Page 30 of His Darkest Devotion

Frustration roils in my gut. My entire body tenses with the memory of that single night in the ruined temple—Elira’s trembling exhale, her parted lips. Letting her go was a betrayal of my duty. But if these Red Purnas capture her, the consequences could be equally catastrophic.She belongs to no one.The thought flares in my mind, surprising me with its vehemence.

I tuck the scroll away, uncertain how to respond. The Overlord demands results, but forging an alliance with a rogue faction of purnas is precarious. They might lure me into a trap. Or maybe they truly want a deal. Either way, I can’t ignore them; leaving the Red Purnas to run rampant could doom Elira.And why should that matter, Vaelin?a mocking voice inside me murmurs.Because you’ve developed a conscience? Or something worse—a fondness?

Fighting the swirl of confusion, I mount my zalkir. The beast shifts under me, keen to move. “We’ll see if the Overlord has new orders,” I mutter, spurring the reptile forward. My plan forms in fragments: I’ll ride east until I find a vantage point with some semblance of privacy, then use the Overlord’s scry-stone to report. Typically, I only contact him at set intervals, but after recent events, I can’t hide my failure. Better to deliver the truth myself than wait for word to reach him from some other source.

I push the zalkir into a brisk trot, ignoring the protest in my side. The forest thins into rolling hills after a short distance, each slope dotted with hardy shrubs and the occasional twisted pine. The sky brightens as dawn solidifies, painting the horizon in pinkish gold. Villages are sparser here—mostly farmland with scattered homesteads. Good. Fewer prying eyes.

When I reach a small hill crowned by a lone oak, I halt. The vantage is decent; I can spot any traveler from half a mile away. Dismounting, I tether the zalkir to a sturdy branch, letting it graze on sparse grass. Then I retrieve the scry-stone from my pouch.

It’s a polished orb of black crystal, small enough to fit in my palm, etched with runic lines that allow communication with Orthani’s courtiers—and occasionally the Overlord himself. The Overlord provided it for urgent matters. My stomach twists with the knowledge that summoning him might end poorly, yet I must. I settle against the oak trunk, pressing the orb’s smooth surface, murmuring the trigger incantation. The runes glow a subtle violet, swirling with ephemeral light.

Seconds later, a hazy image appears in the orb’s depths—a gaunt, silver-haired elf with a pinched expression, one of the Overlord’s favored advisors. Charon Verthis. He arches a brow, clearly disconcerted at my unscheduled contact. “Vaelin Duskbane,” he says, voice echoing from the orb’s enchantment. “This is unusual. Report.”

I inhale slowly, wrestling my confusion into measured speech. “I have news for the Overlord. It’s urgent.”

Charon’s lip curls. “He’s indisposed at the moment. Give me your report.”

A spike of irritation flares. Charon’s presence is always grating—too smug and too close to the Overlord’s ear. Nonetheless, I quell the urge to snarl at him. “I engaged the Purna, Elira. She escaped,” I say briskly. “I suspect other factions—like the Red Purnas—may be moving in.”

A sneer stretches across Charon’s thin mouth. “Escaped? I thought you were unstoppable, Vaelin.” The sarcasm drips like venom. “The Overlord won’t be pleased.”

My jaw tightens. “Her power is… formidable. Also, I’ve been approached by the Red Purnas. They sent a messenger demanding a meeting.” I produce the scroll, waving it before the scry-stone’s surface. “They claim they want an alliance to capture her.”

Charon’s gaze sharpens. “The Red Purnas. That’s an unexpected complication.” He rubs his chin, feigning concern. “But perhaps an opportunity. If they can lead you to Elira, you might correct your failure.”

Rage simmers under my skin at the wordfailure,but I keep my composure. “So what are the Overlord’s orders?”

Charon tilts his head, a cruel twist at the corner of his lips. “You wish me to speak for him? Very well, I know his mind. The Overlord demands you do whatever it takes to secure Elira, including forging temporary alliances. The end result is all that matters.”

