Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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Текущая страница: 32 (всего у книги 43 страниц)

“A present from Xannirin,” I stated. “There’s also a note, though none of us spotted it in the split second we looked inside. If you want Rapp or me to extract it for you, we can.”

Kiira’s mouth thinned. Reaching for the box, she brought it closer. She hesitated for only a moment before flicking the latch. Then, with a sigh, she lifted the lid.

A small shriek fled her as she slammed it shut, much like Rapp had done. “Is that what I think it is?” she questioned, her voice shaky.

“Yes,” Rapp replied, taking it from her. “Do you want the note?”

“Later,” she said, her skin taking on a sickly sheen. “I need to go lie down. Assyria, do you need to as well?”

My mate jumped to her feet immediately. “Of course, it’s been a long ride. Rokath, where can we sleep?”

“I’ll show you the way and leave the dogs with you too. Rapp and I need to go help Trol. He’s worked hard enough lately and deserves a break.”

“That he does,” Rapp agreed, rising without a single sway or pained expression.

Thankfully, the nicest rooms were only one passage away from the command center. Trol had secured one for himself, leaving the other three empty for us. I opened the door to the one typically used by the highest ranking officer in residence. It wasn’t anything special compared to how we had been living at the military academy, but it was clean with an attached bathing chamber.

“We’ll have your belongings sent up once we step out,” I promised my cousin and my mate.

“Thanks,” Assyria shot back, her arms around Kiira, who nodded weakly. “I’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

I brushed my lips against her temple, then left the females alone in my room. Rapp fiddled with the rings in his lip as we walked away. “Hold on a second. Left my dagger in the command center.” He trotted off without waiting for a response.

I watched him go, suspicion curling in my gut as I noted the blade attached to his hip, as it always was. Yet I remained still. The chill of the winter mountains crept down my spine. He returned moments later, red-faced and teeth raking over his lip.

“Did you find it?” I asked casually as he strode past me.

“Yes.” The word was short, clipped. I shook my head and let it go as we stepped into the sunshine.

We found Trol and slipped back into our normal army routines like we’d never been away at all. By the time dusk fell, I’d almost forgotten about Rapp’s odd behavior and how severely the Kral felt threatened by my mating bond with Assyria.

Yet dread coiled around my ribs like an icy wire. The Angels hadn’t merely retreated out of our realm into their own. They’d disappeared like locusts at the end of a plague, hidden away until their next attack.

And I had no fucking idea when that was coming.

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47

Ahush fell as I shut us in. Like even the air needed a moment to recover from Xannirin’s “present.” Rokath bled males before my eyes. Gifted me feathers and bones as tokens of his adoration.

Yet this was…different. Disgust curled in my stomach, hot and sour. Kiira’s lower lip trembled, and she swayed on her feet. Stumbling toward the bed, the High Priestess collapsed onto it. A whimper shuddered in her chest, and she clutched at her heart like she could stop it from hurting her.

In two swift strides, I was there, settling beside her. Her locks spilled like ink onto the blankets. I gathered them gently, twisting them into a knot like I was binding her wound that refused to heal. “You’re safe now. He’s dead.”

“I know,” she whispered through a broken sob. “I–I wasn’t ready. Not for that. Not like that.”

Grem and Zeec hopped up to the mattress, tearing a creak from the bedframe. With a low whine, Grem nudged Kiira’s hands, forcing her to put them in his fur. Zeec curled up beside me, his body warm against the chill.

“That makes sense. Feel what you need to feel,” I told her, drawing circles on her back as soft as the petals of a rose. Words I’d once ached to hear, but no one ever spoke. Thankfully for me, finding purpose in leadership, even while I’d been impersonating Vagach, had healed so much of my feeling voiceless.

Learning to fight had done the same for Kiira. Yet the feeling of being powerless, the memories of it, never truly faded completely. Panic gripped my throat as I felt hands around my waist, yanking me away from safety. The smell of blood flooded my nostrils. The stench of alcohol burned my throat. The moment Vagach had been about to rape me before I killed him surfaced, as piercing as it had been when I flashed back to the moment in front of Rokath. He’d grabbed me from behind, triggering the visceral reaction, but instead of hurting me, he’d pulled me back from the abyss. Told me to find him in the dark.

“Does it make you feel better that Xannirin did it?” I murmured, smoothing back her hair.

