Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 43 страниц)

25

Lightning cracked the sky outside, illuminating the unfamiliar shapes of the furniture in Rokath’s room. Hours had passed since he left me here, and now the dogs and I lay in bed, waiting for his return. The intensity of emotion flooding our bond told me the conversation with Xannirin and Kiira wasn’t going well. Resisting the urge to reach into his mind was harder with every minute he was away. I wanted to trust that when he returned, he’d lower his walls and tell me everything. Our relationship was growing stronger with each moment of vulnerability we shared.

But the storm swirling inside him was even stronger than the one brewing beyond the stone walls surrounding me.

So I built a strong barrier around my mind, trying to give him the space and privacy he needed to handle his affairs, and watched the dark clouds roll in off the angry sea.

Grem snuffed, wriggling closer to me. His long fur was still slightly damp from the bath I’d given him and Zeec, after which, I’d needed another too. At least the smell of wet dogs had abated. Sighing, I wrapped my arms around him and tugged him closer. Zeec rose, shook himself off, and curled up at my back until I was sandwiched between the two of them.

A violent fissure split the sky, the tower shuddering in its wake.

Then, rain pelted the windows. The rhythmic sound soothed my racing mind, and cocooned in the warmth of the hounds, my eyes drifted lower and lower with each passing blink. I yawned, trying to remain awake. More rumbles rolled overhead, combining with the rain as I drifted, drifted, drifted…

A crack like a whip filled the air, and I jerked awake. A brief flash illuminated a shadow standing in front of me. The air lodged in my throat as I gasped. Thunder boomed, and I sat upright, scanning the dark. All the candles had gone cold, and no light remained in the space. Clutching my chest, my racing heart beat into my hand.

Lightning crackled again, revealing the broken figure of my mate. Braced against the wooden post at the foot of the bed, his head hung low and heavy. Grem and Zeec both grumbled their displeasure as I crawled from between them and toward Rokath. I reached for him just as another flash filled the room.

When he lifted those burgundy eyes to meet mine, his pain slipped a knife between my ribs. “Come here,” I said softly, reaching for his arm. My fingers barely grasped his muscled bicep as I tried to tug him closer. He shook his head.

“I can’t protect you, Assyria.” His breath reeked of alcohol, and my brows pinched. Rokath rarely drank, and for him to smell like Vagach had—even more so really—the day I killed him was alarming.

“What are you talking about? Of course you can. You’re the only one who can,” I tried to reassure him, but he backed away. Cursing, I slid off the bed, his tunic nearly swimming down to my knees. I fumbled my way to the bedside table and found the matches I’d used earlier to light the candles.

Striking one, I managed to illuminate a nibble of space. I started when I saw the hour. Three. How long had I slept? How long had Rokath spoken with his cousins?

My mate sank into a chair and buried his head in his hands. I went to him, bracing my palms on his shoulders. They were hard as rocks beneath my fingers. I massaged them gently, hoping to ease some of whatever was eating at him.

He looked up at me again. “I am a selfish, selfish male. I crave you more than I should.”

He captured my waist and brought me closer. I spread my legs and settled onto his lap so we were eye to eye. The candlelight cast his tattoos in haunting relief, especially the empty-eyed skulls on his neck.

Spicy scale assaulted my nostrils as he spoke again. “I’d do far too much to have even one of your unguarded smiles. To bury my nose in your hair and inhale the scent of you. To feel you writhe beneath me. To chase you all so I can claim you over and over again.”

“Rokath, what’s going on?” I asked him, cupping his face. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and I moved my fingers to his jaw and rubbed circles there. A long groan escaped him as he relaxed into my touch. “Why are you so drunk?”

“I am not–”

“Yes, you are,” I snapped, ceasing my massage. “I’m very familiar with the smell.”

Fire ignited in his eyes. “I want to rip them apart. Limb by limb. Peel off their skin. Make them hurt.”

“The Angels?” I clarified.

“The nobles. The people who harm females. The Angels. All of them,” he growled, and the violence threaded in his tone raised the hairs on the back of my neck. “But especially Vagach. Fuck, Assyria, I’m so proud of you for killing that pig. But I need to avenge you. For everything. You’re mine to protect. But I can’t.”

Rokath was rambling, nearly incoherent, and more than a few words came out slurred. “You can–”

“No,” he snarled and my teeth clicked shut. “They took you, Assyria. What if something worse had happened to you? What if they’d tried to rape you?”

