Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 43 страниц)

Blood welled on my palm as I sliced deep, offering a healthy sacrifice to the Fates. Rokath held out his hand, and I offered him the blade to do the same.

His cut was no shallower than my own. Yet he utterly shocked me when he spoke, squeezing his fist and letting garnet cascade between his fingers. “Not only for myself and the Kral do you bleed. Tie, too, your fate to the Szélhámos, that together we may slaughter our enemies and deliver a swift victory to the Demons.”

His words boomed around the arena, shaking it like an earthquake. The voice of the Halálhívó was meant to instill a healthy fear in all those who heard it.

With predatory slowness, he knelt. Yet each drop of his knee against the ground vibrated it with pure power. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as he pressed his palms flat against the stone.

I sank to the earth too, though I didn’t prostrate myself. “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.”

Then, I flattened my palms on the stone and pressed my forehead to the cool surface.

“By our blood, we honor you,” everyone echoed, masculine and feminine tones blending into one another as everyone offered a swipe of red to the Fates.

Rokath and I straightened simultaneously. Shoulder to shoulder with my mate, we surveyed the soldiers staring back at us.

Then, I spoke the final words to the prayer. “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.”

Thousands of voices echoed my veneration, the sound haunting me with how it continued to ring long after the words were uttered. For a moment, the weight of their reverence settled over me. I was to become a Fate to them. They weren’t here because they had to be; they were here because they chose to be. Chose to relinquish their comfortable position as priestesses and snatch the chance to become a soldier.

So I offered a final, silent prayer of my own. “Let this change be welcomed with open arms. Let resistance fall away so that we might walk your divine path, Weaver.”

While I still questioned my faith, how much power the Fates truly held over this world, and continued to purge the lies I’d been fed my entire life, wishing for what I truly wanted would only elevate my energy for it and inspire others to do the same. If the Fates did hear me, if they did take my plea into account, then our society would be all the better for it.

Kiira rose, drawing everyone’s attention. Her voice rang loud and clear through the expansive space. “Let the Halálhívó’s victory be swift and the Kral’s reign eternal. Let the Szélhámos guide us on a new path to righteousness. Our lives, our magic, our essence, are theirs to command.”

“We are theirs to command.” The conviction in the females’ voices sent a wave of confidence crashing through me.

Using only his immense legs, Rokath stood, towering over everyone still kneeling. I surged to my feet beside him. “The Fates gave me the power to call upon the dead to do my bidding for a reason. To end the Angels and their relentless, fanatic pursuit of the extermination of the Demon race. Never forget what they will do in the name of that cause. It is, in fact, why you are all here. The losses we suffered recently were enormous. Your grit, determination, and magic can make the difference. We are allowing you an opportunity to prove yourselves. Do not waste it.”

A second gong pealed, yet they did not move as they stared up at the three of us. Once the sound ceased, Rokath spoke again. “Dismissed.”

With muted excitement, they straightened, whispering among themselves and gathering in small groups. Through the arched opening in the inner curtain, they streamed toward the commons. Males reformed around their longtime friends and followed.

The three of us lingered, observing their departure. Once the area had cleared out, we followed, keeping a healthy distance from them.

“What do you think, Halálhívó?” I asked, using my thumb to fiddle with the small garnet on my mother’s ring. I thought the displays of power had been impressive, especially the number of former priestesses who had significant mastery over their magic.

“Only time will tell,” he grumbled, his attention fixed straight ahead.

“So what happens after the meal then?” I asked as we entered the hall. Xannirin was notably absent from the high table. Rokath’s posture was stiff as he removed his helmet and sat down, glaring at the empty seat.

“We review their marks and start assigning them to units,” he replied. “Rapp should be able to help with that since the healer had ordered him to remain in bed for a few more days.”

Kiira and I shared a laugh at the Hadvezér’s expense. “I’m not sure all of us can fit in that tiny room,” Kiira added as two males appeared with our food.

“Well, he needs to stop fucking up his stitches if he wants to be out of it sooner,” Rokath stated, digging his fork into a small, steaming meat pie.

I shook my head and tucked into my meal. As I chewed, I surveyed the rest of the dining hall. Males sat with males, and females sat with females, each group competing for space around the long tables.

