Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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Epilogue

Six Weeks Later

Silence hung like a bloated cloud in the command center as all the most important players in the Demon Realm slumped around it. The map of Keleti that hogged the center of the table had been replaced with a single unfurled parchment.

A peace treaty.

Yet instead of savoring the triumph, I sucked on something sour.

My attention flicked to Rapp. His hair was a mess, his beard so grown out it nearly covered the rings in his lip. Purple bruises dotted his eyes—the underside from a lack of sleep, the full ring from when Xannirin had landed a heavy blow during their previous brawl.

The Kral looked no better. His regal, arrogant posture had vanished, leaving behind a shell of a male. He didn’t meet my gaze, even as I speared it into him. No, all he could look at was the offering, written in Kiira’s elegant script.

Rokath gripped the back of my chair. I didn’t need to see him to know his fury was on the precipice of boiling over.

Trol, out of all of us gathered, looked the most rested and relaxed. But he didn’t carry the emotional weight the rest of us did. He’d always been a loyal commander, an unyielding force, heralding the army when Rokath and Rapp needed to navigate the complex political web of the realm.

“The Angels call this a peace treaty,” Xannirin spit out, unwilling and unable to disguise his disgust. All our attention snapped to him. “This is a hostage negotiation. One we will win, and after, we’ll strike anyway.”

A growl threaded with violent intent emanated from my mate. “All of this is your fucking fault, Xannirin. You don’t get to determine anything anymore.”

The Kral dragged his gaze past me to Rokath.

Rapp’s fingers tightened over the table before he shoved it away, the stones pinning the parchment swaying and tumbling with a clatter. He paced the length of the room like a cougar trapped in too small a cage. “Sign the fucking treaty, Xannirin.”

“You, of all people, don’t get to talk to me like that,” Xannirin snarled, snatching for Rapp’s sleeve. The Hadvezér jerked out of his way at the last second.

Ice crawled down my spine as I called on the onyx strands of my magic, ready to break up yet another fight between the two males. “Shut the fuck up, both of you.” I rose, my height nothing to intimidate them with, yet both paused their hateful, heated glares at one another and trained them on me. “Kiira made her choice. You have to live with it, Xannirin. Are you so fucking selfish that you can’t do this one thing for her? After everything you’ve done?”

A muscle feathered in his jaw. He raked his hands through his greasy hair, tugging on his scalp. “You don’t know what this means for me.”

A scoff slipped out of me before I could stop it. “We’ve all had to do things we didn’t want to do.” Each word was laced with venom. Rokath rested a big hand on my shoulder, a silent reminder that he was there despite how unwanted our bond had been. I blew out a long breath, surrendering some of the animosity in my tone. “Maybe something good will come of this for you, Xannirin. Don’t you trust the Fates?”

I wasn’t sure any of us did any more. But Xannirin was beyond reasoning with his level of distress. Short of killing him, there wasn’t much we could do without his signature on the page.

Rapp had halted mid-wear of the already threadbare rug beneath him. I held his gaze as I spoke my next words, hoping he’d play along with them rather than initiating another fight. “You never know what will happen after. If Kiira will change her mind. You did kill Ollmund Varrir, after all.”

Rapp froze, every muscle in his body stretched taut like he was restraining himself from moving, from speaking, from doing anything but battling for self-control.

Xannirin on the other hand, half-rose from the table, leaning toward me. “Do you think so?” The hope in his tone would have twisted my gut in any other situation.

But fuck him.

The next lie rolled off my tongue with guilt-free ease. “I do.”

Trepidation wound down our bond. “You’re playing with fire, Assyria.”

“I know what I’m doing,” I snapped back at Rokath through our mental connection.

Xannirin’s fingers twitched toward a stick of charcoal. The air in the room ceased moving as we all waited to see what he would do.

Ten seconds passed, the tick of the clock like a death knell.

Then another.

Then more.

Until the Kral picked up the writing utensil and scrawled his name at the bottom of the document. I sagged back into my chair. Rokath wasted no time in signing the parchment next.

Rapp stalked off, through the bone room, without another word.

Before Xannirin could do something stupid, Rokath swept the marker stones aside and rolled up the treaty. “I’ll see this is returned to Vaeron.” He tucked it into his armor, out of reach.