She shook her head, cries softening into hiccups. “I don’t know that I want to read his note either.”

“I can read it for you, if you want.”

An exhale, shaky and slow, slipped out of her as she sat upright. With the back of her long sleeves, she dried her eyes. I went to the bathing chamber and returned with a cloth. She blew her nose into it before casting it aside like it carried too much. “No. I should. Just not today.”

“Fair enough.” I heeled out of my dirty boots. Kiira sat forward and yanked hers off. They plopped against the floor, joining mine in a pile. Then she flopped back, arms across her stomach and staring up at the ceiling. Grem rested his head there too, and Kiira absently stroked his fur.

I settled beside her, noting the whorls in the plaster over our heads. The bed itself wasn’t terrible—a little firmer than what we’d slept on in Fured but infinitely better than the rock Rokath called a mattress in the war camp. After weeks of riding, it honestly felt good on my back. I shifted a little and let out a groan as my neck and shoulders started to relax. Zeec huffed against my hair as he made himself comfortable too.

Kiira snickered. “No one tells you how grueling riding all day is.”

“No, they don’t,” I replied. “You’d think I’d be accustomed to it by now.”

“You did have a few months break,” Kiira pointed out.

“True.” I paused for a moment, weighing my next words. “Do you want to talk about what happened any more?”

Kiira was silent for a long moment. I turned my head to look at her, watching the tears spill over her cheeks. “I think just sitting here would be nice.”

“That I can do,” I promised, reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze.

When I moved it away, she grabbed it again and held it. I offered her whatever comfort I could then, so fucking glad I could give her what I never received.

Solidarity. Understanding. Love.

The very things I’d once begged the Fates for. Reaching a hand to the skies to save me from the prison of Vagach’s house. Gripping the earth like I could dig my way to my home and away from the torture of being married to him. Shrieking into a pillow as my family perished one by one.

And all they’d given me was their backs. Silence. Stillness.

Until now.

A tear carved down my cheek. Another coated the back of my throat in salt. I choked on them as savage, repressed emotions clawed up from the depths of my being.

Rokath appeared in my mind like a beacon in the dark. “I’m so sorry you suffered, Assyria, and that I played a part in that during our initial encounters. I hope my devotion to you now shows you all the love you desire and more. I will spend every day proving that you are not just wanted. You are cherished.”

“It does,” I told him, my voice weak. More hot tears swept from my eyes. “Never stop.”

“Never,” he swore. “You’re mine. To protect even if I must rip the world apart for you. To crave like I do my next breath. To possess until all you know is my name. In this life, in the next, and the one after, where I will find you bleeding and broken and burn whomever dared to make you feel that you are anything less than a fucking alter upon which to worship.”

His words rewound time and pieced the fractures of me back together. Overcome, all I could do was send warmth back through our bond before the tide dragged me out. Wave after wave crashed through me—of grief, of rage, of trauma. Kiira held my hand tighter, and together, we wept for everything we’d lost. Everything we’d had to suffer because of our sex.

“United, we are stronger,” I murmured through a throat thick with emotion.

“We are,” she whispered back.

“Xannirin freed the fallen,” I rasped. “He made rape a crime punishable by death.”

She turned over then, and I mirrored her. Her eyes were puffy and red, no doubt a reflection of my own. “He did?”

I nodded, another wash of tears dripping onto the bed. “Apparently, many volunteered to join those going to the wall.”

A half-smile tugged up the corner of her mouth. “Who wouldn’t? When the alternative is being forced to do something you don’t want.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying all along,” I laughed, the sound coarse and watery.

We hugged each other then, silent witnesses to the changes occurring because of our insistence. Because we were tired of being used, abused, and broken, all for the male’s gains. When we separated, I dried my eyes. “Fuck, I really need to wash my face now.”

Kiira laughed, pushing herself upright. “And your mouth with soap. You curse like the soldiers who have served for decades now.”

I couldn’t deny that. “At least once a day, I realize I sound exactly like Rokath. Barking orders, making thinly veiled threats, intimidating the soldiers.”

Kiira followed me into the bathing chamber. A deep tub stood against one wall, while a basin and mirror greeted us straight ahead. Between the two was a chamber pot, thank the Fates. I’d had enough of latrines for my entire lifetime. I turned the taps and filled the washbasin so we could both wipe the grime and tear stains away.