At least it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

Our entire plan hinged on integrating them and returning to the front as quickly as possible. As I stabbed into my food, I tried not to think of the consequences of us failing to do just that.

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27

Sweat slicked my training gear to my chest as I settled on the wooden stands of the arena. Kiira fared no better, using her sleeve to wipe her forehead. The newly-sorted females trailed past us, back to their barracks to wash before retiring for the evening.

Kiira, Rapp, Rokath, and I had worked for days to slot them into units appropriate for their talents. Xannirin had been notably absent, though it wasn’t like the cousins never saw each other. No, they spoke late into the night and Rokath always returned furious.

Exhaustion tugged at my limbs from the imbalance between the hours of sleep I stole at night and the level of my exertion during the day. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and remain there for eternity. Yet my mate and his Hadvezér stood on the opposite end of the arena, heads bent together and gesturing to parchment attached to portable boards.

Which meant he wasn’t leaving anytime soon, and neither was I since he had our only key.

“Let’s go for a walk, shall we?” Kiira suggested, rising with a groan.

“Ugh,” I protested, but I knew if I remained seated, the soreness would set in faster and that climb up to Rokath’s rooms would be infinitely worse. The males scarcely clocked that we were leaving, absorbed in whatever it was they were discussing.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked her as we fell in step.

“First, to the kitchens to procure some wine,” she said, her tone light and airy. “Then, to the barracks.”

I let out a small laugh. “If Rokath finds out, he’s going to be furious.”

Kiira shot me a grin. “So don’t let him.”

As much as my mate loved his rules, I did not. I’d never been great at following them. And with Kiira by my side, encouraging it? There was no way I was saying no. Some wine would ease the ache in my muscles and make the spiraling trek pass a lot faster too.

Ducking into a hall, we wound through the keep. At this hour, most were settling in for the night. The few out and about strode with purpose to their overnight posts.

The kitchens bustled with activity as the cooks cleaned up from the evening meal and prepped for the following day. They all ceased immediately when they noticed the High Priestess and me.

“High Priestess, Szélhámos,” the closest one said, dropping to a knee.

“There’s no need,” Kiira told him, her tone warm and dripping honey. “Especially if you’ll fetch us a bottle of wine and glasses.”

“Certainly, High Priestess,” he replied, hurrying off. The rest returned to their work.

A few minutes later, he slipped through the chaos, carrying a woven basket. “You’ll find everything you need in here.”

Kiira accepted it with the same easy grace she carried into every room, never a hitch in her step or a dip in her chin. Her poise, her charm, her elegance…she exuded royalty and prestige. We departed quickly, leaving them to their duties. Passing out of the keep, we strode through the largest courtyard toward the eastern barracks.

The evening was brisk and the breeze cooled my skin, overheated from being in the stuffy arena for the past few hours. We continued our leisurely pace, simply enjoying a moment of peace.

Light spilled through the cracked door, and holding it wider, I allowed Kiira to slip in ahead of me. Feminine voices drifted through the space, mingling with the crashing of water against tile.

“This way,” Kiira told me, jerking her head in the direction of a small staircase that led to the upper floors. We trotted up to the highest level, where the more prominent priestesses had claimed their spaces.

Lavender, almond, and vanilla scents filled my nostrils as we strode onto the floor. Steam still hung in the air, drifting from the bathing chamber in the middle of the barracks. Moments later, Maariya, Izzenna, and a few others emerged, squeezing water from the ends of their hair.

Excited squeals greeted us, and they tossed their bath sheets onto their bunks and raced to meet Kiira.

“High Priestess!” Each greeted her with a kiss on either cheek.

“Please, the males aren’t around now,” Kiira replied, mischievousness dancing in her expression. Then, she shook the basket, causing cups to tinkle. “And we have wine.”

“Blessed by the Giver,” Maariya said, lifting the load from Kiira’s arms.

The other priestesses greeted me similarly, and Izzenna even hooked an arm through mine and steered me toward the sitting area. Maariya placed the basket on a table in the center and flipped open the top. From its dark interior, she pulled two bottles by their neck.

“Which do you want, Szélhámos?” she asked me, spinning them around so the labels were visible.

“You may call me Assyria while we’re here.” While my experience with priestesses had always been negative, witnessing how easily Kiira interacted with them had planted a seed of longing inside me. I’d never really had friends, and I desperately wanted their camaraderie.