“I’ll go with you,” I said, wanting to get the fuck out of there. I only felt slightly bad about leaving Trol alone with the Kral.

As we emerged into the humidity of the cloud forest, groups of soldiers—both male and female—ceased their conversations. Maariya tried to catch my eye, but I kept my focus trained on the path in front of us, to where the Korona’s brother, Vaeron, waited. His ice blue eyes tracked our every step from atop his mount.

“It is done?” he asked, his voice a harsh velvet in the common tongue.

“It is,” Rokath replied, handing the signed parchment over.

Vaeron confirmed it with a perusal glance. Beside him, the Seer that had falsely predicted the final battle shifted. The determination that danced in her eyes mirrored my own. I’d been shocked to see it during our first negotiation meeting, given how docile she seemed atop the wall. But Vaeron and Ishim had commanded our attention then.

She was the lightning strike none of them had anticipated amid their thunder.

When we held a siege in Sivy, she’d become a tempest, but not of violence against the Demons. Who would have thought a pacifist would end up mated to the Issaraeth? And that she’d be the storm that wrecked him, much like I had been the wildfire that consumed Rokath?

My lips twisted into a grin as she dipped her chin to me. I returned the subtle gesture.

After all, the four of us had brokered this peace treaty, spending long hours hammering out all the details. Yet when her attention slid back to her mate, her brows pinched ever so slightly.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” Vaeron stated, picking up his reins. Tension rolled off him in palpable waves. The Angels guarding him closed ranks, preparing to depart the Demon camp.

“This trust is tenuous, Issaraeth,” Rokath warned. “Should you fail to meet your obligations, I have no qualms about attacking again.”

His white teeth flashed in a sinister smile. “Halálhívó, I would expect nothing different.”

He clicked his tongue, and their party set out, Demons regarding them with healthy suspicion until they were out of sight. I couldn’t blame them, not after everything we’d all been through. Despite the cease in battle, the Angels still believed the Goddess wanted them to exterminate our dark magic.

It would take time to unravel those beliefs in their realm, just like it would take time to unravel the beliefs about females in ours.

I blew out a long breath and slipped my hand into Rokath’s. “Let’s go.”

With heavy steps, we returned to the command center, finding it devoid of life. Only time would tell if the Angels were sincere in their promises, but with Sylaira mated to Vaeron, I had hope.

Rokath sank onto his throne of bones, pinching the bridge of his nose. He released a sigh filled with frustration and exhaustion.

I straddled his hips, finding the tight muscles of his jaw and massaging. “What will you do?

His gaze raked up to meet mine. “What do you mean?”

“When it’s all over? When peace reigns?”

My mate let out a low groan as I dug into a particularly tight spot. I pressed harder, relieving the ache that had built with the stress of the last few weeks—Fates, years. We remained like that, blanketed in silence, as I offered him silent comfort.

A gasp slipped out of me when he grabbed my waist and supplanted me on the chair he’d crafted for me to mirror his own. His knees hit the floor as he knelt at my feet. Those burgundy eyes studied my face with potent intensity.

“Little imposter, I will build you the grandest of gardens. Somewhere where only you and I exist. I’ll claim the earth there, like I claimed you. A sanctuary carved from stone and soil, brimming with the beauty you embody. It will flourish and bloom as you help lead us into our future.”

Tears pricked my eyes and the back of my nose.

“Together, we’ll kneel among the plants, tending to them with the same love and care you have shown me, and the rest of this army, all these months. We’ll teach Grem and Zeec to dig too, so that they have purpose in their new lives.”

I pressed my mouth into a thin line to smother a sob. I’d told him—only once—that I’d dreamed of a fated mate who would hold me as his equal and join me in my passions.

He remembered.

Rokath caught my bottom lip with his thumb, as if coaxing my feelings free. “I’m not sure who or what I’ll be when we’re not fighting the Angels.” His lips brushed against mine, the spicy scent of him filling my nostrils. “But I do know that I’ll be your mate. Your protector. And you?”

He smiled—a genuine twist of his lips, rarer than any precious stone. The sharp flash of his teeth rolled a shiver down my spine. The molten heat of his gaze didn’t merely brand me. It was a claim, a possession, against all who sought to take me from him.

