Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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16

We finally emerged from the healer’s workspace into the night. Though, it wasn’t night, not really anymore. The first whispers of dawn broke in the distance, bringing with it a new day.

At least Rapp will live. Probably. Most likely.

Rokath stopped short, and I snapped my attention to him before realizing all the males who had accompanied us on the rescue mission had jumped to their feet. Hollow and sunken eyes met ours, and a few swayed where they stood.

Had they waited out here all night?

“Halálhívó,” they said in unison, offering him a closed-fisted salute.

“How fares Hadvezér Rapp?” the Parancsok asked, taking a tentative step forward.

A heavy sigh escaped Rokath. I squeezed his hand. “The lead healer thinks he might live. But that is no guarantee.”

Metered relief swept across them, brows relaxing and shoulders easing.

Banand stepped forward, dropping to one knee between Rokath and me. He lowered his gaze until it met mine, burgundy eyes burning with reverence, and bowed until his head brushed his braced forearm. “Szélhámos, my life, my sword, is yours.”

Szélhámos.

Imposter.

Not only had Banand knelt in deference to me, but he had offered me an honorific, like Rokath’s Halálhívó, to match my power. I blinked, trying to process the monumental gesture. A wave of males mimicked him, murmurs of Szélhámos floating to my ears.

Tears pricked my eyes, and a lump formed in my throat.

I’d succeeded in earning their respect.

“Aye, you did, Assyria,” Rokath rumbled in my mind. “You are single handedly changing perceptions in this army. Word of the rescue mission will spread soon, and likely your power now too.”

Ice slithered down my spine. All my life, I’d focused on hiding my magic, on not being seen. Knowing that my path had curved into this new direction didn’t ease that sense that I still needed to hide. Who knew what sort of knives waited for me when the world discovered I could become anyone in a swirl of shadow?

“Rise,” I said, my voice shaky. My hands, too, trembled, and I tucked them behind my back and twisted my ring around my finger to ease some of the anxiety nipping at my nerves. They did, and Rokath dismissed them. Some chose to linger in solidarity with Rapp, Zurronar, and a few others who needed tending by the healers.

Banand was one of them. “May I speak to you, Halálhívó?” he asked with a nervous glance at those still around us.

Rokath nodded, and with a hand on the small of my lower back, he guided the three of us off to the side, out of earshot of anyone currently awake.

Banand dropped his chin before releasing a long, slow exhale. “How many?” The words were so quiet, I almost didn’t catch them. What was unmistakable, though, was the shame and guilt that weighed them down.

Sympathy tugged at my heartstrings. When I’d first learned that the plague was caused by one of our own, I’d been furious. That had morphed into rage when I learned that Rokath had a hand in covering it up. My entire family had perished because of it the prior winter, leaving me utterly alone in the world. Yet seeing the impact of what the Angels had forced Banand to do with his magic smothered the flames of my fury until only embers remained.

“Their deaths are not on you,” Rokath growled. “But I want a full account of everything you heard, saw, and did while in their custody.”

Banand picked his head up, burgundy eyes shining. His cheeks were hollow, the skin of his face stretched too tight across the bones. In the dark, I’d thought him lanky, but now I realized he was wasting away. “Of course, Halálhívó, whatever you require. I want to atone for all the pain I caused.”

Rokath turned to me. “I’ll escort you back to our tent to rest, and then I will speak with Banand.”

I shook my head. “No, I think we all need to sleep. And eat. It was a long night, and besides, Rapp isn’t awake yet. He will want to hear too.”

Rokath’s face softened as he brushed his knuckles across my cheek. I refused to believe anything other than that Rapp would live. Any moment now, he’d call out for us.

He. Would. Not. Die.

“The Szélhámos is right,” Banand murmured. “Honestly, I could use a bed and some food. It’s been a while since I had a good amount of either.”