Maariya smiled at me, giving my hope wings. “Of course. Assyria, which do you want?”

My knowledge of wine was limited to the color of the liquid. Chewing my bottom lip, I looked between the two for a moment, then gestured to the red one.

“Excellent choice,” Maariya said. A wisp of obsidian emerged from her fingertips, and it snaked under the cork. With a pop, the wine opened, and another priestess caught the stopper before it rolled under a nearby settee.

Izzenna dug out the glasses and used her own magic to hold them aloft while Maariya poured. Together, they served us all.

“To our health,” Kiira cheered, clinking her glass with mine. Warmth bloomed in my chest.

This was what it felt like to be included. I savored the feeling like I savored the wine as I took a long drink. The sweetness swept across my tongue, accompanied by a hint of pepper that reminded me of my mate. I nearly moaned at the decadent notes.

“Good, right?” Kiira tucked her long hair behind her ears and her legs beneath her on the couch beside me.

“Very,” I replied, taking a smaller sip this time.

“How fare your discussions with the Kral and the Halálhívó?” a cherry-eyed female asked. Like Maariya and Izzenna, she wore her hair long and loose, and with it still damp, it held a deep wave.

“Not well, Vokkia,” she replied. She swirled the purple wine in her cup as she considered her next words. I was curious to hear her opinion because my only real perspective was through Rokath. He’d wanted me to attend, but with Xannirin’s continued condescension, he and Kiira had decided they’d likely get nowhere with me present.

She cut her attention to me for a moment. “These three are some of my most trusted advisors on the matters of our faith.”

I understood the subtext of her words. She trusted them to help her spin whatever stories she decided needed to be woven—but not with the politics of it all.

“I am lucky to be included in this circle,” I offered, smiling at each in turn.

“You deserve to be here, Assyria. You are a symbol of us all. Kiira spoke about you at length prior to our departure.” Vokkia offered a quiet smile brimming with reverence.

“Did she?” I asked, tilting my head and studying Rokath’s cousin.

“I did. Because I knew what you’d become.” Before I could ask her what she meant by those cryptic words, she answered Vokkia’s question. “The Kral is still highly resistant to all these ideas. He does not appreciate us moving forward without his approval. The Halálhívó and I are trying to sway him. Though his disagreement certainly won’t stop the Halálhívó from acting when he thinks he’s right.”

I snorted at that. She knew my mate well.

“What if you cannot sway him?” Izzenna asked, a slight waver in her voice. “Will we have to return to our positions?”

Kiira pressed her lips together. My heart twisted at the sorrow in Izzenna’s ruby eyes. “I promise I won’t let it come to that. We need you here in the army.”

She turned her attention to me. “How did you do it?”

I tapped my finger on the side of my glass as I considered how I wanted to answer. “Persistence.” The group fell into laughter. I found myself grinning, happiness sinking into my bones. “Truly though. I’ve never been one to remain quiet. It got me in…trouble with the priestess in Stryi. And my former husband. Somehow I wore the Halálhívó down.”

Kiira shook her head. “You discount your own power, Assyria. The Halálhívó does not bend. He does not break. By acting as yourself, you opened him to what he’s long been closed to. The Fates knew what they were doing when they made you mates.”

My cheeks heated, and I took a long drink of wine to cover them.

“What story can you tell him to sway him? You are the best, after all,” Maariya added.

Kiira’s serene expression faltered for a moment before she corrected it. “I’m not certain a single story would make a difference. He’s the type of male that has to think it’s his idea. My cousins, I swear, have egos the size of Ravasz.”

At that, we all laughed again.

“So what will be the message for the future?” I asked, the wine loosening my tongue. From conversations with Rokath, I knew that whatever changes needed to happen would come through the priestesses first—at least until Xannirin had finally surrendered his stubborn position.

“It is not necessarily a new one, but rather building off what is already believed. Not that the Kral would agree, regardless. All he sees is we’ve spent centuries ensuring females are reliant on males, and for him to change course now would be like him admitting it never should have happened in the first place.”

“Which it shouldn’t have,” I pointed out. The other three nodded.

“We are in agreement there,” Kiira said. “But there is another way. The people believe that I have a direct connection to the Fates—because I do. And if I tell them I have seen a future where male and female Demons battle alongside one another, then they will believe that.”