My gut churned at the memory of Zaph’s belt coming undone. I hadn’t meant to keep that moment from Rokath as much as I’d blocked it out myself. But I couldn’t tell him in this state. Fates only knew what he would do.

Yet, he must have been listening to my thoughts, because fury etched his features a moment later. “Before I sever his head, I’ll crown you in his bones. While he is still breathing. So he can see who he dared touch.”

My breath hitched and core clenched simultaneously. “Tell me what’s going on, Rokath,” I whispered. His emotions still swirled like the violent storm outside.

“Xannirin…Kiira…” he paused, shaking his head. I adjusted myself so I braced on his shoulders again. They sagged forward, and he buried his face in the crook of my neck. I held him even closer, squeezing him as hard as I could. He needed my support, yet he was unable to voice the words to request it.

“Xannirin was so angry when I told him everything. He wanted to take you away from me. To take you back to Uzhhorod where you’d be safe. I went insane at the thought. But he was right, you would be better off there.”

“No,” I said firmly. “My place is by your side.”

He picked his head up and rested his forehead against mine. “That’s where I want you, always. It terrifies me. Fuck, I’ve never felt this way before and I still don’t know how to cope with it. I want to take care of you. I want to be the male you deserve, especially after the way we shaped society to treat you. I regret so much.”

I scratched his beard, massaging his jaw again. “I know. But you’re making changes, right?”

He nodded, his eyes briefly closing. “Xannirin fought Kiira and me about it. For so long I thought I was alone in the resentment I held toward him. Turns out Kiira felt the same. Now I don’t have to squash it anymore.”

“Let’s go to bed. I want you to hold me,” I murmured. My heart burned for him, for the intensity of emotion roaring inside him. He needed to sleep off the alcohol so he could have a clear head in the morning. In his state, there was really no convincing him that he was doing enough to protect me.

“I can do that,” he acquiesced, rising with me in his arms. He carried me to the bed, lowering me with a reverence that left me aching. Then, he yanked his shirt overhead, not bothering to unbutton it, and stepped out of his boots. Lightning cracked again, revealing the chiseled cut of his torso. He shucked off his pants a moment later, baring himself to me.

With a groan, he leaned over me, forcing me to lie flat on my back as he caged me in with his hard body. Against my thigh, his dick thickened. “I need you, Assyria. I need to feel something other than this pain.”

I nodded, breath stuttering from the intensity of his gaze. Bracing on one hand, he skimmed my thigh, lifting the hem of his shirt higher and revealing my center. The cool night air ghosting across my skin sent a shiver down my spine.

“Sit up,” he commanded, leaning back to give me space. I did, and he tore his shirt over my head. He swept his eyes over me with the hunger of a starved man.

Curving down, he captured my back and brought his mouth to one nipple, licking and sucking it with wild abandon. My thighs dampened as he flooded me with sensation. I dug my nails into his scalp and pressed, silently asking for more. He delivered with expert precision.

Rokath edged fully onto the bed, pinning me beneath him and shooing the dogs simultaneously. A primal rumble vibrated in his chest as he continued to work on my other nipple, drawing it to as sharp a peak as the other. All the while, I melted beneath him, wetness seeping from my core.

“Rokath,” I pleaded, arching into him. As drunk as he was, he held a deep need for this connection with me. To heal him. To heal me.

He raked his teeth over my sensitive bud, then released it. His mouth mapped a trail between my breasts and down my torso, so tortuously slow, like he was worshipping every place his lips touched me. When he reached my hip bones, he kissed each of them before moving lower. His breath dusted across my overheated center. “Fuck, your arousal smells divine. So fucking wet for me and I’ve barely touched you.”

Rokath’s hot tongue skimmed the skin of my inner thigh. Sharp teeth sank into the surface, drawing out a hint of pain. More wetness dripped from me. Rokath captured it with a flick of his tongue, and I gasped. His fingers swept through the rest of it, smearing it all along my slit. Then, he sucked them into his mouth. “You taste better than victory. But it’s not enough.”

With that declaration, he latched onto me, lapping my clit while his fingers spread me. The wet sounds were obscene, but I wanted him to hear them. To hear how deeply I desired him. To hear how expertly he unraveled me. He needed that.

When he inserted one inside me, I dug my nails into his scalp. “More,” I told him. He wasted no time using a second to stretch me. Shamelessly, I rode his face and hand, chasing my pleasure.