Rokath flicked his attention between the two of us before acquiescing. “Tomorrow we will meet again. Find Hadvezér Trol and he will ensure you have everything you need, Banand.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, offering Rokath a closed-fisted salute. He dipped his head to me before spinning on his heel and departing.

“Let’s go,” Rokath told me. With one last look at the healer’s tent, I followed him through the maze and toward the black tents we called our home. Fatigue tugged at my limbs, almost forcing me to drag them through the dirt. Sentries posted outside peeled off to fetch us food and water. In a haze, I entered the cool darkness.

Grem and Zeec perked up, leaping from the bed to greet us. Zeec whined, long and low, as if he sensed the agony simmering beneath our flesh. Grem nudged me with his nose, and I sank onto the ground and buried my face in his fur. Rokath crouched and wrapped himself around me from behind.

We remained like that until a male announced himself, saying he’d brought us food. Rokath and I ate quickly and in silence, both caught up in our own worries. By the time I’d drunk my fill of water, I could scarcely keep my eyes open.

I peeled off Araquiel’s leathers, which reeked of burnt seed oil, and climbed into the bed. Rokath rinsed what blood he could off in the washbasin and then joined me. He curled around me, his strong arm flexing as he crushed me against his hard body. I melted into him, seeking comfort only he could offer me. He clung to me as if his life—Rapp’s life—depended on it. The war of emotion playing out inside him mirrored my own.

A fitful sleep soon claimed me. Over and over, my mind tumbled through my worries, but in the end, it anchored onto a singular thought—no matter what the Fates decided, no matter how the world burned, at least I had Rokath by my side.

The sound of water trickling against a metal basin pricked my ears. Gripping the cloth harder than necessary, I wrung it out like I could twist out the urge to fall back into the habit of believing everyone I cared about was cursed to die. Blurred vision made it difficult to pour the pitcher of fresh water over it. I didn’t even care when I splashed some onto myself.

Truly, I was just going through the motions of cleaning myself. Worry dug its claws deep into me, making it hard to focus on anything but trying to breathe. Trying to squash the utter terror that Rapp may not survive his grievous wound.

With a shuddered exhale, I set the cloth over the rim of the basin to dry. Gripping both sides of it, I prepared to turn around and face what was left of the day. One tear fell, and then another. I quickly swiped them away, not wanting Rokath to see me cry.

My mate and I hadn’t spoken since we rose, far later than we normally did. Between the physical exhaustion of our mission to the pure, unbridled fear holding our bond taut, neither of us had slept well. I doubted Rokath had slept at all, his insomnia worsened by our friend’s thread mere moments from being snipped by the Reaper.

Slowly, I spun toward Rokath.

Eyes distant, he strapped on piece by piece of his black metal armor. I swept my gaze over him, noting his honorific tattooed into his knuckles, the skulls wrapping the base of his neck, the snake fangs crinkled by the worry lines on his forehead.

The powerful presence he normally carried was entirely absent.

Grem and Zeec let out low whines from where they watched us both. Neither of us had the heart to kick them out of the bed, even when the four of us crammed into it was incredibly uncomfortable.

The sound tore me from my spot across our small home. I perched on the edge of the hard mattress, stroking Zeec’s long, pointed ears and scratching under Grem’s throat. Their soft fur was soothing, but nothing would relieve this ache until I knew Rapp would live.

Rokath loomed like a storm on the horizon. Yet he didn’t wield the threat of lighting and thunder. No, his shoulders held the slightest hunch like they were clouds weighed down by rain, and his strong brows were tense. A line creased the area between them too.

On tiptoes, I reached up and smoothed it with my thumb. He sighed and leaned into my touch. A moment passed before he wrapped his arms around me and tugged me closer. We said nothing, not needing to when our every emotion was shared. The bond allowed us to comfort each other in ways others would never understand.

“The worst part about all of this is that now I have to go lead. Have to pretend that I am fine when I am not,” Rokath murmured, so quiet I thought I’d imagined it.

