Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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57

The black army pennant whipped from the apex the guard towers flanking me. Atop the wall, we stood, gazing down on the hillside below. Ice, like long veins, dug into the rocks. A lone Angel female approached on horseback, her white hair pulled tight against her head. Beside me, Assyria shifted forward, much fucking better after almost dying yet again. At our backs, the Deathveiled and officers were poised, ready to strike should more of her comrades decide to spring a surprise attack on us even after waving the green flag.

I wouldn’t put it past them simply because I’d do the same.

Two days had passed since our latest raid. It had taken one to extract all the information we needed from the Padisa. Much to my pleasure, she’d revealed Zaph was among the group facing us. It was almost comical how quickly she’d given that morsel away. He was such a fucking parasite that even most of the Angel officers didn’t like him.

I couldn’t wait to slaughter him. To pick off his wings one by one. To rip his bones from within his flesh and add his skull to Assyria’s throne—the final piece to complete it. It was no less than he deserved for hurting my mate.

The Angel slowed her mount, craning her neck up, up, up the high wall. Her throat bobbed as she beheld the contingent of Demons waiting for her. With shaking hands, she reached into her cloak and produced a note. Holding it high in the air and turning it about, she announced, “Zahal Ishim wishes for you to read this, Halálhívó!”

Her voice was high and thin, and her eyes bounced around as if she were worried we’d jump down from above and drink her blood. Which, knowing what lies the Angels spread about us, was probably what she believed.

With a jerk of my chin, I directed Izzenna to fetch the paper for me. Black wings unfurled from her back, and she launched into the air, gliding in a lazy circle to the base of the wall.

The white mare neighed and retreated as she landed. Ignoring the beast, Izzenna reached for the note. The Angel female handed it to her by the tips of her fingers like she carried a lethal disease that would kill her simply from breathing the same air.

Izzenna wasted no time dusting her with dirt and returning to the wall. Landing in front of Assyria and me, she dropped into a kneeling stance and held out the parchment.

My blood thrummed with heady anticipation as I unfolded the note. Assyria edged closer and peered at it with me.

Fuck you, Halálhívó. How dare you take another from me? This time, there will be no mercy for your mate. We will string her up and bleed her dry like the animal she is. Then, we’ll make a great show of sacrificing her to the Goddess.

Tomorrow at high sun, meet on the wall. I want to see these Angels who have supposedly switched to supporting the Demons. Who have abandoned their faith and chosen to support your false idols. The figments of your imaginations.

As you know, the punishment for such actions in the Angel Realm is quartering, and the Koron and Korona wish to make an example of them. I have something you will want in return.

Zahal Ishim

I snorted and shook my head. We’d meet here, as he requested, but there was nothing he could trade me for our prisoners—mostly because they were all dead or close to it. But he didn’t know that, not yet. Assyria had been doing a damn good job of playing the part.

Each poisonous word revealed how thoroughly I’d rattled him. How I’d carved the perfect opportunity to create further disruption in their ranks. To plant dark seeds of doubt in the minds of those who accompanied him.

His desperation was blood in the water, and I was a predator who scented each drop of it. Let him wear the mask of dominance if it made him feel in control.

Because we both knew the truth.

He never stood a chance against me.

I stepped forward, my attention settling heavily over the Angel messenger. “Tell Ishim he will have his meeting tomorrow.”

She nodded, then yanked on the reins and steered her horse back the way she’d come.

The Angels squinted as I threw open the doors to the room where we’d been holding them. Banand shot Araquiel a sharp look before approaching me. “What did the Zahal say?”

“He wants to meet tomorrow,” I announced. Then, I stared his mate down. “Bring the prisoner to the main building. We need to talk.”

“What about me?” the Padisa hissed, stomping to the edge of her cell and gripping the bars. Blood caked one side of her face, though it was more healed than it had been the previous evening.

“Have you decided to switch sides?” My question was sharp, direct, and piercing.

She bared her teeth in response. “Never. Ishim will come for me and I won’t disappoint him by doing that to survive.”

I grunted and turned away from her. “Let’s go,” I told Banand, then stalked into the valley. Everyone else was already in the primary building, waiting for us. Assyria had offered to fetch them with me, but I wanted to speak to the pair alone.