“Use me, Assyria. All I care about is watching you shatter because of me,” Rokath spoke into my mind.

“I love you, Rokath,” I panted, my movements quickening. He curled his fingers against that one spot deep inside, and I nearly wept for how incredible it felt. “Don’t stop.”

“Touch yourself, Assyria. Tweak those pretty nipples for me.”

He pressed harder, and I did as he commanded. The sharp sting from the pinch had my walls clenching around his fingers, dragging them deeper. A low groan thrummed against my flesh. He circled his tongue over my clit, and that was all my orgasm needed to sweep through me.

Hips bucking, I arched off the bed like a cracking whip. A cry tore from my throat as Rokath continued to lick and fuck me with his fingers, working me into a helpless frenzy.

Air strangled out of me as I came down from the high. Slowly, Rokath removed himself from between my thighs and rose. His fingers were sticky with my cum, and he used the wetness to coat himself. The way he stroked his cock had me salivating for more of him.

“Ride me,” he rasped, and the command in his voice had me obeying immediately. My blood heated as he flopped over, his dick long and engorged against his stomach. I settled over him, much like I had in his lap in the chair, and picked it up. When I fisted his length and pumped, his eyes rolled into the back of his head.

A heady sense of power swept through me. I swiped his head through the arousal slicking my core, then lined him with my entrance. “Fates!” His fingers weren’t nearly enough to prepare me for his size, especially at this angle.

Inch by torturous inch, I slid down. All the while, Rokath watched with rapturous attention where he disappeared inside me.

“You were made to take my cock, little imposter,” he growled, hands finding my hips and digging in. A gasp tore from my throat as he shoved me all the way down. And then I was so, deliciously, full.

“I was woven for you, and you were woven for me,” I mewled as I adjusted to his girth.

He dragged me forward, my clit rubbing along his low belly as he pressed against my walls. Bracing my hands on his chest, I found a rhythm, moving my hips in time with his slow thrusts upward.

“I fucking love you, Assyria,” Rokath repeated, the depth of his devotion spilling over in our bond.

Like I was parting the thunderous clouds beyond, I removed the barrier I’d built before. My adoration for Rokath rained down on him. “You will always be the villain for me. You will slaughter anyone who dares lay a hand on me. But most importantly, you are my mate, and I trust you to protect me, Rokath. I didn’t before, but now? I’d walk among a thousand Angels knowing nothing would happen to me.”

His cock thickened inside me. I moved again, my pace quickening. No place was left untouched by his length. “You’re going to continue to train me so I am as powerful as you. As the others with burgundy eyes. I will be a force among the army on my own. And it will all be because you love me.”

My heart thundered against my ribs as Rokath and I held each other’s gazes, just as unbreakable as the bond that the Weaver planned for us. For the first time, we weren’t fucking.

We were making love.

I showed him my devotion with each circle of my hips. He gave me his with every word of praise past his lips.

I dug my nails into his muscled chest and bounced harder. Sweat beaded on my forehead and slicked down my spine.

“That’s it, little imposter. You’re doing so well,” Rokath praised, using his grip on my hips to change the angle. He dragged along that spongy spot that had me digging my teeth into my bottom lip. My brows dipped together as I careened toward the edge.

“You are fierce already, but I am going to make you ferocious.” He branded me with a deep thrust. “You are strong already, but I am going to make you limitless. Those fucking zealots will bow at your feet, Szélhámos.”

My walls clenched around the honorific the soldiers had given me. A wicked grin twisted Rokath’s lips. “You will be a Goddess among Demons. Revered for your power. Xannirin, Kiira, me, we are all Fates. I will elevate you to that position too.”

Our skin slapped as we both moved faster, worked harder. “Mine,” Rokath professed, over and over and over, every time he was buried completely inside me.

“Yours,” I panted back, breath coming in ragged. Pleasure coursed through my veins, twisting inside me until I was certain I was close to snapping. This orgasm, like the one he’d given me the first time we coupled, was going to shatter and remake me. Surrender turned to sovereignty. Violence turned to ecstasy. Hatred turned to love.

“Come for me, little imposter. Come for me and scream my name. Up here, no one can hear you. And I fucking need to know how much pleasure I deliver you,” he commanded, his tone threaded with violent vulnerability.