I tipped my head up to look at him. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “I haven’t felt like this in…centuries.” He blew out a long breath, and I cupped his face.

“I’ll be there with you,” I promised. “Our pain is shared now.” I repeated the phrase I’d told him time and time again as his hardened exterior cracked.

Both of us had been lonely, albeit in our own ways—him, thinking he had to bear the burdens of his leadership alone, me, thinking that I couldn’t trust anyone to care for me.

Every day, Rokath demonstrated that he would protect and support me; every day, I would show him he had me to lean on.

“We need to debrief Banand and Zurronar today.” Rokath reached down and brushed the back of his knuckles across my cheek. “Since you were so fearless in their rescue, you should be there too.”

I nodded, the pride that should have bloomed dying like a bud caught in a late-spring frost. “I should probably be the one to tell Zurronar about…” I trailed off as darkness ignited in Rokath’s eyes. The reminder of Izgath, who he’d burned on a pyre after we had been caught almost coupling, when my true identity had been revealed, when our mate bond had snapped into place, was clearly still a touchy subject with him.

“You were always mine,” he growled, the possessiveness in his tone heating my low belly.

“I know,” I reassured him. I didn’t have the energy to spar with him, nor was it an appropriate time when his emotions were stretched to their limits. “Now, I’ll always be yours. Promise.”

He leaned down and kissed me with a tenderness that surprised me. Instead of him claiming me, he merely let our lips linger together for a brief moment. “Let’s go.”

I slipped my hand into his as we emerged from our accommodation. It was these simple touches that grounded me the most—in knowing Rokath was here and our love wouldn’t leave me bereft of him.

He whistled for Grem and Zeec to follow. Clouds covered the skies, and a breeze rustled through the spaces between the temporary buildings around us. The sullen atmosphere perfectly matched my mood.

We passed into an open avenue a moment later, a sudden gust of wind whipping the pennant flags about. The sickly smell of burnt fabric and flesh hit my nostrils, and I jerked up the scarf to cover my nose.

Rokath halted, craning his neck in the direction of the Angel’s camp. “There’s still smoke.”

“Well, I did use seed oil to start the fire,” I commented. “It’s extremely difficult to put out. Water usually isn’t enough.”

Rokath snorted and shook his head before continuing forward. “I should have known I wasn’t the only one capable of receiving your fire.”

“You really should have. I don’t know why you would have thought otherwise, honestly,” I quipped, some of the ache in my heart easing as our banter began.

“Perhaps I should teach you to channel it in other ways so I am not the sole target,” he replied, opening the entry to the command center and allowing me to pass.

“But it’s far more fun when you are,” I pouted, then broke into a grin.

Rokath rolled his eyes and steered me past the throne of bones and into the map room. Trol was there, along with a few other officers.

“Halálhívó.” He closed his fist and brought it to his forehead before saluting Rokath. The others did the same. Then, they all dipped their heads to me. Clearly, our successful mission had garnered me some additional favor with them.

“Find Banand and Zurronar and tell them their presence is required here,” Rokath told one of the Parancsok.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, then dipped out of the tent.

“The rest of you are dismissed.” They quickly gathered their belongings and departed, leaving us behind with Trol.

“I checked on Rapp earlier. He’s still sleeping,” Trol said before Rokath or I could voice the question.

At least he wasn’t still dying. Sleeping was a good sign.

I hope.

“Thank you,” Rokath murmured, sinking into one of the chairs. I found another and dragged it beside him. Since we were inside, I slipped the scarf off my head and plopped it on the table in front of me.

Rokath flicked a corner of it out of his way as he studied the map. Then, with a grumble, he raked a hand over his scalp and rubbed the back of his neck. “Trol, I hate to ask this of you, but I think Rapp will need to return to Fured with us to recover. Do you feel capable of holding here until we return with reinforcements?”

“Whatever you need, Halálhívó,” he swore. “I know your friendship with Rapp runs deep.”