The late afternoon sun flitted through the sparse trees, warming what little skin showed through my heavy clothes. With the new year upon us, the seasons would change soon, though in the high peaks of the Skala Mountains, that came far later than in Uzhhorod or any of the other cities in the Demon Realm.

Araquiel blinked rapidly as the light hit her turquoise eyes. Banand kept his hand on her upper arm, despite her attempt to jerk it out of his hold. The tension between them was thick enough to slice with a sword. She stumbled, and the tender way he kept her from falling, the way they glared at one another after, struck me like a blow. It reminded me so much of Assyria and I when we’d first been forced together.

“Halálhívó,” Araquiel greeted me coolly when they came to a stop in front of me.

I glanced around us to ensure we were alone. No one seemed to want to be outside, even though the sun was shining.

“Have you coupled?” I demanded, not bothering with niceties.

“My body is not yours to command,” she snarled, embers sparking behind her eyes. “It is no business of yours.”

“It is when the two of you are living in my camp,” I snapped back. “It is when both of you pose a risk, and your bond even more so.”

I shifted my focus to Banand. “I remember how the bond screamed at me to claim my mate. It was an incessant, unrelenting beast. It took tremendous self control to resist it, and I know the challenge was far more difficult for me than it was for the Szélhámos. So have you?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. “No.”

My brows climbed my forehead. Months had passed since their bond snapped into place. I’d barely held out a week.

“I do not trust him,” Araquiel hissed, the mask she’d worn since her capture slipping.

“Nor I her. But this fucking bond…” Banand planted a fist in the center of his chest, and I understood his meaning without him having to explain further. “I can’t stay away. She never has been able to either.”

She yanked her arm out of his grasp and crossed her shackled wrists. “These haven’t exactly been conducive either.”

“Nor was being in a cage,” he shot back. The heat between them was scorching. Banand leaned in, ever so slightly, like he wanted to capture her mouth to force her to close her furious, blazing eyes.

“What would it take?” The conversation was devolving, and I needed an answer before it fractured entirely.

Their attention sliced to me. But it was Araquiel who spoke. “What do you mean?”

My nostrils flared as I exhaled. “What would it take for you to fuck?” I snapped, my patience wearing thin. “For you to let him take you, and for you to take her?”

Banand ground his teeth. Araquiel stabbed him with a hateful glare. Both spoke at once, but I held up a hand, silencing them. “Ishim has requested a meeting for tomorrow. He wants to see the traitors for himself so he can tell the Koron and Korona all about it. Maybe even return to Sivy with a few.”

I let the information hang in the air like an executioner’s blade. The mates paled. For the first time, Araquiel’s animosity bled away, replaced by unfiltered terror.

“Unless you can figure out a way forward, where Araquiel can comfortably insert herself on the Demon side, she’ll go with them.”

Banand’s face turned a dark shade of red and he lunged for me. But I was prepared, having been challenged over my mate as well, and I caught his arm and twisted it behind his back. Holding him close to my chest, I looked over his shoulder at Araquiel. Her face was a light shade of green, like she was going to heave up the contents of her stomach.

“Threats are no way to make me believe you aren’t an animal,” she said, but her voice was weak. The barest hint of clinking metal reached my ears.

“Do you truly believe that?” I asked her. Banand snarled and jerked in my hold, so I wrapped an arm around his throat, cutting off the blood to his brain.

She watched him slip from consciousness with horror in her eyes. I wouldn’t kill him—it was all a test for the two of them. One both were currently failing.

A scream caught in her throat, and she clutched it like it was her air scraping to be let in.

“Stop! Please!” She surged forward like something sacred was ripping from her chest. She leaped toward her mate like she could snatch him from me and ferry him to safety.

But she was no match for my might.

“Answer my question,” I commanded.

“No! I don’t! Have not I given you information enough?” she burst out, her grammar in the common tongue crumbling.

Immediately, I loosened my hold on Banand, who fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air. Araquiel went to his side, brushing his hair out of his face and checking on him with unexpectedly tender care.

I crouched down, still more massive than both of them. “So what will it take?” My voice was low, deadly, dangerous. “Alcohol? Lust? The threat of death? Will it take watching each other die before you admit what’s already been done?”

Banand sat back on his heels and grasped Araquiel’s hand. He held her gaze, deep enough that I almost felt like an intruder in their intimate moment. In a way, I was, because I’d caused it, forcing their hand rather than waiting on them to work it out.