Those words shoved me over the edge, and I didn’t meter my voice at all. Around and around the room it echoed as I shattered, pleasure igniting each nerve. Rokath’s eyes darkened, and his grip tightened to the point of bruising. That only lengthened the time I spent in bliss.

Then, without warning, he lifted me off him, groaning as he spilled his cum onto his stomach. Arms trembling, he settled me on his lap again, both of us breathing heavily. Yet we hadn’t broken eye contact, and something divine swept between us because of it.

Rokath crushed me against him a moment later, holding me as tightly as he always held everything together.

On his own.

I didn’t care that we were both sticky. I just wanted him, and I wanted him to know that. We remained locked in that embrace long after he finally fell asleep.

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26

Ebony rippled from Rokath as he glared at the obstinate clothier. The male’s weathered face told me he’d seen nearly two thousand winters. And the leather that adorned him? He was an expert at his craft.

It was a shame that he was refusing to stitch armor for the females and had incurred Rokath’s ire.

And mine, but after last night, Rokath needed an outlet.

Rokath had nearly slept through the gong that rang way too fucking early this morning. It wasn’t until I’d dumped water on him that he had awoken. I’d honestly debated about letting him sleep, given how little he usually did and the haunted state he’d come home in.

But I knew his rules were important, and so was what we had to do today.

“If you do not wish to lose your position and your coin, you will oversee this,” Rokath snarled, towering over the clothier. I glanced down the open air hall, ensuring no one attempted a surreptitious pass to overhear the conversation. Everyone should be gathering in the training area, but I didn’t trust that these males weren’t circling like sharks, waiting to attack from their displeasure.

“I’ve served this army for a millennia. I will not see tradition crumble on your whim,” he shot back, undeterred by Rokath’s intimidation.

“Do you doubt the Weaver’s path?” Rokath rasped, his tone like a blade scraped against stone. “For the High Priestess has seen our future.”

Not exactly a lie. Kiira had mentioned on several occasions that whatever she reported to have seen was taken as fact simply because of who she was.

The clothier pointed a gnarled finger in my mate’s face. “You do not appreciate the Fates. You never have, even as a youngling here.”

I rolled my eyes, grateful that my helmet hid my irritated expression.

Onyx tendrils coiled around the man’s arm, snaring it to his side. Only then did his furious expression shift. “Release me!”

“No,” Rokath stated, his tone threaded with command. “I am the fucking Halálhívó. I lead here. If I say you will deliver ten thousand sets of armor, then that is what you will do. If you refuse, I will snap your neck and hang your body from the balustrade as a demonstration of what happens to those who disobey a direct order. The choice is yours.”

The clothier’s eyes bulged, his face turning the same scarlet shade of red as his eyes. “You make it impossible.”

I almost sympathized with him, having been on the receiving end of such a command. But his aged thinking would get us nowhere. “Choose now. We have better places to be,” I snapped.

His attention flicked to me, mouth thinning. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate my input into the matter. Typical.

Rokath’s shadows wrapped around the clothier’s neck. “Fine!” he shouted, squirming in his black binds. “I’ll do it. You’ll hear no complaint from me.”

The dark snakes retreated immediately with no regard for how the male landed against the ground. With an oomph, he collapsed, shoving himself upright on shaky limbs.

“If I hear so much as a whisper of your dissent, I will not hesitate next time,” Rokath promised, leaning over him.

This time, the clothier responded with a healthy measure of fearful respect. “Yes, Halálhívó.”

Rokath strode past him while he straightened his shirt. I didn’t deign to look at him as I shouldered past, falling in step with my mate. “How many more times are we going to have to do that?”

“Too many,” Rokath grumbled back.

A long sigh slipped out of me as we rounded the final corner to the training area. Up a short set of stairs, we found the rest of our group waiting. Kiira shot me a grin as we approached. My giddiness mirrored her own. Together, we’d informed the priestesses that morning they were no longer required to wear veils. Even now, their infectious excitement swept through me.

Xannirin, however, barely appeared to be in a better mood than the previous day with how he glowered at both of us.

As I settled among the cousins, tension hung like a fat fog, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be anywhere less than I wanted to be there right now.

Maybe back on the estate in Stryi, still married to Vagach.

Countless sets of eyes settled on me, taking in my rose-covered black helmet, the wool tunic that covered my torso, the leather pants that protected my legs. Rokath, in his full armor, was an intimidating sight. The females’ attention should have been on him, and yet, lips moved, heads jerked, hands hid whispers—all visible with their faces now bare.