She glanced around our small group, and again, I sensed that there was more she wasn’t revealing.

“The one thing we have succeeded at more than anything else is the people’s unwavering belief that the Halálhívó, the Kral, and I are the Fates’ chosen. Despite the nobles’ grumbling, they still believe that. And if Xannirin refuses to convince them, then I will,” Kiira pronounced, draining her wine and gesturing for Maariya to hand her the bottle.

The last of the purple liquid swished into her glass. Izzenna uncorked another, and we all held out our cups for a refill.

“I want to help however I can,” I affirmed. These priestesses-turned-warriors did too, of that I was certain. And Rapp. He’d been by the cousins’ sides for centuries.

Did he still feel like an outsider, like me?

Yet no matter how much time passed, he’d never really be a member of House Vrak. Whereas I was mated to the Halálhívó.

Kiira pulled my focus away from our injured friend. “The Fates also chose you. We will use that.”

“So what comes first?” Maariya asked.

“I think the removal of veils is a solid start. It will be a shock after so long with them, but seeing us again will aid in the rest…whenever we can agree with the Kral on what that is.” Kiira let out a long sigh, the weight of her task bringing her shoulders inward.

“Why wait for him?” I questioned. With his recent attitude, I didn’t think he’d ever come around to such a change.

Kiira’s answering grin pulled a mirror one to my lips. “You’re right, Assyria. Sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

An echo to the time she’d snuck me out of Rokath’s room at Gyor Palace surfaced. That was when I’d decided I really liked Kiira.

“Are you going to leave us when the Kral returns to Uzhhorod, Kiira?” Vokkia asked, tentative sorrow in her tone.

“No,” she said with enough conviction my eyebrow twitched up. “I can still work from here, though it will take longer having to send ravens so far south.”

“We will help however we can. We may be learning to wield weapons and honing our magic, but that does not mean we have fully abandoned our other duties,” Maariya said, adjusting her wet hair over her other shoulder.

“I will send a raven to my flock tomorrow, informing them that they no longer have to hide themselves beneath sheer veils,” Izzenna offered, draining her glass.

“As will I,” Vokkia stated, lifting her chin.

Kiira softened and squeezed her priestess’ arms in turn. “Thank you both. We don’t want to rush everything too quickly. Each small change will take time to adjust. I appreciate all of your support thus far and everything I know you’ll give in the future.”

Solidarity. That was what this was. Females coming together to create change that would benefit us all.

“And I appreciate you all volunteering your lives for the army.” My throat thickened because the reality was that these three, the others tucked away in their bunks further back and down below…not all of them would survive.

Kiira knocked her shoulder into mine, and I offered her a sad smile.

“We are the first, but we certainly won’t be the last,” Maariya swore. Then, her maroon eyes danced with an idea. “We should mark ourselves. Show the world who we are. Assyria is already our symbol for hope. What better way to honor her courage than to ink it into our skin?”

Before I could protest that I needed no such veneration, Vokkia clapped her hands, excitement curving her lips upward. Izzenna leaped to her feet and raced toward the bunks. “I have an idea.”

Delight danced in Kiira’s expression. “This is what we need,” she said under her breath.

I knew that on an intellectual level, Rokath and I were supposed to become a myth unto ourselves. But this?

I wasn’t worthy.

Izzenna returned with parchment and charcoal and sketched out a design. The four of us waited in eager silence. Her smile grew and grew as her hand flew across the page. When she finished, she whipped it around to show us.

My breath caught.

An eye, open to the world, greeted us. Instead of a colored iris at the center, a blooming rose waited. Sharp points speared from the top and bottom, almost like twin daggers.

“For the eyes of devious burgundy that Kiira saw,” Izzenna explained, tracing the outline. “For the roses on your helmet. For our femininity.” She tapped the bloom in the center. “For the power we wielded before and the power we will wield now. For our unity in this battle to be seen.” She dragged a finger along the length of the long line.

Tears pricked the back of my nose, and I had to press my lips together to hold back a joyful sob. “It’s perfect.”

Izzenna brightened. “Do you think so?”

I nodded, and the others murmured their assent.

“How will we mark ourselves with it though?” I asked, the H’s carved into my wrists aching at the thought.