“He’s starting to sound like you too. Stopping to consider others’ feelings on the matter,” Kiira commented, finding another cloth to dry her face and tossing me one too.

“I guess that’s the point of a mating bond, isn’t it? Two souls becoming one.”

“It brings out the best of both of you. Holds the rest of us to a higher standard. Shows the world what true devotion is. Makes us believe in sacred bonds.” Kiira listed off a litany of other repercussions to our blessing.

My mind flashed to the portrait Kiira had insisted Rokath and I do before our departure. The copy I had in my bags. The moment stood so clearly in my mind, I didn’t even need to look at it again to bring back the feelings that standing over the bloody battlefield, staring up at my mate, had evoked.

That drawing was supposed to spread the mythos of the two of us like wildfire. I sincerely hoped it did. It was so different, wanting to be seen, rather than trying to hide.

I squared my shoulders and looked at myself in the mirror.

The girl who once sought refuge among the garden plants, praying for her violent husband to pass her by, flickered behind my reflection. But I didn’t look away. I saw her, acknowledged the part she played in my story. Thanked her for never giving up.

Because if she had, I wouldn’t be standing here, on the precipice of winning a war, with my mate by my side.

You’ve got this, Assyria.

It was time for me to display the true fire that lay inside me. To bring the males of this army to their knees in veneration of my power.

But most importantly, it was time to make the Angels fear me too.

This time, I wouldn’t just survive; I’d lead. With Kiira, with the former priestesses, with the fallen…we’d carve a new future in blood.

“Ready to take our rightful place as leaders during this war?” I asked the High Priestess, who had suffered as much as any of us for Xannirin’s ambition. For the war waged against the Angels. For being the only female to stand against her two male cousins.

“I am,” she replied, shaking her hair out. Then, she twisted it around her finger and secured it at the base of her neck with a leather strip. “May the Weaver open wide our path. May the Giver bless our magic so that it never fails us. May the Reaper turn her eye onto the Angels. May the Fates witness our rise and bolster our success.”

Each prayer, struck like a war drum, reverberated in my bones. “May your thread hold strong, High Priestess.”

Kiira’s answering grin was as vicious as my own. “May your gift never fade, Szélhámos.”

With disjointed groans, Grem and Zeec rose, shaking out their fur. Their nails clicked as they landed on the floor. Kiira and I pulled on our boots, and I secured my helmet again, before we slipped into the hall.

Shouts dragged us outside like a rope around our waists. This transition, yet again, would not be an easy one, but we’d already done it once, and we’d certainly be able to do it again.

They’d buried us before, thinking we were weak.

Not realizing they were planting fire-mouthed, thorny seeds.

And now, we’d bloom by their side in battle—sharp, devious, and wicked.

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48

“I’ve been fighting in this army for ten years. Survived too many battles to count. All without a female ‘watching my back’ with her magic,” a Vezető snarled down at me.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You will speak to me with respect. I am the Szélhámos,” I hissed. Kiira stood by my side, her posture similar to my own as we faced off with this group of detractors. Grem and Zeec flanked us, the latter raising his hackles at the offending male.

Rokath and Rapp were elsewhere, dealing with messes of their own. Apparently, in all our time away, many had forgotten my mate’s departing decree. Factions had formed within battalions, those more welcoming of additional aid, while others, like this stupid male, were seasoned and hardened against the violence. They’d been in so long and so deep they couldn’t see anything outside of swinging their blades.

He scoffed, a sharp, derisive sound that made me want to curl my lips back from my teeth and bite. “A leadership position you did not earn. You were merely given it because you fucked the Halálhívó.”

Fury ravaged the last scrap of my patience. “That’s it,” I muttered under my breath. Vicious obsidian burst from my hands, swirling around us in a frenzied display of my power. One section lashed out and wrapped around the male’s throat, lifting him off the ground. His feet flailed through the air. “I am the mate of the Halálhívó. And you’ve been serving long enough to know that his wrath is not something you want to incur. Not that I need him here to protect me. I am certainly capable of that on my own.”

Twisting my left hand, I snaked more magic beneath his pants and wrapped them around his pathetic balls. His scarlet eyes bulged so hard I thought they might pop out of his head. In a desperate attempt to break my hold, he called upon his own power. But it was no match for mine.

For me.

I was their final reckoning. Should they fail to submit, they’d never get another chance to die at the hands of the Angels.

“Guard,” I commanded the dogs. They leaped forward, backs bowed as they barked up at the Vezető.

