Текст книги "Eyes of devious burgundy"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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37

Rokath allowed me a nibble of freedom with each passing day I obeyed his rules. So far, my plan to earn his trust was working, though at a much slower pace than I wanted. Especially after he punished me for speaking his name aloud in front of the soldiers. My blood still heated at the memory of it all, and I cursed myself and the Fates for making him my fucking mate yet again.

I wouldn’t do it again, though. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction again.

When we stopped that evening, I finally worked up the nerve to ask for some different clothes. Rokath, Rapp, and I strode toward the black tents and the command center after handing off our mounts to be cared for. Every evening unfolded in this way, and I knew I had to ask then, before they disappeared for their nightly reports.

“If I’m going to be riding with the army, I might as well look like I belong. Besides, riding in dresses is nearly impossible, even with the pants you found me,” I announced, keeping my voice strong.

The two males stopped walking. Rokath’s heavy regard fell over me.

“She has a point,” Rapp agreed, flicking his tongue over the rings in his lip.

“Thank you,” I huffed, planting my hands on my hips.

Rokath slashed his attention between Rapp and me, then ran a hand over his bare head. “There is a clothier not far from here. I will take you before our meeting.”

Why does everything have to be a battle with him?

“I could say the same of you, little imposter.”

Ignoring his mental words, I shot him a sarcastic, saccharine smile. “Thank you, master.”

Rapp pressed his lips together and took a half-step back, trying to hide his amusement. Rokath, on the other hand, offered me a wicked, feral grin that sent ice shattering through my veins. He never smiled, and this wasn’t one offered with pleasantries. This was one that screamed that he did, in fact, own me, and would remind me of it at every given opportunity. “Call me that again, Assyria. I love hearing you surrender to me. All I can picture is you on your knees for me, that smart mouth open and waiting for my cock.”

His words melted the ice in me and replaced it with hot need. My core throbbed at the picture he painted.

Just the bond, just the bond.

“Never,” I shot back, my voice steadier than I anticipated.

“We’ll see,” he grumbled, and I hated that he could sense the lust dripping from me. At least, like our hatred, it went both ways. He hadn’t come after he punished me, and since the bond wouldn’t let us seek pleasure without each other, I knew he had to be aching for it.

Rapp cleared his throat, reminding us both he was still present. “I’ll gather the officers while you drop Assyria off,” he said, then excused himself.

Our sudden aloneness heightened the tension between us, and Rokath shifted almost imperceptibly toward me. My breath caught in my throat as his burgundy eyes blazed, reflecting my dilated pupils back to me.

“Come,” he said, breaking our trance. Blinking, I returned to myself, then quickly followed him in the opposite direction. The center of camp was abuzz with activity, males coming and going and weaving their way through the chaos. Spices filled the air, wafting from dozens of fires where meat roasted and vegetables cooked.

“Stay close,” Rokath warned, and I jogged to catch up, lengthening my stride. Grem and Zeec, my constant companions these days, had no trouble keeping up with their master’s pace. I was no different than them in Rokath’s eyes—just a pretty pet to order about to make himself feel more powerful.

After a few sharp turns, we arrived at a deep red tent, a bustle of males hurrying in and out of it. They all paused to salute the Halálhívó as we approached. Rokath ignored them and led me inside. To the left, a few males worked on a long table arranged with various items of clothing, while on the right, another group polished and sharpened weapons. We went directly to the one in the rear, where a leather clad male chatted with two others, swapping items.

“Halálhívó,” the three greeted him with a closed-fisted salute.

“How can I help you?” the one behind the table asked. He shooed the two away, and they were more than amenable to leaving. I hung back, waiting for Rokath to do whatever it was that he planned on doing.

“My fallen is in need of leather armor,” he stated. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. To everyone besides Rokath and Rapp, I was the fallen. No name, just like Rokath. No worth other than my womb.

Exactly as it had always been. Why should I have expected anything different?

The male glanced past him to me. “Aye, a wise decision, Your Glory. I can make something from scratch for her or refit some of the smaller clothing we have.”

“Use new hides and fabrics,” Rokath told him. This time, I had to smother my surprise. I figured he wouldn’t give me anything that might serve his precious army better than me.

“Yes, sir,” the male said.

“I must attend the nightly meeting. I assume that you don’t need me to remain?” Rokath groused.