Vokkia giggled and yanked up her sleeve, revealing swirls of ink so much like Rokath’s. “I gave these to myself during one of my rebellious periods before I became a priestess. All I need is a needle, ink, and silver. All of which I happen to have in my bag.”

She went to fetch it while Maariya gathered clean cloths and a basin of water.

“Assyria should go first. It is in her honor after all,” Vokkia announced once she had all her tools prepared and ready to use.

“Where should I put it?” I asked her. Rokath had tattoos everywhere. Other than the perfect circle between my shoulder blades and his initial on my wrists, my skin was unmarred.

“Your forearm, I think,” Vokkia said.

I shrugged off my jacket and then settled beside her, arm outstretched. She wiped my skin clean, lingering on the H on my wrist. Rather than shame rising, pride bloomed. Rokath had claimed me as his long before either of us consciously wanted it. And now, I wouldn’t change that moment for anything.

Vokkia dipped the needle into the ink and silver mixture, then poked it into my skin. I hissed at the first intrusion, but she worked quickly, and soon, the pain dulled. We fell into further conversation about the war, combat skills, magic wielding, and of course, the males. I forgot she was working at all until she pronounced my tattoo finished.

With a final wipe of cloth on my arm, she revealed the design Izzenna had sketched. Joy crested inside me as I traced the lines with a featherlight touch. “Thank you.”

Vokkia beamed at me. “Anything for you, Assyria.”

Kiira went after me, and once we had our matching symbols on our forearms, we admired them together. Those tattered pieces of my heart stitched together at the sight. Especially as Izzenna begged to be next.

“This is only the beginning,” Kiira murmured. I lifted my gaze to meet hers. “There is so much more to come.”

“I couldn’t do any of this without you,” I whispered back, vision blurring. We embraced, and she smelled of moon lotus and lavender—the floral scents drawing my days of tending to a garden to the surface.

How far I’d come, how much I’d changed since then.

When we broke apart, each of us had to dry our tears.

“Assyria and I had better return to our rooms before we’re missed. And before these are noticed.” She gestured to our now-empty glasses and bottles. “We’ll sneak back tomorrow to see everyone’s tattoos.”

Maariya packed up everything for us, and with aching limbs, I rose from my place on the couch. Stretching my arms overhead, I bent from side to side, trying to work out the soreness creeping in.

With warm embraces, we said our goodbyes, and then Kiira and I slunk out of the barracks under the cover of darkness. We dropped our basket off with the final kitchen worker before navigating the maze of halls to the two rear towers where our rooms awaited us.

At the door, I let out a long sigh, preparing to brace for the climb.

“Will you join me in my room for a moment?” Kiira asked, shifting her weight.

“Of course,” I told her, my curiosity piqued.

What could she possibly want this late?

Without another word, she disappeared through the arched entry to Xannirin’s tower. We trekked up a few flights before she stopped at her door. Kiira’s rooms looked untouched, and though they weren’t as fine as Rokath’s, they were still cozy and clean. Shutting us in, she clicked the lock into place. Then, she pressed her ear to the wood as if she were listening for any sign of someone following us.

What did she know that I did not?

Suspicion twisted my gut, and I remained still and silent, waiting for her next move. A few moments passed with no sound, and finally she stepped away from the door.

“I need to talk to you,” she said, aiming for one of the plush seats in a ring by the windows.

Yet when she settled herself in it, she fidgeted, not quite able to get comfortable. On hesitant feet, I approached, easing into one beside her. I crossed my legs over one another and twisted my ring around my finger, wondering what had the High Priestess so agitated.

“Is everything okay?” I ventured, hoping to prompt her into speaking.

“Well…no.” She looked at her hands, shoulders slumping inward. “Do you remember our first solo conversation?”

“When we were in the garden?” I clarified. She nodded. “I do.” We’d talked about why I didn’t want to be a priestess, the pain I’d endured at the hands of my dead husband, and my future in the Demon Realm. She’d promised to find out information about Olrus…

My throat thickened at the thought of my friend, burned for protecting my secret. That also reminded me of Izgath, and another wave of guilt swept up from the deep.

“Did you not tell me everything in your letter?” I choked out.

She whipped her head up, concern etching her face. “Fates, no, this isn’t about you. I’m sorry, I should have clarified. It’s about…me.”

Relief washed through me before my mind caught up to Kiira’s words and worry replaced it. “Has something happened?”