I welcomed it, showing them with every breath, every heartbeat, that I was not hidden. Not silenced. Not afraid.

I was powerful.

Rokath raised a hand, and silence fell over the priestesses. They still wore their black dresses, and the acolytes still boasted their white rope belts. Together, they stood on the threshold of a transformation. They weren’t soldiers yet, but that would change today. That was what this gathering was for, after all. To begin the integration with their male counterparts.

They all stood a little straighter as the Halálhívó’s gaze settled over them.

Soldiers hugged the rear walls and the balconies across from us, watching the events unfold with mixed expressions. Some appeared disinterested. Others, barely veiled disdain—likely the same as those who had been lashed for their disobedience the previous day. Most held a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Those are the ones we need to seek out to assist us.

“Today, each of you will demonstrate your power and be assigned into units. From there, you will don a new uniform fit for fighting. The clothiers will take your measurements after your magic assessment. New armor will be delivered to you over the coming days.”

Rokath paused, surveying the scene.

Pride swelled in my chest. Together, we’d prove that we had a place in the world, that we were worthy of leaving our homes and having autonomy. That we didn’t need a male to direct our entire lives and that we could contribute through more ways than our womb.

“I suggest that you do not hold back. Wield what you know. There is ample time to learn later. An accurate measure of your power is essential, though.” Rokath tilted his head to look at Xannirin. The Kral merely kept his mouth shut and gaze forward.

At least that’s an improvement.

The females nodded their assent. The males clinging to the periphery shifted. Others with boards in hand stepped forward.

“Let the assessment begin,” Rokath commanded. The four of us retreated from the balustrade and into the shadows of the pillars.

“I’ll stay and help,” Kiira pronounced, tucking her long hair behind her ears. Quickly, she swirled the length around her finger, then secured it with a leather strip so it sat just off her neck.

Xannirin muttered something about letters to answer, turning on his heel and stalking away.

“What is his problem?” I asked, staring daggers into his backside. Was he off to scheme? To undermine us? His disdain was apparent in each strike of foot against stone.

Kiira and Rokath glanced at each other. Then, Kiira ignored my question entirely. “Assyria, let me introduce you to some of the volunteers. I think you’ll quite like them.”

Smothering an annoyed huff, I started to follow her, but Rokath let out a low growl. “Assyria is the Szélhámos. She walks first.”

“Oh, right,” I replied, shaking off my lingering irritation and stepping into my role. Because of Kiira’s status, I’d defaulted to letting her lead. But I was one of them now, and I needed to act like it. Even if Xannirin didn’t.

Thankfully, Kiira wasn’t offended. “After you, Szélhámos,” she giggled, elbowing my ribs. With a small laugh, I passed her, then took the stairs one at a time, steeling myself for what was sure to be an overwhelming event.

Chaos ruled the training arena. Flashes of black dotted the edges of my vision as we clung to the wall in an attempt to maneuver through hundreds of bodies. Booms sounded all around as Destructors demonstrated their magic.

“Where do I go?” I asked Rokath, unable to see over the madness.

“Straight ahead. The male with the high knot. I have to see that the clothiers are behaving, but I will find you later.”

“Good luck.”

He grunted in response before peeling off from us.

A Százados whom I recognized from the healing session I’d stumbled upon took notes as he observed the females wielding their magic. First, they called upon their shadows, then their secondary power. Hopping around a backstepping soldier who didn’t see me, I wove my way to the Százados. He paused when he saw our approach, dropping to one knee and resting his forehead on his arm. When he pointedly cleared his throat, and the females around him did the same.

“You may stand,” I told him and the others, and they did. A few craned their necks to see me, and I offered them warm smiles in return. “Please continue, we want to observe.”

“Yes, Szélhámos,” he replied, then faced the females again. “Who is next?”

A maroon-eyed female stepped forward, dipping into a deep curtsey. “High Priestess, Szélhámos.”

“This is Maariya. She has served in numerous posts for decades and was one of the first to volunteer,” Kiira told me.

“Is this true?” I asked her.

“Yes, Szélhámos. Since I was young, I wanted to serve my realm. At first, being a priestess was the only way to do that. Now I have more options.”

My throat thickened as a glimmer of myself reflected back to me. “Please demonstrate your power,” I commanded, though the words were soft in comparison to Rokath’s harshness.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Onyx whirled like a twister around her, whipping her loose hair into a frenzy. When they settled, she drew a knife from her side and sliced into her thumb. Another female stepped forward, and she marked the second’s wrist with a red line before retreating.