Rokath picked his head up and met the gaze of his Hadvezér. I remained a silent bystander in their exchange, watching with rapt fascination at the changes in Rokath. “Do not think I don’t value you too, Trol. I picked you from the academy for a reason.”

Like us, Trol had burgundy eyes. His hair was cropped close to his head, and he always wore tight fitting leather armor that left his arms bare. Unlike Rapp and Rokath, no ink decorated his skin. I’d only had a few brief interactions with him, and I realized I didn’t know what rare magic he possessed.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s your power?” I blurted out, unable to smother my interest.

Trol turned his attention to me, though not with the same gruffness he showed the soldiers. A hint of a smile rose to his lips. “I am a Rifter. Basically, if you combine the best parts of Destructors and Nightmares, that is what I do. I create slashes in the air or on the ground that seem so real that the Angels avoid them. There are consequences of them falling into them, of course.”

My brows rose up my forehead, curiosity piqued. “Like what?”

“They’re razor sharp. So essentially they are shredded to pieces if they fall in completely. Should they brush against the edge, it’s like being sliced by a sword.”

“Wow,” I responded. His power was unlike anything I’d ever heard of—which was similar to all those with burgundy eyes. “So that’s how you were able to force them back so far?”

He nodded. “Though, the larger the rift, the less time I am able to hold it. I have to plan carefully where to deploy one and when with each battle.”

“Which is exactly why you are invaluable, Trol. After this, you deserve a break yourself. You’ve been out here far too long without reprieve,” Rokath added.

Trol waved his hand dismissively. “I’ll get one when I get one. What matters most is that the soldiers who have been out here the longest have breaks for themselves. They fight far more than I do.”

A breeze lifted a few strands of my hair as two more people entered the command center, ending our conversation. “Halálhívó,” Banand and Zurronar greeted Rokath first, then Trol. Finally, both their attention landed firmly on me. “Szélhámos.”

The honorific sent goosebumps skittering across my skin. To be recognized for my power…well, it wasn’t something I’d ever dreamed of happening.

“Sit,” Rokath commanded, and they both did.

Turning to me, he asked, “Do you know how to write?”

A scoff slipped out before I could stop it. “Of course I know how to write. My mother taught me.”

“Did you know that writing for females was forbidden a century ago, save for the priestesses so they could communicate?” Rokath spoke into my mind.

My stomach plummeted. That explained why we never learned it in school. My mother had always insisted our handwriting had to be extremely elegant. She’d told us that we were never to show it to anyone unless we wanted our style stolen. The other girls in the village would have copied me for sure, which was my young mind’s logic as to why I never spoke of it.

I’d never thought more of it.

“Well, it’s a good thing I did since we’re changing society,” I quipped.

“Aye,” Rokath rumbled back. He fetched parchment and ink, handing both to me. I arranged them neatly in front of me, waiting for whatever he wanted me to do.

He turned to the two males I’d rescued. “Assyria will take notes on your debriefing. Let’s start with the most important pieces of information you managed to overhear.”

Banand and Zurronar—looking far healthier than he had when we’d rescued him—went back and forth listing out what they’d heard, sometimes pausing to discuss the exact meaning since much had been in Angelic. Rokath would ask them to repeat the phrase if they could remember it, and then have me correct whatever I’d written. Trol jumped in intermittently, asking for clarification.

Apparently, nearly a year of captivity was a long time to gather intel. I shook my hand out on more than one occasion, muscles cramping from how much I wrote.

Once they’d offered all they could, Rokath switched topics to the Angel’s treatment of them. As they recounted their torture, my stomach twisted. Salt burned my eyes as both remained stoic and strong despite the obvious pain they’d endured. Much like me, they’d have deep, invisible scars.

I didn’t write a single word down; instead, I sat in solidarity with them, a witness to their suffering.

