He found himself worrying that she would fall ill if she remained out in the cold wind much longer.
Leaning one shoulder against the window frame, Varkas silently followed her movements with his eyes.
Her gait had become much steadier now.
As long as she walked slowly at an even pace, it was almost impossible to notice that one of her legs had once been injured.
The improvement, however, never lasted for long.
Her weakened muscles would begin to spasm after only a little exertion, and after ten minutes or so, her limp became noticeably pronounced again.
She never showed it outwardly, but the pain seemed no different than before.
Standing with his arms folded, idly tapping his forearm with his fingertips, Varkas finally picked up the coat he had set aside.
He doubted he would be able to put his mind at ease unless he observed her condition himself.
He walked around the solid oak desk, crossed the carpeted office, opened the door, and stepped into the corridor.
Just then, he encountered Daren coming up the stairs.
"Your Grace."
Clutching what appeared to be a telegram in one hand, the man strode directly toward him.
A bad feeling settled in Varkas's chest, and he furrowed his brow.
"What is it?"
"The agents we dispatched to the North have sent an urgent report. I believe it would be best to convene an emergency council."
With a grave expression, Daren held out the tightly rolled paper.
Taking it, Varkas quickly scanned the cipher, written in a mixture of the eastern script and the Empire's common tongue.
The contents were unmistakable.
The North was preparing for war.
And not halfheartedly.
"Have we received anything yet from the people we planted in the capital?"
"No, not yet."
Which meant the unrest in the North had not yet reached the Central Region.
It also meant House Heimdal was proceeding with extreme caution.
Running a hand roughly through the hair that had fallen across his forehead, he said,
"This isn't enough information. Until we know exactly what's happening, make certain no rumors spread. Select only the advisers we can trust and summon them to the assembly hall."
"Do you have anyone specific in mind?"
"Beyrov, Lergen, Labomir... Those three should suffice."
As Varkas listed the subordinates he had long kept an eye on, Daren stroked his chin and nodded.
"They're all tight-lipped men. If it's them, they'll handle the matter carefully. I'll have them waiting in the council chamber immediately."
As Daren turned to leave, Varkas slipped the telegram into the inner pocket of his coat and headed downstairs without delay.
His thoughts were instantly consumed by the increasingly precarious situation in the northeastern territories.
He considered every possible course of action.
According to protocol, he ought to report the situation to the Imperial Family.
But was that truly the wisest decision?
House Heimdal would never have begun walking such a dangerous tightrope without securing guarantees first.
There was every chance they had already won over not only high-ranking officials within the Imperial Court but numerous nobles as well.
If even one of the great noble houses betrayed the Empire, the imperial order could collapse overnight.
For now, they needed to gather information while quietly tightening the noose around Valto beneath the surface.
Feeling a sharp ache spread from his temple to the bridge of his nose, he rubbed at the corner of his eye.
Just then, a cool, clear voice called from nearby.
"Varkas?"
Varkas, who had just left the Great Hall on his way toward the military administration building, came to an abrupt halt.
Only moments earlier, his wife had been strolling through the rear garden.
Now she was standing near the pavilion in front of the main keep.
She quickly rose to her feet.
"What are you doing here at this hour? I thought you were still out handling official business..."
As she hurried toward him, she suddenly stumbled badly.
Varkas immediately caught her around the waist.