“You’re already mated. The bond is unraveling you, piece by piece. Shredding your sanity. And when the next battle comes, you can bleed together or bleed alone.”

Banand’s throat worked like he was swallowing glass. “This is not easy. I never saw myself in this position. Everything I thought I knew was thrown into question. But this is happening for a reason.”

Araquiel nodded, rolling her lips like she was trying to hold back a sob. “My people would execute me for this bond alone. They’d call me cursed. It is the gravest sin to lie with a Demon,” she admitted. She looked at her mate like he was a puzzle her Goddess needed her to solve. “I don’t know. How do I walk away from everything I’ve ever been taught and choose you?”

“Together. You move forward together.” I straightened to my full height. “And you move forward under the Demon banner. Because we will not kill you, Araquiel. Not if you and Banand accept the blessing of your bond. Would your people offer him the same kindness?”

A tear spilled over and tracked down her cheek as she shook her head. “But what about after? If you win?”

“When we win, you will have a home on this continent. Believe it or not, our goal was never complete extermination,” I told her. Banand nodded in confirmation. “If we needed to stamp out every Angel to ensure our survival, we’d do that. If we could cut off the head of the snake and everyone else would fall in line, then we’d do that. You can make the latter a possibility.”

Banand helped her to her feet. To my surprise—and his—she went straight into his arms. With her wrists bound, she couldn’t wrap him in an embrace, but burying herself into his chest was as close as she could get. Her mate, on the other hand, broke, clutching her to him like she was the most precious thing in the world.

As he fucking should.

I massaged my temples, a headache pounding behind my eyes. “Whenever you are ready to accept the full force of your bond, you can remove her shackles. After that, she doesn’t need them any longer.”

“Thank you,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

“Take one of the rooms on the upper floor after our meeting. I’ll ensure no one else bothers you. Then tomorrow,” I paused, waiting for Araquiel to look at me. She did, her eyes rimmed with red. “You will stand by us. You will show Ishim and whomever else he brings with him that we treat our prisoners far better than they treat ours. You will fucking lie and go along with everything I say, true or not. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Halálhívó,” she affirmed. Stepping away from Banand, she awkwardly offered me a Demon-style salute.

“Good. I’ll see you in the meeting room in ten minutes. If you do not show up in that time, I will send out a search party for both of you. You will not come back from that alive.” With the threat still hanging in the air, I spun on my heel and made the remaining trek to the primary building. I didn’t feel the least bit guilty as I ascended the stairs, coming face to face with my mate.

“Do you think they will?” she asked, her voice lilting and full of hope.

Devious little thing, spying through our bond.

“There’s nothing like the threat of death to make you realize what really matters.” I grabbed her waist and tugged her to me. We both knew the reality of that all too well. I planted a kiss on her forehead, then looped my arm over her shoulders and steered her toward the command room.

“I hope so. I like Araquiel. She reminds me of me before I let myself love you. They could be good together if they’d just allow it to happen,” she sighed, leaning into me.

Similar words, spoken by Rapp, rang in my head. It had been days since we’d had word from him or Trol, and when we were finished here, I planned to find the separated mates and request updates on both fronts. I’d inform them of Ishim’s location and our planned meeting atop the wall.

Settling in a chair, we waited, along with Zurronar, Olet, and the other Parancsok under my command for the bonded to appear. Banand would elevate himself to the fourth position as soon as he’d claimed Araquiel.

Because there was no doubt in my mind that the moment their bodies joined, there would be no going back. They’d both be irrevocably changed, much like Assyria and I had been. Except for Araquiel, there was no return to her people. Perhaps not even her Goddess. Only forward, into a war that might chew them up and spit them out anyway.

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58

White gleamed as the sun parted the clouds. My throne of bones clanked against the hard stone of the wall. I flared my nostrils, trying not to snap at the males arranging it. “Scoot it back a foot,” I managed to instruct without vitriol. Despite the nip of fading winter, sweat slicked my skin. Yet I didn’t dare remove my armor, not when the Angels could burst through the treeline at any moment.

Appearances were everything, as I learned so many centuries ago. My armor, the chair constructed from fallen Angels, the still-living ones standing on our side, would only serve to infuriate Ishim.