When they finished, I cleared my throat and held Zurronar’s gaze. The resemblance to Izgath was uncanny, though their eye color was not the same. They sported the same trim build, and while Zurronar’s hair was still a mess, the style was reminiscent of his brother’s clipped sides and top knot.

“I have some news about your brother,” I began, voice wavering. Rokath stiffened beside me, our bond tightening. But then, he exhaled, chest deflating, and reached for my leg under the table. He gave it a light squeeze, leaving his hand there. Warmth bloomed in my heart at the supportive gesture. That he fought for control with himself to aid me in this difficult conversation spoke volumes.

“Which one?” Zurronar asked. Both of his brothers were in the army, though I assumed the other still lived. I wasn’t sure of his name or which unit he was in.

“Izgath.” I swallowed roughly.

How am I supposed to tell him his sibling died because of me?

I twisted my mother’s ring around my finger, trying to decide where to begin. “I first met him when he came to conscript in Stryi. You’ve seen my magic, so you know I can become anyone. I snuck into the army, and eventually, he discovered my true identity. When we returned to Uzhhorod to join the rest of the soldiers…” I trailed off, trying to find the right words.

“I killed him,” Rokath stated plainly. I whipped my head to the side, finding a stoic expression plastered on his face. “Though he died for a noble cause. I didn’t know that at the time, though. He protected Assyria’s identity until his death. For which I will be forever grateful. It is because of his honor that she ended up in my hands and not somewhere worse.”

Tears pricked the backs of my nose and eyes.

Zurronar paled, his eyes closing briefly. His inhale was slow, shaky. “You know, I spent months wondering if he’d been killed in the plague. If he was alive and still fighting. The same with Onnaron.” A muscle ticked in his jaw as he leveled a heavy, grief-filled gaze on Rokath. “It’s honestly better that I have certainty now. The not knowing was eating me inside.”

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, because what else was there to say?

Banand also looked relieved.

One less life on his conscience.

Zurronar’s attention drifted to me, and I resisted the urge to squirm. Instead, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. He raked his maroon eyes over me as if judging me in an entirely new light. “My life for his life. Thank you, Szélhámos.”

My jaw slackened before I snapped it shut. I’d assumed he’d shout at me. Throw something. Curse my name. But thanking me? That was not at all what I had imagined.

“Of course,” I stammered out, my voice not nearly as steady as I had intended.

Maroon and burgundy tangled for a heartbeat longer before he addressed his leader. “Halálhívó, I served in your army long enough to know that your rules are strict and enforcement is carried out swiftly and without discrimination. While I am saddened by my brother’s loss, it is a comfort knowing he broke the rules for good reason.”

He paused, attention flicking between the two of us. Rokath squeezed my thigh harder.

“She is your mate, and the Weaver has blessed you both. My sword has been, and always will be, yours to wield.” He bowed his head in deference, placing a hand over his heart for good measure.

I kept my composure when all I wanted to do was sag with relief.

Do all leaders have to deliver bad news like this?

“Aye, we do. This is the first of many tests you will face if you want to change our society. But I will always be by your side, helping you bloom,” Rokath spoke into my mind.

“Thank you,” I sent back, my annoyance with him reading my mind banished with his affirmation.

“Do either of you wish to return to Fured for a respite? You have more than earned it,” Trol said, straightening in his seat and reaching for a glass of water.

Zurronar shook his head with conviction. Banand voiced his opinion. “We spent too long caged. I don’t know about Zur, but I am thirsty for some Angel blood. Besides, my magic is far more useful here. I know how to create sicknesses for the Angels now.” The gauntness hadn’t disappeared from his face, but a few hearty meals and some sun would have him healthier soon.

Rokath released my leg and braced his elbows on the table. Leaning in, he stared Banand down. “We have three females here whenever you want to get started.”

Banand glanced at me, something unreadable in his expression. “Araquiel is one, is she not?”

I nodded. “She gave us the exact location of where you were being held.”

