Legionnaire

Isolde and Marric stood alone in the command tent.

The camp outside had gone quieter, but not silent. Men and women moved through the dark beyond the canvas, preparing for first light. Horses stamped. Buckles clicked. Low voices passed orders from one section to another.

Inside, the lantern burned low over the map table.

Kael held the final report in one hand.

“I finished reviewing your report, ma’am.”

Isolde did not look up from the map. “And?”

“You left out the core.”

“Yes.”

“That is no small omission.”

“I am aware, Kael.”

He set the report down on the table, carefully enough that it said more than slamming it would have.

“Then I assume you have a reason.”

Isolde finally looked at him.

“How many high-grade cores have we turned in over the last year alone?”

Kael’s jaw tightened.

She answered for him.

“Two Grade Fives. Three Grade Fours. Not one of them has made it back to a field unit. Not one.”

“That is what we are told.”

“No,” Isolde said. “That is what I confirmed.”

Kael went still.

She reached into a leather case beside the table and removed a wrapped object no larger than both her fists. The cloth around it was dark, thick, and marked with a containment sigil in dull silver thread.

Even through the wrapping, cold breathed from it.

Isolde placed it on the map between them.

“I asked around,” she said. “Quietly. Every core sent through proper channels keeps getting lost, reassigned, traded, sealed for study, or transferred so many times no one seems to know where it actually went.”

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“That does not mean corruption.”

“It means the front is bleeding while powerful men argue over who gets to hold the knife.”

Kael’s eyes dropped to the wrapped core.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then he said, “If this is discovered, they can remove you from command.”

“Yes.”

“They can charge you.”

“Yes.”

“They can call it theft from the Crown.”

Isolde’s expression did not change.

“Let them.”

Kael studied her across the table.

“That is not an answer a commander gives lightly.”

“No,” she said. “It is not.”

Outside, someone laughed once. Tired. Brief. The sound faded almost immediately.

Isolde touched the edge of the wrapped core with two fingers.

“Blackmere is understrength. The road matters. The hold matters. If Ravaryn closes the ring before the main force arrives, we lose more than a border town.”

“And you believe this will change that?”

“I believe it may keep people alive.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It is close enough for tonight.”

Kael looked toward the tent flap, then back at her.

“How many know?”

“You. Me.”

“The healer?”

“She knows a core was recovered. She does not know it is unreported.”

“Archer?”

“No.”

Kael’s brows lowered slightly.

“He should not be told,” Isolde said. “Not yet.”

“He notices more than he should.”

“I know.”

“He also carries secrets badly.”

“He carries them honestly,” Isolde said. “That is different.”

Kael did not argue the point.

His gaze returned to the wrapped core.

“What do you intend to do with it?”

“For now? Keep it out of the ledgers.”

“And at Blackmere?”

“If the hold needs power, it will have power.”

“That decision will follow you.”

“Most decisions do.”

Kael let out a slow breath through his nose.

“You are stepping onto dangerous ground, my lady.”

Isolde looked down at the map.

Her finger rested beside the black marker labeled Blackmere.

“We were already marching there.”

Kael was quiet for a long moment.

Then he gave one sharp nod.

“I will adjust the supply record.”

“No false entries,” she said.

“No entries,” he corrected.

Isolde accepted that.

Kael gathered the report and tucked it beneath his arm.

“What about the official salvage tally?”

“The scale, coin, weapons, armor, and lesser stones are listed. The core is not.”

“And if Vale asks?”

Isolde’s eyes lifted.

“Then I will decide how much truth he needs.”

Kael almost smiled.

Almost.

“That answer will irritate him.”

“Most answers do.”

He turned toward the tent flap, then stopped.

“Isolde.”

She looked at him.

No title that time. No ma’am.

Just her name.

“This is not just bending a rule.”

“I know.”

“If the wrong person finds out, it becomes treason in the mouth of whoever profits from saying it.”

“I know that too.”

Kael held her gaze a moment longer.

Then the soldier returned.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He left the tent.

The flap fell closed behind him.

Isolde stood alone over the map, one hand resting near Blackmere, the other on the wrapped core.

For the first time that night, her composure slipped.

Only a little.

Only where no one could see.

Then she wrapped the core tighter, placed it back inside the leather case, and closed the latch.

In the dark beneath the sigiled cloth, the drake core pulsed once.

Cold.

Blue-white.

Waiting.