I nod, though the thought of working with the Red Purnas churns my stomach. “Understood. And if I succeed in capturing her? Where shall I deliver her?”

His grin widens, hungry. “Return her to Orthani immediately. The Overlord wants her power harnessed. The entire realm trembles at the possibility of controlling gargoyles. He can’t allow that power to slip away.”

I grit my teeth at the mention of harnessing. The image of Elira bound, her magic subdued by monstrous spells, sets my teeth on edge. “Yes,” I say tightly. “I’ll see it done.”

Charon’s eyes narrow. “Vaelin, do not disappoint him again. He’s been patient with you because your skill is unmatched. But patience runs thin. If you fail…” He doesn’t finish, letting the threat dangle. “I’ll relay your message. Keep the scry-stone at hand. Farewell.”

With that, the orb’s glow fades, and I’m left staring at my reflection in the glossy surface. My expression is taut, eyes shadowed by guilt. I pocket the scry-stone.So the Overlord wants me to play along with the Red Purnas.A wry laugh escapes me. If only he knew how my resolve crumbled last night. If only he understood that I can’t simply drag Elira back in chains.

I slump against the oak, letting the bark press into my spine. The morning sun climbs higher, warming my face. Deep inside, a quiet voice urges me to defy the Overlord altogether, to protect Elira from whatever sadistic fate awaits her in Orthani. But the Overlord’s reach is vast, his wrath lethal. I’d be labeled a traitor. Orthani would hunt me down, and with it, half the Dark Elf kingdom.Do I care?My chest tightens. Perhaps a month ago, I would have scoffed at the notion of betraying everything I knew. Now, I’m not so sure.

With a groan, I push away from the tree and secure my gear. The next steps are clear, however unwanted: meet these Red Purnas in the orchard near Riverbend. Play the role of a dutiful enforcer seeking an alliance. Learn their intentions, see how they plan to corner Elira. Then… decide whether to hand her over or find another path.

Am I truly considering betraying the Overlord?The question echoes in my head, sending a ripple of terror and faint hope through me.No. I’m just buying time.My mantra rings hollow.

I mount the zalkir again, urging it into a steady canter. The ache in my ribs grinds with every jostle, but I cling to discipline. The orchard they mentioned sits a day’s ride away, near a wide bend in the local river. The road ahead is seldom traveled, dotted with farmland and occasional stands of twisted willows. Clouds shift overhead, painting shadows across the rolling terrain.

Gradually, the farmland gives way to rougher ground, dotted with shallow ravines. About midday, I pause in a small hamlet to water the zalkir. The locals cower at my approach, edging away without a word. I’m used to their fear, but now it pricks at me. I recall Elira’s condemnation, how the Dark Elves brutally subjugate humankind. My loyalty cracks further.

After watering the beast at the hamlet’s well, I resume my journey. By late afternoon, the land softens again, meadows stretching out on either side. The whiff of orchard blossoms reaches me on the breeze—pear trees, perhaps, or apples. Soon, I spot the orchard: lines of fruit trees in neat rows, though many appear overgrown, with drooping branches tangling together. The sweet fragrance mingles with the rank odor of rotting fruit on the ground.

I slow my mount, scanning for movement. The Red Purnas demanded I come alone. My skin prickles with distrust. They might have archers waiting. They might spawn illusions to corner me.Stay alert.

A soft voice calls from behind a row of pear trees. “Welcome, Overlord’s hound.” I tense, recognizing the venom-laced tone that must belong to Nerissa, the Red Purna leader. She steps out, clad in crimson robes that cling to her tall form. Her hair is braided close to her scalp, accentuating sharp cheekbones and a cruel twist to her mouth.

Behind her, at least half a dozen purnas fan out, all wearing some variant of red-trimmed attire. Their gazes glint with hostility. I note with a jolt that some brandish staves or swirling orbs of energy. They’re poised to attack if I make a wrong move.

I force my expression into practiced aloofness. “Nerissa,” I say, dismounting carefully. “You’re a bold one, summoning me. Let’s keep this civilized.”

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