“You’ll continue to change our society for the better. You won’t let us settle. Won’t let us slide back into the inequality. Now, more than ever, the world needs you to lead. And I will be by your side, clearing the path for all those who dare to doubt the mighty Szélhámos.”

Salt dripped down my cheeks as I beheld the male I’d first hated, then loved with reckless abandon. Who I craved with shameless desire. Whose reverence left me breathless.

Because he was right. He saw me.

I was no longer the abused wife of a sycophantic Kormánzó.

I had eyes of devious burgundy. Magic that allowed me to become an Imposter.

I was the change. The symbol. The power.

“I am the Szélhámos,” I breathed, my honorific speaking into existence the riot of emotion inside me.

“Yes, you are.” His voice was tumbling ebony. “My perfect mate. My equal in fire and fury. And always,” his mouth closed over mine for the briefest of moments. “Always mine.”

Rokath devoured me with the obsession of a male possessed. His craving insatiable as his tongue slid against mine. A growl vibrated in his chest as he yanked me flush, fingers digging into my hips with beautiful brutality.

I welcomed it. Breathed him in. Drank him down.

Because he was right—the path to pure peace was not one beneath the sun. It would be clawed through darkness. With Demon society in upheaval, with the changes that would follow the treaty too, people were sure to resist.

But despite all that, Rokath and I had defied death. We’d lived through what had killed so many. And someday, long after the war had been laid to rest, the world would know our names. Not as rulers of realms, but as mates made for war and peace.

Beneath a burning canopy, we came together—shadow-cloaked, battle-worn, and alive. In the ashes of what we’d flamed, in the breath between battles, we did the most dangerous thing two people could do in the midst of war.

We chose to love.

You didn’t think I’d give you all the answers to An Age of War and Prophecy at the end of this book, did you?

The war is far from over. The lies run deeper than you can imagine. And the ones who waited on the fringes in the Deathcaller Duet?

Some of them are already sharpening their knives.

Power never disappears; it rearranges.

Loyalties will fracture. Blood will spill.

The truth?

The end will ruin someone. Maybe more than one…

So step carefully into And So The Breaking Begins.

The betrayals are just getting started.

The first chapter waits for you on the next page.

If you enjoyed Horns of Wicked Ebony, please consider rating or reviewing on Amazon, Goodreads, BookBub, or any other platform you prefer to use! Your support means everything, and taking a few moments of your time to let others know how much you liked the book is appreciated.

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Sylaira

The first time I Saw my fated mate, I was only one hundred and eleven. Far too young for my power to have taken root. Far too young to have my heart shattered into a thousand pieces with the knowledge that if he ever found me, he’d rob me of everything I held dear.

Unlike most Angels, his hair was an iron gray. His brows, so serious, with one jagged scar, were a dark contrast to the glacial hue of the orbs beneath them. I knew not who he was, only that his piercing gaze penetrated my own and choked me of air.

I’d returned to reality screaming into the darkness.

I never wanted to meet him.

Whoever he was.

Sight was supposed to be the holiest blessing from the Goddess. I thought it was a curse. Especially with my eyes—an icy shade of blue that signified a level of power that surpassed most other Angels. Once my prophecies had worsened, growing dark, twisted, tormented, I’d begged my parents to allow me to consume virelthorn to suppress them.

Absently, I rubbed my chest as if I could ease the ache of everything forced upon me. Sometimes, I was almost tempted to snatch at the threads of my visions, to discern where he might be so that I might situate myself on the farthest side of the world from him.

“Sylaira,” Heraphia hissed, drawing me out of the haze of anger and back to reality.

I blinked, realizing I’d nearly scrubbed the skillet clean through. “Sorry,” I breathed, dropping it and the brush into the washbasin. Water sloshed, frothing the soap bubbles and wafting citrus into the air. I turned to face my oldest friend, shoulders slumping inward.

Only to find aquamarine eyes wide with fright and scouring mine. My heart leaped into my throat. “What’s happened?”

Heraphia swallowed, a hand hovering over her heart. “I think we need to move.”

I took a tentative step forward, the dishes forgotten. “Have you had a vision?”

Like me, Heraphia was blessed with Sight. Her eye color was only a shade weaker than my own, which made her—both of us—a great prize for the rulers of the Angels. For decades, we’d hidden from the crown. I’d lost my parents, countless friends, and dozens of others in raids on the few havens the Elessarum had managed to carve out in the fringes of the Angel Realm. The Koron and Korona wanted the Seers to wield like weapons of war.