A sarcastic laugh slipped out of me, and I turned my attention to those surrounding us. “If anyone else has anything to say, I’m more than happy to offer you similar treatment.”

Hard eyes in weak-powered shades of red stared back at me. Jaws were held tight, as if many were attempting to restrain themselves from speaking. I threw the first offender away without a second thought, then yanked those few to me. They stumbled to their hands and knees, and Grem and Zeec circled them like they were nothing more than sheep, ensuring they wouldn’t escape their pen. I went to the male in the middle and pressed my boot into his fingers.

He glared up at me. “Being his mate still doesn’t mean you’ve earned our respect.”

I put more weight into my foot. To his credit, he didn’t flinch.

“Allow me to demonstrate why you should then.” Inhaling deeply, I tugged on the threads of my magic and wielded my secondary power. In a split second, the Halálhívó himself stood before them. The crowd took a collective step back. With more bulk on my body, two of the male’s fingers cracked, and a string of curses fled his lips.

I stepped away, having proven my point. Then, shadows swirled again, leaving the Myrza who attacked Fured standing before them.

Kiira snapped her fingers at the males. “Behold the Szélhámos and all the magic the Giver blessed her with. The Weaver crossed the Halálhívó’s path with hers for a reason. It is time for you to profess your trust in their divine creations.”

After our conversation the previous night, she looked far healthier. Divinity glowed from her as she owned her role as High Priestess. Command exuded from her like she alone decided who would receive the Fates’ blessings. Maintaining her judgmental glare, she yanked a ceremonial dagger from her side, the hilt embedded with glittering diamonds. With a simple flick of her wrist, she proffered it to the gathered males. One brow raised, challenge carved into her posture, she dared them to deny her.

They shifted, looking at their companions as if they were waiting for someone else to make the first offering.

Fucking males.

“You,” I pointed to one of the kneeling offenders. “Will you sacrifice your blood to the Fates? Thank them for keeping you alive only to defy their grand plans?”

Shakily, he sat back on his heels, staring at me with wide-eyed trepidation. Understandable since I was still wearing the form of the Angel. With a sigh, I let it go. Shoulders softened and tension bled from their frames.

“The Fates don’t want obedience. They want devotion. They want willingly-given sacrifices. Do it now if you want the Reaper’s eye to pass over you.”

Begrudgingly, he pulled his own dagger from his hip. Glancing between Kiira and me, he sliced across his palm, then squeezed into a fist. A pattering of crimson dripped down his hand and onto the earth.

“Anyone else?” I groused, popping out a hip and narrowing my eyes on the gathered unit. More drew their blades and made similar, albeit small, offerings.

“The Fates will shine their favor upon you in the next battle. For they reward those who are faithful to the paths they weave,” Kiira explained, each word slow and pronounced like they were fucking younglings.

I had to smother a snort.

At least she sounds convincing.

That encouraged a few more contributions, until everyone had at least let a few drops of blood hit the ground.

“Excellent. I shall inform the Halálhívó that your unit does not require additional discipline,” I told them, my voice a mix of snark and sweetness.

Without deigning to wait for a response, I spun on my heel and prowled to the next pennant in the battalion. Kiira fell into an unhurried step beside me, her expression serene compared to my irritated one.

A series of snarls vibrated in Grem and Zeec’s throats before they joined us in navigating the complex maze of the war camp. Trotting ahead, their tongues lolled, and their eyes glittered as if the whole encounter had been an exciting game for them.

“I think we convinced Szarvas squad,” I reported to Rokath.

“Good. Who is left?” he asked. His directness was expected, though I still wished he’d offered a little more sympathy after another squad had been such assholes. They made the Rokath I’d first met look innocent in comparison.

“Zolom,” I replied. At least my mate allowed me to force them to see my value on my own, rather than threatening them on my behalf. This was the level of autonomy I’d always desired, and that Rokath was holding back the parts of him that wanted to shield me from the vitriol of these males spoke volumes.

“Good luck. Let me know if you need my assistance.”

“Will do.” I focused my attention on the tents looming ahead of us, dragging in a steadying breath. A smattering of caws drew my attention overhead, and I noted three crows high in the blue sky. Kiira’s attention too was drawn there.

“The Fates,” she murmured quietly.

“Something is about to happen,” I replied, coming to a stop.