Especially when he found a second one with wispy vanes forever crystallized in a thick lacquer. All that was missing from my mate’s matching seat was a skull for the second armrest.

A group of four females carried it forward, the light catching the feathers and making them glitter like diamonds. Their care far exceeded their counterparts. But with the way the former priestesses worshipped the ground Assyria walked on, it wasn’t surprising.

With reverence, they placed it beside mine. One even used her sleeve to buff out a bit of dirt. Satisfied with the placement, I dismissed the group to their respective positions.

The space between the two guard towers was a flurry of activity. Those with the most powerful eye colors framed the thrones, preparing for the Angel contingent’s arrival.

Araquiel and Banand emerged from the depths of one building, and many gave the Angel pointed side-eyes. Yet they knew better than to comment on her presence. The reason they’d been selected wasn’t only for their magic—it was also because they knew the stakes of this meeting. They’d hide their disdain before the zealous arrived.

After all, we had to show the Angels we were better than them. Now, with females among the army, even Angels—though Araquiel was the only one currently convinced—they couldn’t claim moral superiority any longer.

They’d still try.

The Padisa, chained up in one of the guard towers, had refused to break and join us. She was our pawn in the elaborate game Zahal Ishim and I played. Araquiel, in a show of loyalty, had cut out the Angel officer’s tongue to ensure she couldn’t speak during the meeting once she was dragged out.

All the pieces were falling into place. Yet dread still twisted my gut.

For our pretense to succeed, Assyria had to impersonate the dead Myrza. Therefore, someone else had to pretend to be my mate. Izzenna had volunteered, and given she was the only Deathveiled that mildly resembled my mate, we agreed.

The helmet I’d commissioned for Assyria was too small for her, which was a massive blow. Now, we had to pray that they didn’t fully remember the details of my mate’s visage.

Izzenna sauntered up a moment later. She looked almost right—but just enough wrong to make my skin itch. Heavy kohl applied around her lashes, long hair unbound and styled in a wild way, and lips dyed a bright red with berries picked from nearby bushes, her carefully chosen facade was all a distraction from her eyes that were slightly off from the infamous burgundy shade.

My nails bit into my palm as she settled onto Assyria’s chair. “Like this?” she asked me.

“That’s fine,” I told her, keeping my tone even when I really wanted to tell her to get the fuck off of it. “Just let me do the talking. Sit there and glare but don’t make direct eye contact with anyone.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, all military formality.

Olet broke through the throng, his long strides carrying him to my side. “A green flag has been spotted on the Angel’s side.”

Bringing my fingers to my lips, I let out a sharp whistle. Everyone ceased their movements and faced me.

“The time has come,” I growled, my tone threaded with the promise of violence. A hush blanketed the Demons as they readied themselves for the confrontation. Females flicked their hair back. Males rested hands on their weapons.

Grem and Zeec trotted toward me, their lips pulled back from their razor sharp teeth and tails wagging. They tasted the tension in the air like it was their favorite treat.

After commanding them to settle at the feet of the thrones, I risked a glance at the second guard tower, where Assyria, disguised as the Myrza, waited. No windows or slits in stone allowed me to peer into the room where she sat. The bond reassured me that she was there all the same, though our connection was muted, like every time she became an Imposter.

As much as I loathed even an ounce of disconnect from her, I was glad she was already in form and ready to go. A few of the Deathveiled guarded her as an added measure, should the Angels try to sneak in from the other side.

A horn blew, once, twice, three times, the sound pretentious and scraping at my nerves. Too many times had that noise irritated me. Caused me to lose blood and bodies and sanity.

I stalked to the far side of the wall, glaring down at the approaching Angel party. Ishim rode at the head, his dapple gray horse tossing his mane. The metal decor dripping from his reins tinkled. I rolled my eyes at the ostentatious display.

Behind him, the group fanned into a V, spreading through the sparse trees. More emerged behind them, and I made a quick count of their numbers—forty total. Among them, I noted was Korona Ioath’s brother, Vaeron.

My nails dug into my palm.

The male had the power to speak a single word and command all those within earshot to do what he bid. Like other mind magics, the only way to combat it was to plug ears with shadow or have something bite into flesh to ground oneself in reality.

I didn’t want Assyria anywhere near him. Under my breath, I relayed an order to prepare for what Vaeron might do. That he was present now had concern twisting my gut. His sister used him like her personal pet. Rather than assisting Ishim—where his magic would have been most useful—he gallivanted around the Angel Realm. They didn’t call him the Issaraeth, Mindbreaker, for nothing.