Rokath cocked his head to the side. “Was she one of your jailers?”

“Aye,” Banand replied a little too quickly. He looked away from us all like he was considering his next words.

“She was the only kind one,” Zurronar added, attention lingering on Banand for a moment before returning to us. “She was the only one who remembered to feed us regularly.”

Rokath dropped his hands and drummed his fingers on the table. His mind tumbled through a rapid series of thoughts, and I blocked him out before he gave me a fucking headache.

Besides, he didn’t see what truly was happening here. “When did your relationship turn into more?” I asked Banand.

He choked, whipping his head to me. “How did you know?”

“Males,” I muttered under my breath. Then, louder, I said, “The way you two spoke about one another. That she wanted me to pass a message onto you. The way you looked away from us.”

Four sets of eyes stared at me. I rolled my own. “Clearly there is more than one reason to have females in the army. None of you are nearly perceptive enough.”

Rokath snorted, but a tendril of pride slipped down our bond. Before he or Trol could question Banand further, one of the sentries stationed outside stuck his head in, holding a rolled up piece of parchment. “Message for you, Halálhívó.”

Rokath waved him in, and he knelt as he proffered it to the leader of the Demon army. I leaned closer, trying to glimpse the contents as he unrolled it. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he scanned the letter. Then, he snapped it shut again and faced the room.

“My mate is correct. Which is why we need to travel to Fured as soon as possible and retrieve all our new recruits. Thank you for your service and your perseverance. After the war, I will ensure you both are handsomely rewarded for your efforts. Until then, you are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” Banand and Zurronar said, rising to their feet.

I nudged him in the ribs, and he offered me a sideways look that said ‘we’ll talk later.’

Trol too rose, needing to attend to a few of the people in his battalions. The three fell into conversation as they returned to the camp beyond. As soon as the flaps closed behind them, Rokath let out a heavy sigh.

I wiggled in my chair until I faced him, waiting for him to speak.

“That was Xannirin and Kiira’s response to my previous letter,” he finally said, staring off into the distance, mind working in overdrive.

“And?”

“And they will both meet us in Fured with some females for the army.”

A grin split my face in two, but Rokath seemed less than enthused. My excitement quickly faded. “What’s wrong?”

At last, Rokath shook himself from his reverie and faced me. Grabbing my hands, he tugged me into his lap. He buried his nose in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply. “You have no idea how much went into setting up society the way it is today, little imposter. While I am grateful you have shown me just how far off the path we strayed, I am still apprehensive to speak with my cousins. It will take time to undo what we spent centuries creating.”

I reached around and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s a good thing Demons live for millenia then.”

He picked his head up, showing me the depth of his emotion. “Only if we win this war.”

I swallowed hard. “You will. We will.”

“I am trying to believe that again,” he admitted quietly. To see my strong, confident mate so shaken by what had occurred the last few weeks reached between my ribs and slashed into my tattered heart. The one he was slowly healing with each action he took to right the wrongs of our society simply because I asked him to. Because now he believed it was the right thing to do.

“Some time away will do you good too,” I murmured, rubbing the thick scruff on his jaw.

He nodded, then tilted his face into my palm and kissed it. “Just because you went on a mission yesterday doesn’t mean you can slack off on training today. It will take your mind off everything too.”

I slid from his lap as he stood. “Will it also take your mind off everything?” I arched a brow as I looked up at him.

He huffed. “Yes, it will help me too.”

I offered him a genuine smile. “Then I’m ready.”

He whistled at Grem and Zeec, and then the four of us wound our way through the camp, finding a training ring filled with males. This time, they didn’t look down their noses at me, or offer me disdain-filled glares. For the first time, whispers of Szélhámos reached my ears.

Was I really surprised after all the time spent among them? These males were worse gossips than the girls in my village had been while we were younglings.

Rokath handed me a dagger from his thigh, and when I faced him, I held it just like he’d shown me.

And then, we danced.

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