“No, sir,” he replied. “It will take me a few hours to make, but she should have something before retiring for the evening.”

“Good.” Rokath rumbled in that authoritative way of his. “Stay,” he told his hounds, and they both planted in place in the middle of the tent. No one would go in or out without their knowing.

He focused on me, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a hard line. Into my mind, he growled, “This is an opportunity for you to earn a sliver of trust. Have the clothes made and return to my tent. You may stop for food along your way back. Nowhere else.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” I shot back.

He left a grunt in his wake as he departed. Returning my attention to the clothier, I stepped forward. “What do you need me to do?”

“Come around here, I have a private room where I can take your measurements,” he said, sweeping his arm out and indicating I should walk behind the table and past him. With a quick glance around the room, I did. The males’ working speed had slowed, no doubt listening to the exchange, and more than one watched surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye.

Could I blame them? I was likely the only female they’d seen for months with how strict Rokath was with his rules.

We slipped into a back room, where piles of unused fabric rested on even more tables. “Do you unpack all of this every day?” I asked him.

“Aye,” he replied, shuffling through a few layers before pulling out ones he wanted. “With an army this size, we work hours every night repairing everything from tents and clothing to weapons and shoes. Some ride in the wagons so they can continue the work throughout the day.”

From around his neck, he pulled a long strip of flexible fabric with evenly spaced marks along it. “Please hold out your arms like this.” He demonstrated the stance, and I mirrored it, arms stretching straight to the side, and standing tall with my chin held high.

The clothier made quick work of my torso and height, noting the numbers on a slip of parchment beside his pile of fabric. “Halálhívó’s chosen, if you wouldn’t mind tucking your skirts between your legs as tight as you can, I can get a more accurate measurement of your legs.”

My cheeks flamed, though not out of modesty. That title was what the males used to refer to me when they were trying to be respectful. I’d overheard it on more than one occasion now—along with the not so nice terms. To hide my embarrassment, I quickly arranged my dress like he requested. Without touching me, he finished his work, then stepped back, attention sweeping over me, but not in a lecherous way. “Would you like full sleeves, short sleeves, or none?”

“Umm,” I started, too shocked that he had asked for my opinion to be able to form more words than that.

“Why don’t I make you one of each?” he offered, sensing my confusion.

“Yes, if you can.” I nearly sighed with relief.

“You may have a seat there while you wait,” he said, indicating a plush cushion in the corner.

I nodded and went to it, settling back while he worked. I played with the ends of my long hair, picking at any splitting strands. At this point, I was accustomed to the boredom, and I let my mind wander. Unfortunately, the first place it went was to Rokath’s bedroom at Gyor Palace. Clamping down on that memory and shoving it aside, I tried to think of Izgath instead. That pain was a sharp enough slice in my already tattered heart that it extinguished any desire for my mate.

Everyone I loved died.

It hadn’t been two weeks since Rokath burned Izgath on the pyre, and it had been three seasons since my family died. Their loss still held that acute ache, so similar to the days after they passed.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I must retrieve a few items from out there,” the male said, shattering my inner spiral.

“Of course,” I responded, and he slipped away.

I was utterly alone. Which, at this moment, wasn’t the worst thing. Scanning quickly, I looked for any sign of a second exit. Grem and Zeec were in the main room, and Rokath was preoccupied with his meeting. The bond wasn’t begging for either of our attention. Noting that the corner was tied around a pole, rather than stretched, I raced to it, pulling on the knots at the bottom and in the middle to loosen them.

If I could just widen them enough to slip through, no one would be the wiser…

The bottom one fell away, leaving me a slit to squeeze through, and I jumped on my opportunity. Night had fallen when I burst out the back, only a few feet of space between the rear of it and another tent. Had I been one of the large males, I wouldn’t have fit, but with my small, lithe frame, I could shimmy between the rows.

I wiggled to the right, toward what looked to be a small thoroughfare, when male voices halted me in my tracks.

“Did you see the fallen with the Halálhívó? They went to the clothier. I wonder if she needs to wear something other than those matronly dresses for him to get hard.”

Another snorted a laugh. “Can you imagine how he fucks though? It’s probably all barked orders and pleasure for himself.”

