Vesha ran up the Undercrypt stairs two steps at a time, the scroll in her hand already crumpled from being gripped too tight. She didn't bother knocking.
"My Lord." Her breath hadn't evened out yet. "There's something you need to see right now."
I set down my pen—still writing the name of the eighth demon who'd fallen at the Grand Cathedral into the ledger I would never let gather dust—and raised an eyebrow. Vesha wasn't the type to panic over small things. She was the only record-keeper I had who could report losing half a battalion in a flat, even tone.
"Speak."
"A post-hawk from the eastern border." She unrolled the scroll across my desk, her hand still trembling. "Sent under the church's seal. Not the diplomatic seal. The war seal."