Then, I returned my attention to the swarm of insects.

“You requested a meeting,” I tossed down, keeping my tone bored.

The Zahal leaped from his mount, boots thudding against the earth. In three long strides, he was staring up at me. The long plumage at the front of his helm dipped with the motion. Like me, he’d come dressed to make appearances, though his polished silver attire left nothing to be feared, unlike the horns of wicked ebony that curled from the black skull over my face.

He said nothing, just offered me a hateful glare, as more of his companions dismounted and joined him in looking up at us like the Gods we were. I quite liked seeing them beneath me—where they were supposed to be.

“You may approach,” I announced before he could speak again. Spinning on my heel, I stomped toward my seat.

A cold calm settled over me as the whispering of feathers filled the air. I glanced up, finding the sun at its zenith. The shadows they cast were minimal as they landed in front of us, those charged with protecting their leader making a quick assessment of our positions.

Ishim’s focus immediately landed on my throne of bones, then sliced to the one beside it. A muscle jumped in his jaw, visible in the space beneath his helm since it provided no protection whatsoever.

Idiot.

But then, a slow, sinister smile spread across his face. “Halálhívó, you have been busy indeed.”

He snapped twice, and a female emerged from behind Vaeron, carrying a rolled slip of parchment. Kneeling, she handed it to the Zahal. As she returned to her spot, the Korona’s brother tracked her every movement, like he was on the precipice of leaping forward to ensure she didn’t run. The heat in his expression reminded me so much of how I’d first looked at Assyria.

The female’s shoulders were tense beneath her white armor. Silver hair knotted high on her head disguised nothing as she skirted Vaeron, bumping into other soldiers rather than arcing closer to him.

Interesting.

Ishim made a show of unfurling the paper, drawing my attention back to him. He turned it about and glanced between the two bone chairs.

A laugh—more forced than genuine—barked out of him. I wished he’d get on with whatever the fuck he was trying to pull.

“Oh this is good. Divine, even.” His attention returned to me as he let the paper snap shut. He handed it to Vaeron, who tucked it into his breastplate without a second glance, like he had no need to read the script his sister’s menagerie had written. “You see, Halálhívó, our Seers have predicted this moment exactly. This meeting. The second chair made of the bones of our people. You animals are so predictable.”

“So?” I drawled, sinking onto my throne and gripping the skulls at the front. Even in death, his female assisted me in rattling him.

His ice blue eyes flashed with righteous anger before he smoothed his expression again. A deranged grin rose as he crossed his arms. “So, that means the rest of what the Goddess showed her will also come true.”

Unease curdled in my veins, but I forced myself to focus on maintaining my cool, derisive demeanor. My hold on the skulls tightened until I feared they’d crack beneath my palm. “Whatever you think, Ishim. We know how your predictions have gone in the past.”

He lifted a single brow. “Quite well, if I remember all the times we ambushed you correctly.”

I gritted my teeth to contain the words that wanted to bite out. Counting to ten, I willed myself to calm before addressing the Angel’s leader again. “What do you want, Ishim? Other than to retrieve those who you deem traitors?”

I motioned for the males guarding the door to the tower to open it. All the Angels’ attention slipped there as Assyria—impersonating the Myrza—emerged, dragging the tongueless Padisa with her. A dark hood covered her head, and bronze shackled her wrists.

When they stopped between us, Assyria yanked it off, revealing the bruised and broken Angel officer. A gag wedged between her lips, and blood dripped from the corners of her mouth.

Ishim paled. The male he’d sent to Fured to kill our more powerful stood before him, wearing leather Demon armor. Holding one of his own hostage.

“So what do you have to exchange for her?” I prompted. His eyes cut back to me, albeit with much struggle.

“Someone you’d love to carve up again,” he purred like a cat pleased with the mouse it had caught for its master. Then, he shouted over his shoulder, “Bring him.”

Moments later, Zaph, escorted by two others, flew over the wall. His hands, bound in chains much like the Padisa, prevented him from using his magic. The males threw him at my feet, and Zaph looked up at me with even more hate than Ishim.

I laughed—a cold, cruel, violent sound that shattered the serene expressions on the Angel’s faces. “So you finally see how useless he is too?”