“I bet he takes her from behind and finishes within a minute. No time to waste on such acts,” another chirped, trying to mimic Rokath’s gravely tone.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself to remain still and quiet. If I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see me.

“No way they are fucking. I bet he is loud, or will make her scream. Whether that’s pleasure or fear though, I wouldn’t know.”

“Aye, other than her riding beside him, he seems to want nothing to do with her,” the first one spoke again.

“Wonder why she’s even here then? Seems suspicious to me. He’s never shown interest in having children before. All his focus is on winning. Why divert his attention?” the second mused.

“He’s fucking brilliant. Maybe he knows something we don’t,” the third suggested.

“Maybe her pussy is magic and will win us the war,” the first joked, and the three roared with laughter.

Heat pricked my skin, and I dug my teeth into my lower lip in an attempt to prevent myself from jumping out and snapping at them.

“Shh, if he’s still around and hears us speaking this way, we’ll all be tied to the whipping post,” a fourth voice entered the conversation.

“Oh, come on, we all know you worship the ground he walks on–”

“I’m almost finished with the first set if you’d like to try it on,” I heard the clothier call out, and my heart leaped to my throat. He couldn’t catch me trying to escape. He’d tell Rokath in a heartbeat. So I hurried the two steps back to the tent, praying he hadn’t entered and found me missing. He burst through the flap the same time I did, and I plastered a smile on my face and tried to cover the loosened fabric with my body.

“Thank you. Do you mind if I change alone?” I said in a rush.

“Oh, of course, I’ll just leave this here for you. Please inform me when you are dressed,” he replied, placing the tunic on the table and backing away.

Air fled my lungs and my shoulders dropped as he disappeared.

That was too close.

Hurriedly, I secured the strings again, then went to the table. The leather tunic was sleeveless, flexible but thick, and the fabric was smooth beneath my palm. The pants were similar. I exchanged the dress for the armor, feeling strangely confident as I laced the tunic down one side.

When the clothier returned, he made adjustments until it fit snugly. “Now that I can have a better look at you, I will adjust the others similarly,” he promised. His eyes caught on my scarred wrists as I dropped them to my sides again.

A blush pinkened my cheeks. “Thank you.”

“The others I’ll have to make tomorrow, and I shall ensure they are delivered to the Halálhívó’s tent. The hour is growing late, I’m afraid,” he said, rolling up the discarded scraps of fabric.

“Yes, it is,” I said, gathering my dress and leggings. Hunger gnawed at my belly, and I wanted to eat and return before Rokath did. He’d cause an uproar and I’d lose this seed of trust.

The clothier held back the flap for me, and I returned to the main area, finding Grem and Zeec right where I’d left them. “Come on, boys,” I said, and they shot to their feet, framing me in a protective guard. Every single pair of eyes burned into my back as we exited the tent.

Even more landed on me when I was faced with having to retrieve my own food. I appreciated Rapp even more for how he’d handled that for me as I stood among the males, waiting my turn to approach the cook. The line all but dissipated around me with everyone giving me a wide berth. Grem growled at a soldier who crossed a little too close for his liking to return his dirty dishes.

“Not you too,” I whisper-snapped at him.

His red eyes blinked up at me as if to say ‘I am just doing my job.’

“I know,” I sighed, scratching behind his ears. Zeec butted my thigh with his head. “You’re greedy,” I scolded him, but I offered him some affection anyway.

I’d devolved to talking to the dogs like they could understand me.

The cook said nothing as he handed me a bowl and bread. I thanked him anyway. I tried not to look any male in the eye as I strode through the dining tables, keeping my head high and shoulders back. But it didn’t stop the gossip from reaching my ears.

Fuck Rokath for putting me through all of this.

Fuck the Weaver, too.

It was as much her fault as it was his. Well, moreso since she wove this path for both of us. I stewed in my anger the entire trip back to Rokath’s tent. Unfortunately, he wasn’t there for me to unleash it on when I returned. So I ate with the company of Grem and Zeec, mulling over what I had heard in my single venture out without Rokath.

I wore a muzzle, unable to snap at those who slandered my name. I had to live this fucking lie, pretend I was something I was not, all to appease the most powerful Demons in the realm. All my life, I’d been forced to hold my tongue, punished if I did not, and I was tired of it.