More magic materialized as she faced off with the female. The second leaped forward, only to freeze in midair. She blinked but remained suspended while Maariya stared at her, brow furrowed in concentration.

“That is Izzenna. While she is newer to the priestesses, she quickly made her mark. She was our second volunteer,” Kiira said by way of introduction.

Maariya continued to hold Izzenna in place. Sweat beaded her forehead. The Százados gave her an order to release her magic. With a whoosh of breath, she did. Izzenna stumbled forward, and Maariya caught her. Both grinned widely as they turned to me.

“I need only a small amount of my blood to touch another to be able to hold them in place,” Maariya explained. “I hope to be able to hold more and for longer after training my magic.”

“You have an incredible talent. The Giver certainly blessed you,” I replied.

Light pink dusted her cheeks, and she stepped to the side to allow Izzenna to demonstrate her magic.

“They already worship you,” Kiira said under her breath. “The mythos of you will spread quickly after this.”

The idea both excited and terrified me. I didn’t have long to examine the emotions before the air shimmered in front of Izzenna. A scream ripped from Maariya’s throat, and her hands clamped over her mouth.

“Nightmares,” I murmured, awed by Izzenna’s careful concentration.

“Vivid ones too,” Kiira replied like she knew from experience.

The Százados gave the females fours in both of their categories after Izzenna’s demonstration was complete.

The two curtseyed to Kiira and me again before continuing onto the line of priestesses waiting for their measurements. The majority of females, as far as I could see, had eyes of blood, cherry, and ruby, all powerful enough to hold their own with magic, even if our bodies were smaller and less capable of heavy blows than the males.

“They work so well together already,” I commented, surveying how they paired up to demonstrate their powers when necessary.

“We may not wield blades—at least up until now—but we’ve always collaborated to elevate souls and aid suffering,” Kiira explained. It made sense. They were a cohesive unit like the army. And the detractors like Priestess Anara, who had ruled the school and temple in Stryi with a firm hand, were the exception. Just like the males who refused to see these females as deserving of a chance to serve their realm too.

Every volunteer Kiira brought forth spoke with enthusiasm in her voice, profusely thanking me for the opportunity to become a warrior. Unveiled grins abounded as they let their power flourish, then stepped aside to let their sisters do the same. The thousands of females streamed through the process with smooth efficiency until only a few groups remained in the wings, awaiting their turns.

“Kiira, how did you manage all of this?” I asked her. With the short time between Rokath’s raven and the returning message, I was in awe of the number who had volunteered.

She raked her teeth over her bottom lip, gaze trained forward. “For a long time, I’d been unhappy with my position. But I shoved it all aside for the greater good. So much time had passed, in fact, that I hardly remembered I felt that way at all. Until you.” Then, she faced me, determination shining in her eyes. “You reminded me of life before.”

My eyebrows shot up my forehead. “Really?”

“Really,” she repeated. “I started working on plans of my own shortly after you left.”

I sensed there was information she was holding back, but I didn’t press her for more. The training area, crowded with priestesses and soldiers alike, was not the place to discuss such political matters. Not when the cousins had always been so secretive about their plans.

I glanced up at the clock hammered into a nearby tower, noting that our midday meal—and prayer—was almost upon us.

Rokath returned moments before the gong struck. “High Priestess, if you would please join me in leading the traditional army ritual today.”

“Actually, I think I should lead,” I said, lifting my chin. “I am the Szélhámos.”

Pride bloomed down our bond. “Aye, that you are.”

“Of course, the Szélhámos should lead,” Kiira grinned. “I am happy to stand with two mighty warriors as you conduct prayers.”

The three of us faced outward again, and around us, the soldiers—of both sexes—fell silent, waiting for their next direction. Rolling my shoulders back, I strode out to the middle of the training arena. Rokath and Kiira framed me, and all the priestess-turned-warriors fell to their knees, accustomed to the time of day. The males who had retreated to the fringes and the grandstand did the same.

Rokath yanked a blade from his side, the bronze glinting in the sunlight, and handed it to me.

I dragged in a deep breath. I’d done this before, and I could do this again. Raising the dagger and my hand, I yelled, “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 the Halálhívó, these new soldiers will bleed. Bind our fates to theirs, so that we may rise victorious.”