I wanted no part in their violence. In their bloodshed. The loss of life was utterly unnecessary. I’d spent my life among the peaceful organization, and I’d do whatever it took to ensure my hands remained unstained by ruby.

Except see.

Heraphia didn’t take virelthorn to suppress her visions. Three times now, she’d had a flash of knowing a day before hunters for the Korona would arrive in whatever village of insignificance we’d rooted ourselves.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice shivering despite the heat of the summer.

“When?” I pressed, fear scorching my veins. We’d only just settled in here. But the bounty for reporting members of the Elessarum had doubled since the Demons invaded the Angel’s sovereign territory the previous winter. The army had beaten them back, but the current peace was tenuous at best. It was only a matter of time before the two realms, positioned on either side of the Skala Mountains, clashed again.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It happened so quickly. Maybe it was nothing…” Heraphia trailed off, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she gazed out the window behind me.

I grasped her hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “If you think we should go, then we will go. What did Zuriel say?”

She sighed. “He isn’t back yet. That's why I came straight to you.”

I glanced behind me at the stack of unwashed dishes. “Okay, here’s the plan. Alert the others. I’ll finish up here. We’ll be packed and ready by the time he returns.”

Our group was scarcely more than twenty these days. Two years ago, an Elessarum stronghold had been raided, during which my parents and many others had been slain. Since then, we kept to smaller groups, hoping to remain unnoticed among the myriad of merchants coming and going throughout the realm.

Zuriel, having been born to one of the noble houses of the Angel Realm, carried a regal air that was unmistakable. Perhaps he’d been spotted in the village and someone had alerted the local hunters, which had triggered his wife’s latest vision.

Whatever the case, if she sensed it was time to move on, it was time to move on.

“Do you need me to pack your bags?” Heraphia asked, dropping my hands and stepping back.

“If you can.” I offered her a sad half-smile. “There shouldn’t be much to put away. Haven’t had much time to unpack.”

Anguish twisted her lips. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault. You are always protecting us,” I said, yanking her into a warm embrace. I rubbed my hands over her back, trying to soothe the ache of having to move on so soon. We relied on her to keep us safe, a fact that made me feel guilty more often than not. But I couldn’t bring myself to come off the herb and allow myself to fall into the horrors in my head.

“You’re right,” she hiccuped, and I released her. She dashed the backs of her wrists under her eyes. “Okay, I’ll go now. No time to waste.”

“Go in peace,” I told her.

“Always in peace,” she replied. Then, she disappeared from the kitchen and into the long hall that led to the other rooms in the estate we’d rented.

Tears pricked my eyes the moment her skirt swished out of view. I held my breath for another ten seconds, stomping back toward the washbasin. Tried to stem the flow of salt so I could see what I was doing as I yanked another plate from the dirty pile.

But it was no use.

A sob choked out of me.

I was tired. So fucking tired. Of running. Of never having a place to call home. Of always looking over my shoulder. Of fearing a missed dose of virelthorn. Of the encroaching darkness that came with a vision.

Bitterness coated my tongue as I stuck in the side of my cheek.

Heraphia and I could have been sisters, if the Goddess hadn’t been so cruel. Her brother had attempted to court me for years before his death. We’d had fun, enjoyed each other’s company. And yet, when he wanted our relationship to turn more serious, I’d rejected him.

No one knew about my first vision, save for my parents. It was too painful to share.

As was a life with someone who would never be my mate. Who I might have to abandon on the rare chance I crossed paths and locked eyes with him.

Sometimes, I imagined him looking back at me. Of walking forward and cupping my cheek, awe etched into his expression. I hated myself for wondering what he might say.

The water foamed as I scrubbed each plate in decisive, furious swipes. We’d lose coin abandoning this place so soon. Bringing these dishes with us was paramount to conserving what we could.

I reached for a drying cloth, running it over one smooth stone at a time. Movement out the window caught my eye. A horse galloped toward the house, dirt flying beneath its hooves. The lake that curved against the road glittered in the midmorning sun, a gild over the panic in the rider’s expression.

The plate I’d been holding shattered, ripping my gaze away from my best friend’s husband and back to my task. In my bones, I knew there was no time to finish it.