The hounds climbed dutifully into bed with me after I’d finished my meal. I buried my face in one of the soft pillows and sighed. Grem and Zeec curled up on either side of me, and then Zeec rested his head on my leg as if he sensed I needed someone to comfort me too. Grem nudged me with his nose until my arms were wrapped around him.

That was enough to send me over the edge, and then, I cried myself to sleep.

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38

Assyria sobbed for at least twenty minutes before she finally drifted off to sleep. I know, because I counted them, her agony as much a torture to me as it was to her. After waiting to ensure she wouldn’t wake again, I slipped into the darkness of my tent. Grem popped open an eye but didn’t move from his position with Assyria wrapped around him.

I was an asshole, but at least my dogs did something for her.

Honestly, I didn’t know how to deal with all of this. She felt everything so deeply, which meant I felt it all too. I heard her plans of escape earlier and nearly left the meeting to stop her. My attention had not been on my officers, but on her. Again.

I couldn’t get her out of my head, and I fucking hated it. She interfered with everything. And now, our bond begged me to curl myself around her and comfort her. And also fuck her into oblivion again. She didn’t have the protective masculine urges like I had, and although she thought we suffered the same, I suffered more.

The weight of millions of lives rested on my shoulders, for I was the only person standing between the horde of sycophantic Angels and the extermination of the Demon race. The Giver had blessed me with the power to call upon the dead for a reason.

I would do anything to save us all.

Fuck, she had no clue what I had done to earn the title of Halálhívó, what my father had forced me to do to become an officer in the first place. At least he died before I rose to lead the entire army. He would only claim that my success was because of him, when I fought for my position to spite the fucker. That was what the brother of the Kral decided would make him feel like he had some use in this world—his son grabbing power for himself since he would never be more than a spare. Kiira’s father was no better, so when Xannirin was ready to rule, I slaughtered them both like the pigs they were.

The leading killer of House Vrak wasn’t the Angels.

It was me.

The three brothers wouldn’t have protected the Demons like Xannirin, Kiira, and I did. I didn’t have an ounce of remorse for what I’d done either. I’d do it again, kill more, if I thought it would save us all.

This female sleeping in my bed put it all at risk.

And yet…

I stood here, every night, when insomnia visited me, watching her.

Memorizing her.

Craving her.

Why had the Weaver brought us together?

If only I could possess the answer to that question, all this angst might be worth it. Especially as I was beginning to wonder if it were merely the bond that dragged me in here. The mask she wore was similar to her magic, and beneath her fiery exterior was a deep pain. Perhaps even as deep as mine. Yet we dealt with it in two entirely different ways.

I locked my traumas so deep inside that they’d never find their way into the light again. She should learn to do the fucking same so I didn’t have to feel all the time. That flashback she’d had of her husband clawing at her, trying to hurt her still weighed heavily on my mind. At least I’d been able to yank her back from that abyss. I knew all too well how easy it was to fall into that darkness, for the dead to cling to the living though haunting memories.

Assyria’s chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, her bow-shaped lips parted ever so slightly. Those burgundy eyes were hidden under a curtain of dark lashes, and her long hair was braided back, as it always was. A small part of me wanted to see it unbound, cascading down her shoulders while she rode my cock. Another part wanted to wrap those thick locks around my fist and bow her back while I sank into her.

I couldn’t deny that she was beautiful and that I was attracted to her. But I couldn’t grow attached. No, that emotion was a dangerous one, one I’d never allow myself to feel again. That would only destroy everything I had worked for.

Because Assyria, in the wrong hands, was one thing.

A weapon.

And I couldn’t let the Angels disarm me.

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39

The Paks Desert opened like a blooming rose before my eyes as we rode through the final pass between it and the rolling valley that nestled the capital region. Where there had been one piercing mountain after another, there was now a flat, endless sea of earth. Hues of red and gold dusted the expanse, almost glittering as the sun struck them. I halted Blaeze on an overlook and stared in wonder at the landscape.

Deep scarlet rock, striated with colors like silver, purple, and green, guarded the sides of a winding downhill road that led to the first stretch of burnt sand. In the distance, a twister kicked up, billowing about and spreading dirt in all directions. Unlike the ones that leveled homes and tore through fields in the southernmost parts of the Demon Realm, this one lived and died in only a few moments and caused very little destruction.