She swallowed hard, burgundy eyes growing glassy. She looked up to the ceiling and dragged in a serrated breath. “It was so much easier to ignore it, you know?”

“Kiira…” I breathed, my voice softening with sorrow.

“I haven’t told Rokath and Xannirin yet, and I don’t know, I just…can’t. They’d look at me differently.” She finally met my gaze, and the tears had already fallen. I wiped them gently from her face.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I asked, closing the distance between us.

“I think I need to talk about it with someone who understands,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I’m here,” I promised her, rubbing soothing strokes over her forearm with my thumb.

“You won’t know him, but he’s one of the more prominent nobles in the realm. He holds a lot of sway with the others, and he produces much of what we need in the realm.” She paused, fingers digging into the tops of her thighs. “Why did I drink what he offered me?” Her voice cracked on that question, and she folded in on herself, burying her face in her hands. Sobs wracked her frame, and I moved my ministrations to her back. Letting her know I was there. That I saw her pain.

“I thought Xannirin would blame me,” she choked out. “If he believed me at all.”

“Why would he not?” I asked.

“The male who raped me helped us build all of this,” she replied. “We couldn’t have done it without him, Assyria. We knew it was a risk…”

She straightened, but I didn’t release her. She needed to know that there was nothing wrong with her. That I didn’t view her differently for what had happened to her. To me. “And you’re worried that Xannirin will deny it happened because of how important he is to the realm.”

“Yes,” Kiira breathed, her voice haunted.

I let out a long sigh. “From what I know of Rokath, he’d believe you. In fact, he’d probably decide to ride to Uzzhorod and slit that fuckers throat the moment you told him.”

A watery laugh escaped Kiira. “That sounds exactly like something he’d do.”

“Males,” I said, expression softening with love and understanding. I hoped Kiira saw it all.

“Males,” she echoed, a soft smile rising to her lips.

“You have nothing to be ashamed of, Kiira.”

“Then why do I feel like I do?” she asked softly.

“Because that’s what they’d done to us for centuries. Made us feel like we’re beneath them. Like we deserve whatever we get. Like we are powerless.” The sentences burst out of me with all the anger I’d suppressed trying to be someone I was not. “And that is why I’m here, you’re here, now. We’re ready for this change.”

“We have to stick together. All of us,” Kiira croaked, and I knew she meant the priestesses she’d brought with her, despite what the fucking Kral wanted.

“We will. United, we can stand against what the males think we should be. We will fucking show them,” I promised her. “Plus, we have Rokath and Rapp on our sides too. My mate can be pretty frightening when he wants to be.”

Kiira snorted. “In only a few days, I’ve seen a side to him that he hasn’t shown since he was so, so young. That’s all because of you.”

“I know. I can be relentless when I want to be. Which is pretty much all the time,” I laughed, flicking my braid over my shoulder.

“That is a quality we need right now,” Kiira stated. “Thank you, Assyria. For helping me see.”

“Thank you, Kiira, for sharing with me. For believing me when I told you,” I said, pulling her in for a fierce hug. “I’m so sorry you had to go through it too.”

“Just tell me I’ll get through it,” she said, resting her head on my shoulder.

“You will. Anytime you need to talk, I’m here. And I won’t tell anyone either,” I swore. “But I do think you should speak to your cousins about this. It might be what Xannirin needs to hear to crack. Or for Rokath to kill him. One of the two.”

Kiira wiped her nose, holding back a glimmer of amusement. “Fates, Rokath would be a terrible Kral.”

“There’s nothing he’d hate more,” I agreed. “But to protect us, he’d do it.”

We remained like that for a moment, me studying Kiira, and Kiira soaking in whatever assurance she needed from me. “I should go before Rokath worries.”

“Yes, please go if you need to. I’ll be fine,” she replied, smoothing her hair.

“Are you certain? I can stay if you need me to.”

She shook her head. “I might check on Rapp one last time before bed. Make sure he didn’t overdo it today.”

At that, we both giggled. “Oh, he definitely did.”

As she slipped into the bathing chamber to splash some water on her face, I sat in silent reflection. My heart broke for Kiira and all she’d endured too. Her story renewed my convictions, fueled my fury at our mistreatment. For her, for the others, for every female in the Demon Realm, I’d see these changes through to the end.