Assyria slid into my mind a moment later. “Are you going to trade for him?”

We hadn’t planned on taking any offer, given how much of everything we were faking. The only real person we could trade was the Padisa, who hadn’t really betrayed or converted, despite our attempts to do so. Ishim might still want her regardless.

I nudged the parasite with the toe of my boot to cover my attention diverting to my mental conversation with my mate. “What do you think we should do?”

“If they’ll take the Padisa, then yes. I’m more than ready to claim our vengeance and add his bones to your throne.”

“As am I. Let’s see what other cards Ishim thinks he has to play.” I resisted the urge to smile at her feral, dark tone.

Izzenna, playing the part of Assyria, snorted and shook her head, sneering at the male curled at our feet. Wisely, she covered her face like she was attempting to disguise her laughter as his attention drifted her way.

Ishim’s expression darkened. “Sacrifices must be made for the greater good.”

Three caws sliced the air. My eyes drifted upward, catching the black feathers of the crows before they dipped around a guard tower.

Fuck.

“And that is?” I pressed, worry knotting my gut. The Fates were watching this moment. Testing us. Testing me. One step down the wrong path, and Kiira’s prophecy could change yet again.

I needed to know what Ishim had planned. Needed him to fucking say it rather than forcing me to guess. My strategic mind could have crafted a dozen possibilities, but feigning ignorance had served me in gathering intelligence in the past.

“Extermination of your race. The time has come to slaughter you all, once and for all. Our most powerful Seer,” he gestured to a female standing a few paces behind Vaeron, “has been blessed by the Goddess with the exact way in which it will happen. It starts with you handing over the traitors.”

The Seer’s lips quirked with knowing.

“Why would you tell me that?” I cocked my head to the side, studying him. “If that is truly how our end begins, why would I give them to you?”

“Do you actually believe me?” Ishim taunted, his sinister grin growing.

I didn’t, not for a second.

“So I have placed an option at your feet, Halálhívó. One that you know will affect whether you win or lose. But you don’t know the truth, and you won’t know if you chose correctly until you are about to meet the Reaper, the pretend Goddess who your filth thinks takes your soul onto the next world.”

Hot tension clawed across my neck and shoulders. A clever game, yet one I was determined not to lose. Not when there was so much at stake.

“Take the Padisa, then, if you care about her so much,” I ground out.

Assyria threw her forward with the same roughness they’d offered Zaph. He attempted to sit upright, offering his Zahal a look of indignation, but failed. Grem shuffled forward, lips curling back from his teeth mere inches from the inept male’s face.

“I want the others,” Ishim snapped, widening his stance and trying to take up more room like he was the one in charge here.

Assyria chuckled and shook her head. “I’m not going with you.”

“Nor am I,” Araquiel pronounced. I angled my head over my shoulder to look at her, impressed that she’d spoken up without being called to do so.

Wisely, Banand kept his attention firmly forward. But if anyone was paying close enough attention, they’d see what I did—the way his muscles were coiled tight, his hand hovering mere inches from her body like he’d pull her out of harm’s way before throwing himself into it to save her.

“Shivk,” Ishim spat the word for traitor in Angelic at both of them. Continuing in their language, he pressed, “Why do you turn your backs on the Goddess? On the Koron who elevated you? On your noble houses?”

“Because I will live,” Araquiel shot back. Their fresh coupling had unleashed her fire, for which I was grateful.

“And the Halálhívó is merciful to those who aid him,” Assyria added. “It’s why I’ve been entering our camps and trying to convince the others to join us. It’s why so many have.”

“Finhya,” he swore, his gaze narrowed. “You never would have given up so easily. The male I knew would have killed himself to honor the Goddess rather than change sides.”

Whispers abounded between the Angels as Assyria and Ishim spit venom at each other.

Before the animosity we’d brewed shattered with one wrong word from Assyria’s mouth, I rose from my throne, drawing everyone’s attention. “If we could return to the matter at hand,” I intoned in the common tongue. “Will you take the Padisa alone? Because I will not force them to go with you, knowing they’d be going to their deaths. Not when they’ve changed their allegiance. They’re too valuable for me to willingly relinquish.”

Ishim dragged his attention back to me. The Seer’s focus was razor sharp on me too. I pinned her with a hateful glare.