“Keep moving,” Rokath barked at me, and I ignored him, keeping my eyes firmly ahead as I searched for Ustlyak, where we’d meet the rest of the Demon army. We still had at least two weeks before we’d reach them, but from this vantage point, I thought I could see the other continents.

Rokath moved on anyway, and the bond seared into my back, making me curse. He knew exactly what he was doing. Despite riding beside each other all day, sleeping mere feet from each other at night, the bond was displeased with our inattentiveness to one another yet again. I kicked Blaeze into a trot to catch up with him, and the pain relented when we were parallel.

The moment we left the mountains, the sun scorched my skin, stronger and hotter than even the deepest days of summer in Stryi. I glanced sidelong to Rokath, who was, as always, dressed in his black metal armor and horned helmet. “Are you not hot?” I asked him.

“It doesn’t matter if I am hot. Should the Angels ambush us, we need to be protected,” he stated. Typical.

I scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. You’ll sweat to death before that happens.”

His head whipped to the side, and he stabbed me with a glare. “Do you know how the war with the Angels started?”

The iciness in his tone gave me pause. As I searched my memories, I realized I didn’t actually know. At the time, a missive had arrived in Stryi with orders for increased food production, and so my family had worked diligently to expand our farm. My father had no sons, but my sister and I had plowed, planted, and carried as much as we could from sunup to sun down to help.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me regardless,” I grumbled. He’d done the same when I didn’t care to know why no one knew his name. Yet now I knew, and I reluctantly admitted he had a point.

Rokath grunted and shifted slightly in his saddle. Then with a sigh, he removed his helmet and attached it with a leather strap, easily within reach should he need it. From his bag, he pulled two scarves and handed one to me. “I know you don’t want to cover your face with a veil any longer, but drape this over your head and shoulders so you don’t burn.”

I accepted his offering, confusion sweeping through me.

Is he actually taking care of me?

Rokath wrapped the dark fabric around his head, draping it in such a way it covered every bare inch of skin. I mimicked him, using my hair as an anchor so it wouldn’t fly away in a gust of wind.

The relief was immediate.

“A little over ten years ago, I was ambushed on a patrol at the edges of House Turrokar’s vidék. We were vastly outnumbered, and every single male was slaughtered in the attack, except for me. When I returned to Uzhhorod with my tale, Xannirin decided we could wait no longer to declare war against them. That attack alone was done with enough aggression to warrant it.”

Rokath repeated the story with zero feeling, as if he were studying the sky to relay his weather prediction for the day. Yet beneath his hardened exterior, a whisper of pain drifted down our bond.

“How did you survive?” I asked quietly.

“I am the Halálhívó. Give me enough dead bodies and I can turn the tide in my favor.” He adjusted the scarf lower on his face, blocking the shifting angle of the sun.

I sat with that information for a long while, Blaeze’s back swaying beneath me as we traversed the sand. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that most of the army still wound down from the mountain. The sheer size of us was impossible to miss, and I tried to imagine why the Angels would dare ambush a group of this size.

“Where did you get that?” Rokath asked, dissipating my thoughts like smoke in the wind.

“Get what?” I asked, attention settling heavily on him.

He pointed at my hand. “That.”

Then, I realized, the garnet and gold glinted in the sunlight. “Impressive, Halálhívó, how much attention you’ve paid to me in the past two weeks. I’ve had it the entire time we’ve known each other.” A lie, but with some truth in it at least. I had it in Vagach’s bags at the war camp. It was just temporarily lost to me before Rapp won it back.

“Rapp won it back for you?”

“Stop reading my thoughts!”

“You dressed as a male and played cards with him?”

I slammed up that mental barrier.

“Try all you want, little imposter, but you can’t permanently keep me out when I want in.”

“Rapp cares about my happiness more than you.”

“Clearly I care more about your safety than he does.”

“Again, you only want to protect me to save your own skin.”

Something that felt a lot like hurt trickled down our bond before it shut off like a water tap. Then, silence stretched between us.

My thoughts tumbled like the thick, dry brush around us when the wind whipped up. After an hour or so, I was grateful for the scarf Rokath had given me. Sweat dripped down my back, and I was so miserable, alone in my thoughts, that I finally said something.

“If I’m here, I could be helpful, you know.” While I doubted that he would agree to anything, I had to try to carve out some meaning for myself other than being a fucking decoration on the horse beside him.