“Why do you say that?” She whirled, studying me with pointed intent.

“Because ever since Rokath’s soldiers arrived in Stryi to conscript, three crows have appeared at every major turning point in my life.”

We looked at each other for a long moment as Kiira processed that information. “Let’s speak more about this later.”

I nodded, and we continued onto the Zolom section. The Százados waited beneath the flag, an anxious look on his face. “Szélhámos,” he greeted me with a salute. For Kiira, he swept into a bow. “High Priestess.”

We acknowledged him in turn. “Where are they?” I asked.

“Just beyond those tents. But, Szélhámos, they are a bit agitated. There’s one male in particular who is vehemently opposed and he has been stirring up the others all day,” he said, unable to hide the nervousness in his tone.

“And you have been unable to bring your soldier to heel?” I asked.

“I’ve tried, I swear. He’s just…always been a bit on the aggressive side. It serves him well in battle. Not so much in camp. There’s a reason he’s never been promoted,” he explained. He picked at his nails for a moment before shaking his hands out and tucking them behind his back.

“Understood.” I blew out a long breath, looking up to the cloudless sky.

Just one more idiotic soldier to deal with. He’s nothing compared to me.

“Heel,” I commanded the hounds, and they followed us deeper into this section.

It didn’t take long until I heard the would-be orator in action. “...they’re smaller, weaker, slower than us. And their magic? Come on, we all know that even if they have the same color eyes, or darker, they still can’t wield like we can.”

“Fucking asshole,” I muttered under my breath.

“I was going to say righteous prick, but that works too,” Kiira commented, her tone turning sour.

“Ready for this?” I asked her as we neared the tent from which the sound emerged.

“As I’ll ever be.” Then, she forcefully smacked the flap back, bursting into the room like she owned it. I entered with similar bravado, the dogs winging me.

The voices ceased immediately, and my attention locked on the male with eyes of a blood red shade standing at the head of them.

“Kneel,” I ordered, lifting my voice and imbuing it with threat.

A few had the good sense to. Others, not so much.

“If it isn’t the fake-fallen herself,” he sneered. His hair was cropped short, nearly baring his scalp, though he boasted a thick beard. One side of his face was heavily scarred, along with one of his forearms, like he’d been too long in a fire before being yanked out.

But he didn’t frighten me in the least.

I yanked my sleeves back, exposing the H carved into my wrists. “I see no F here, soldier.”

“That’s why I said fake,” he spat. “What a flimsy story the Halálhívó told about you.”

A malicious smile spread across my face. “I doubt you’d say that to him directly.”

“I certainly would. He should hear what we really think rather than forcing his decrees on us, especially when the majority disagree!” he protested, shaking his fist in the air and looking around him like he was rousing his comrades into action.

I dove into the well of my magic again and pulled Rokath’s form over mine. He didn’t flinch, which pissed me off. “Speak the words again.” My voice was all gravel and violence, exactly like Rokath’s.

The male seemed unperturbed. “Your story about your supposed mate was as thin as the air in Uzhhorod. I can’t believe he sacrificed fifty thousand of us to save you.”

I gritted my teeth, trying to find it within me not to kill him.

Fuck, was there even a difference between Rokath and me anymore?

Releasing my magic, I returned to myself. “How many did you lose? Enough to hate those who survived? Those who would fight by your side?”

“We all lost thousands,” he snapped. “This offer of more magic to protect us is horseshit. I see through the lies now.”

I cocked my head, pressing my lips together to smother a smile. I failed intentionally. After all, I’d learned a thing or two from Rokath about the power of appearances. Might as well use my expressive face to my advantage since I didn’t possess Rokath’s ability to appear unaffected by everything around me.

“Do you?” I said, each word dripping condescension. “Or are you simply grieving and want someone else to blame?”

The male’s face turned a bright shade of red. “What would you know about loss?”

“Plenty,” I snarled, my patience a mere gossamer.

“The Weaver and Reaper had plans for them,” Kiira cut in before it snapped entirely. “Just like the Fates have plans for all of us. The Halálhívó and Szélhámos took the time to burn each of their bodies to send them onto their next lives, where they will be blessed greatly for their sacrifices.”

The male scoffed at that too. “Whatever you say, High Priestess, your magic is as useless here as hers.” He indicated me with a jerk of his chin.