“Heraphia!” I screamed, backing away from the window. My hands flew to the pockets of my skirts, searching for those precious bottles of virelthorn. I yanked one free, finding it half empty.

Fuck. We hadn’t been here long enough for me to harvest more. But I had a few spares in my bag…

Spinning on my heel, I raced into the hall, nearly colliding with my friend.

“What is it?” Hair had come loose from her long, pearlescent braid in the minutes we’d been separated, a testament to the fear she’d masked before.

“They’re coming,” I gasped out, spotting my pack in her hand. I snatched it without apology. We’d done this often enough that niceties were not expected, not when every second mattered in escaping a fate worse than death.

She shouldered past me as I dug my hand into my belongings. My fingers closed around the cool glass vials, only offering me a modicum of relief. Without care for propriety, I ripped my skirt off and shoved it inside. The tights beneath were far more conducive to sprinting.

Chaos crescendoed in the halls as the Heraphia shouted a warning and pleaded with everyone to hurry. I ducked and dodged members of the Elessarum as I wove toward the front door. Flinging it open, I found Zuriel a breath from busting it down.

“The hunters are coming,” he burst out, chest heaving. “Where is Heraphia?”

“Here!” she called out, emerging into the sun. She tossed Zuriel’s pack to him. He caught it with a loud smack and slung it over his shoulders in one smooth motion.

“We can’t wait for the others. We have to go. Now.” His normally measured, calm, voice was anything but. “These aren’t the normal ones. Korona Ioath sent her best forces after us.”

“You don’t mean…” I trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“That her brother is among them?” Zuriel gritted out, grabbing our hands and tugging us along toward the nearest copse of trees. “The Issaraeth is here, and if he uses his Command power, we’ll all be his hostages before high sun.”

Heraphia gasped, clutching her tunic like she could prevent him from accessing her power.

The Issaraeth was the most feared of all the Elessarum hunters. He was responsible for the death of my parents and Heraphia’s brother during the stronghold’s raid. Or so I’d been told. I’d never so much as glimpsed him, which counted me among the lucky ones.

His presence dug a chill into the marrow of my bones.

“We have to warn the others!” I protested, digging my heels in.

Zuriel dragged me a few paces, digging up soft earth, before he halted and gave my arm a vicious jerk. “Do you want to be forced to See until you die, Sylaira? If they capture you and Heraphia, you’ll never escape.”

“But they’ll suffer too!” I ground out, yanking my arm out of his hold.

“They have to take their chances,” he shot back, a muscle jumping in his jaw like it too was impatient to flee. “Both of your visions are too powerful. Too frequent. I won’t let that happen to my wife. Or you.”

Heraphia bolted, her feet a frantic beat against the grass. Her pack bounced against her back, overfull. Just like me, her skirts were gone, aiding her escape. “Come on!”

Guilt gnawed at my gut. Zuriel was right. If I wanted to maintain my freedom—what little I had—we needed to go. Now.

I glanced back at the estate, where another couple had managed to escape the panic of the interior. They raced in the opposite direction of us. Better to split up and regroup later than to all be captured together. The fewer of us they could catch, the better.

Black horses surged through the thick trunks of the forest. White frothed against their bits, their riders leaning low in the saddles. Bridles gleamed with polished gems and silver adornments.

Tingles spread from my scalp to the tips of my toes.

Zuriel hadn’t been lying. The royal hunters were here.

The couple screamed, white magic exploding from their hands in an attempt to shield themselves against the oncoming group.

One horse reared, his scream echoing through the clearing. His rider gripped his long, black mane, mouth set into a firm, furious line.

My hand flew to my throat. My vision tunneled into a single pinprick, focused solely on the male I’d seen far too many times—but only ever in the torturous throes of my power.

Iron gray hair. Scarred brow. Eyes like a glacier.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t coerce my feet into unsticking from the ground. Horror had pieced my toes to the soft grass beneath my feet.

No. No. No. Please no. It can’t be him…

The lake shimmered beside him. But to me, it was a mirror shattering. A thousand shards of my fate. Glittering. Falling. Too late to catch.

After all this time, I finally knew who my mate was.

The male who haunted countless visions. Who drove me to drug my mind into silence.

The male the Goddess cursed to be mine.

The Issaraeth.

And so the breaking began.

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