Without bothering to look at me, Rokath grumbled something under his breath.

“I’m serious,” I protested, tearing my head to the side and narrowing my eyes on him.

Finally, he faced me. “And what do you think you could do?”

I glanced behind us at the tens of thousands of males preparing to march into a battle. “Well, I did train on the road to Uzhhorod.”

The scoff that slipped out of him was downright offensive. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay well I can cook,” I huffed, releasing my reins and letting Blaeze hang his head. He seemed to be just as lethargic as I was as the heat continued to beat into my bones.

“And have you interacted with the army as a whole? I don’t think so,” Rokath replied.

I threw my hands in the air. “Then what can I do? I don’t know anything about armies or war but surely there’s something.”

Rokath’s burgundy eyes were shadowed as the sun dipped behind his head. “That’s right, you don’t know anything. You are here because there is nowhere safer for you than by my side.”

I clenched my teeth around the words that wanted to break free. Instead, I muttered, “So if I have to be here, at least let me help. Females can be just as useful as males, you know. Like Kiira. You trust her to do important things. Let me feel like my life has some meaning, some purpose. I went so long without it.”

Some of the edge to Rokath’s hard expression softened. It was so slight, most people wouldn’t have noticed. But with our amplified connection, it was as if I could feel his thorns dulling. “With Vagach.”

“Yes.” My throat thickened, and I looked away. His pity was unwelcome.

A long moment passed, and his eyes burned into the side of my face. “I will think about it.”

Neither of us bothered to say anything else as we rode through the afternoon, pausing once everyone was on the sand for a water break and to pray.

“You’ll kneel beside me at the front today,” he said, holding Blaeze’s reins and allowing me to dismount.

“Like a good little fallen,” I quipped, adjusting the scarf so it hid more of my face.

“Exactly like that,” he growled, and a brush of lust caressed my chest.

As I followed him to the head of the army, I stomped the sand extra hard, because my anger had to go somewhere. Grem and Zeec trotted along beside me. When Rokath halted, they automatically sank onto their haunches. A muscle ticked in my jaw before I knelt and dropped my head, staring at my folded hands like they would save me. Thousands and thousands of eyes seared into me, and I wanted nothing more than to be hidden away in one of the supply wagons like I had been during the previous days’ prayer time.

Rokath’s blade cast a spot of bright light at his feet as the sun bounced off of it. I flicked my attention up at him but remained bowed. He brought the blade to his palm and sliced without so much as a flinch.

“Weaver, who spins the threads of our fates, lay down the path for us to tread, unyielding and unbroken. We walk at your command, our feet bound by the threads you have woven. Guide us to glory as we march beneath the banner of war. For the Kral, for me, these soldiers bleed. Bind their fates to ours, so that we may rise victorious.”

His voice was like an earthquake—deep, powerful, and carrying for miles. A chill crept up my spine. This was the voice of the Halálhívó, the one that supposedly sent terror into the hearts of the Angels.

Anyone who didn’t tremble beneath its might was an idiot.

With predatory slowness, he knelt, pressing his palm flat against the earth. “Giver, bless us with abundant wells of magic so we wield in your name during battle. Let the blood we spill slake your thirst, and let us slaughter those who defy your design. Gift us with the power we need to bring majesty to your name. By our blood, we honor you.”

“By our blood, we honor you,” the males echoed, bleeding into the sand as they pressed themselves into it.

Rokath turned to me and I offered him my hand without thinking. My core clenched as the memory of him slicing into my wrists and branding me with his mark rose. He must have recalled it too by the way his pupils dilated. With surprisingly gentle ease, he slid the blade across my palm, and I turned my hand over, letting my life drip away.

“Reaper, whose curse falls upon those who stray from the path, let us not taste your wrath. We offer this blood as a pledge of our loyalty. Let your eye wander elsewhere and damn those who question your mighty power. Should we sin, may your curse be swift and unrelenting.”

“We pledge our devotion to the Reaper,” the army echoed, an almost haunting sound with how many tones blended for those seven words.

Rapp straightened from his prostrated form on Rokath’s other side. “Let the Halálhívó’s victory be swift and the Kral’s reign eternal. Our lives, our magic, our essence, are theirs to command.”

“We are theirs to command.” The conviction in the males’ tones was nearly awe-inspiring.