“Unfortunately, we might need your help,” I sent down the bond, then sliced my focus back to the male. “If the next words out of your mouth are not an apology for your disrespect, I’ll have you taken to the whipping post.”

His lips curled back, revealing the extra sharpened teeth that males who’d served for decades liked to file. “I’d like to see you try.” Then he spit a wad of saliva at my feet.

Kiira and I shared a long look. “Escort,” I snapped at the hounds. They weren’t the source of my anger, but I had no energy to put into tempering my tone when all of it had to be directed at maintaining order among these males.

Grem lunged for him, nipping at his heel. The asshole sidestepped into Zeec, swinging for my babies.

But before I could unleash my magic on the fucker for daring to touch my dogs, a heavy thud quaked the ground beneath our feet.

A second later, Rokath and Rapp burst inside, the former emanating fury hot enough to scorch the tent to ashes. His attention landed like a warhammer on the male standing at the front, facing off with us.

“Is there a problem?” he growled, the overt threat in his tone raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

The majority of gathered soldiers blanched and shrank back. Yet the blood-eyed male puffed up his chest like he was going to stand up to the Halálhívó. “I’m tired of your pretense. You get to fuck but the rest of us don’t. You have all these rules, and yet you break them all.”

Rokath took a menacing step forward, somehow growing even more massive at the outright challenge. “If you believe you could lead this army better,” his voice was low and promised violence, “then fight me for it. To the death. No one has managed to kill me yet, so if you do, then you might have earned the position.”

Only then did the male seem to lose some of his bravado. He swallowed hard, making his throat bob.

“Not so fearless now, are we?” I taunted, unable to help myself. Rokath cut his attention toward me in warning. I lifted a shoulder and dropped it in turn.

The male’s glare hardened again. “Name the time and place.”

“Now and in the barrack’s yards. We will have an audience witness your demise and the consequences of threatening the stability of this army,” Rokath bit out. Then, he sliced dagger-like glares over the rest of the gathered warriors. “I will fight any of you who wish to dispute the order. Step forward now if you wish to follow this idiot into the next life.”

No one did.

“Go and tell your comrades where to gather,” he gritted out, pointing to the exit. All hurried past us without needing further encouragement.

“Come on, dumbass,” Rapp said, throwing two thick black ropes around the blood-eyed male with a lazy flick of his wrist. Bound, with his magic locked down, Rapp marched him out of the tent. Kiira, Rokath, and I fell into step behind them. Rapp paraded him through the thoroughfares of the camp like a prized hog. The dogs trotted on either side, snapping at those who got too close.

By the time we reached the yard, the crowd was so thick Rokath and Rapp had to shout for them to part. Males and females pressed against the bars around it, and many spread up onto the hills for a better view. A few dared perch on the roof of the barracks too, while more hovered overhead, the occasional flap of their wings keeping them aloft.

I grinned up at Maariya, Izzenna, and Vokkia, who yanked their sleeves back and exposed their devious eye tattoos. The sight twisted my lips into a vicious grin. All around me, others did the same, a cry of Szélhámos tearing from their throats.

I shrugged off my jacket, bearing my tattoo and my brands for all to see. That only elicited more shouts of my name.

The gathered males stared at our arms, then at one another. This was the first time we confronted them with our solidified power. Showed them that we were our own unified front. That our rage had a place among theirs.

Rapp threw the male down in the center of the sand, releasing the binds with a wave of his hand. Kiira and I found spots at the edge of the yard, beneath the overhang of the barracks. Rokath stalked toward him, removing his helmet and the armor covering the top half of his body in an extra show. He handed the pieces to his Hadvezér.

The High Priestess didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her silence alone was a verdict to the faithful. Her stillness was essentially a death sentence for this male.

With predatory slowness, my mate drew his sword from its scabbard. The sheath he tossed to the side before flipping the blade that had already claimed countless lives. The garnet embedded in the eyes of the skull on the pommel glinted in the sun. The detractor scrambled to his feet, drawing his own weapon—a standard issue sword without the extra features that Rokath’s had. It was flimsy, to use his own word against him, in comparison.

“There will be no breaks. No mercy. From the moment we start, the ending is only death,” Rokath pronounced, loud enough for those close to hear. They relayed it back through the crowd.

Then, he raised the dark blade. With shaking hands, the offender did the same.

“On my mark,” Rapp shouted out, nearly startling me. Somehow, during all of Rokath’s posturing, he’d returned to our side.