quickly looking away. No one mentioned the envoy, yesterday’s events, or the blood still hidden beneath the fresh shirt under his cloak.

The silence irritated him as he took his seat.

"Report."

The command cut through the room, and a sense of relief followed as everyone turned to something familiar and ordinary.

One by one, reports were delivered concerning supplies, winter stores, patrol routes, trade caravans, and border activity. Soren listened, responded, and made decisions while everything proceeded exactly as it always had, which only made the tension feel worse.

Eventually, one of the older council members cleared his throat, and the room immediately fell silent once more.

"We need to discuss yesterday."

There it was at last.

Soren leaned back in his chair.

"Then discuss it."

No one seemed eager to volunteer, and after a brief pause, Edrik finally spoke. As the oldest warrior in the room and the only one who appeared entirely unimpressed by the prospect of death, he commanded attention without effort.

"The envoy entered under Ironfang protection."