Текст книги "Horns of Wicked Ebony"

Автор книги: Lacey Lehotzky

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9

Dragging the chair to the table felt like hauling an executioner’s block into place, a grim prelude to the conversation long overdue. Assyria sat across from me, those devious burgundy eyes I’d fallen helplessly in love with studying me with an emotion I’d scarcely ever welcomed—concern. Yet from her, from my mate…I’d take it all.

The wood creaked as I settled into it, thumping a cup and the metal flask against the smooth top of the table. Fuck, this conversation wasn’t going to be easy. Centuries of repressed feelings didn’t merely want to claw up my throat and out of my mouth, even to my mate.

That was where the scale came in. The amber liquid splashed as I poured myself a double dose. I wasted no time throwing it back. The spicy alcohol burned all the way to my stomach before settling there. Not that the organ itself was settled; no, it churned like an angry sea.

Grem sidled up to me and plopped his head in my lap, looking up at me with his piercing red eyes. I pet his soft black fur, letting it ground me along with the scale. Assyria reached across the table and squeezed my forearm. Her small fingers brushed over a tattoo of thorns and roses wrapped around a skull, and then she retreated.

Since returning, we’d changed clothes—her, to one of my tunics that swam to her knees, me to a loose pair of pants I’d swiped from Rapp. The rest of our belongings were lost to the camp we abandoned.

I’ll hire a clothier when we arrive in Fured to craft us both proper attire again.

Assyria pointedly cleared her throat, drawing my attention away from my thoughts. “You can procrastinate all you want, but you will tell me.” Her tone was firm, yet gentle.

I exhaled, counting to ten and focusing on the feel of my chest deflating. Almost unconsciously, I rubbed my pectorals right over my heart. Grem didn’t move from his position as I poured myself another drink. As I tipped it back, Assyria commented, “That stuff is disgusting. I don’t know how you drink it.”

The glass smacked against the table as I set it down again. “And how would you know, little imposter?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “I drank that bottle you had hidden away in your room at Gyor Palace.”

“Of course you did,” I grumbled, swishing the flask. It was almost empty; not nearly enough to get me through the next hour or so of my life. It would take time to tell her everything, for there was so much, and honestly, I didn’t know where to begin.

Her hand once again closed the gap between us. “Just start talking. Whatever comes to mind first. No need to remember what I do and don’t know. Honestly, I could use a refresher anyway.”

Not meeting her piercing gaze, I traced the rim of the cup. “My father was the brother of the last Kral. The middle brother at that. He always felt forgotten, like he didn’t have a place in the world. He took his perceived shortcomings out on me. Not that either of his brothers were any less cruel.”

“What about your mother?” she asked after a moment of pause from me.

“Died giving birth to me,” I muttered. I never knew her, and my father didn’t speak much of her. Nor did he ever remarry. For the longest time, I couldn’t decide if it was because he loved her so much or because he hated her. That had been a constant theme in my life: the contrast between hate and love, two sides of the same emotion. For one could not exist without the other. The depths of my feelings for Assyria were a testament to that.

“I’m so sorry, Rokath,” she murmured, squeezing tighter.

Finally, I met her gaze. “That is nothing compared to what happened in my youth.”

Assyria’s burgundy eyes shone, and she nodded, a silent understanding.

I looked at the ceiling, trying to find the words to tell her exactly how much of an asshole my father was. What he made me do.

“Xannirin and I went to Fured, to the military academy, young. The former Kral was harsh with Xannirin too. I always tried to protect him from the worst of it. At least at the academy, I thought we might have a modicum of freedom.”

With a sigh, I shook my head. “I was wrong.”

A chill settled over me like the fog that rolled off the coast in the early mornings. The sensation and memory were enough to paint vivid images of my wrongdoings in my mind. “The Kral and my father made frequent visits to Fured to check on us. My father more often, though. He was harder on me than any of the drilling trainers. All of whom bowed to him and allowed him free reign while he was in residence. He wanted me to rise the ranks in the army, to become someone important since he was nothing. When I’d fuck up, he’d take me into his quarters and beat me. Break my ribs, my nose, my fingers.”

Assyria sucked in a sharp breath. She’d spoken of her husband—the one she’d killed and impersonated until the moment our mate bond snapped in place—and the horrors he’d inflicted. Those words had flayed me open during our first meeting, triggering a visceral response. One that wasn’t solely because she was my mate. Those protective instincts flared, yes, but so too did my own trauma.

For centuries, I’d been running from the memories that haunted my dreams. I’d forged myself into the Halálhívó, the cold, merciless, feared leader of the Demon army, because I could protect others better than I’d protected myself. I’d donned a mask to hide myself from the world too after Xannirin, Kiira, and I decided that we would become Fates that walked the earth.

To hear Assyria speak of similar abuse cracked that facade in an instant. Wrenched my carefully crafted helmet right off my head. Exposed me to myself.

My mate leaned over the table, a tear spilling down her cheek. With the lightest of touches, she brushed the bump on my nose. “They don’t heal properly if they’re not set right away,” I told her. “I gave up trying after a while.”

“And your fingers?” she asked softly.

“I always told the healers that I smashed them into things,” I shrugged. “Those were important for wielding a sword.”

“And that’s why you tolerated the pain of the stakes so well,” she said, removing the empty glass from my hand and placing hers in it instead. She traced the white scar on my palm, then the A she carved into my wrist—the brand she’d given me to match the one I’d given her. That shared claim upon one another’s souls, more visible than the perfect circles resting between our shoulder blades.

The touch was soothing, and I basked in the comfort she offered me. So rarely had I indulged in this delicacy, thinking I was undeserving of it. That it was safer for everyone if I remained aloof.

Right then, Assyria was offering me a different type of safety. One I desperately wanted to lean into, yet I wasn’t sure how to surrender entirely. “He visited one time shortly before I came of age, and from the moment he exited the carriage, I knew it was going to be the worst visit yet. When the Kral arrived a few days later, Xannirin and I were already on edge. My father wanted to show off my powers for his brother. How well I’d learned to harness them.”

“What did he make you do?” Assyria asked, rubbing my fingers now as if she could ease the hurt from them, centuries later.

“A three on one fight, where I had to call upon the dead ones and use them to slaughter the others. I didn’t have nearly as much control over my power then as I do now,” I explained. Now, I could wield hundreds of bodies simultaneously. I’d raised several thousand at one point, but my magic tapped out too quickly at that scale. The number I chose at any given point in time was based on centuries of experience. The past decade had honed it even more than the years of my father’s abuse.

“He made you kill three other Demon soldiers?” she clarified, sorrow threading her tone.

“Aye. Afterward, he called me to his room. To beat me, though for what, I wasn’t sure. I’d executed every move perfectly. But I’d had enough. He closed the door.” I paused, jaw clenching as the memory surfaced, clear as the sky above the Paks Desert. “And then, I ensured he was too afraid to lay a hand on me ever again.”

Assyria hummed a sympathetic noise, letting me know she was listening.

I retracted my hand so I could pour the last of the scale into my glass. The next piece of information would be the most difficult to discuss. Fates, I didn’t even talk to Rapp and Xannirin about Thast, and they were both there.

Assyria watched me, still poised on the edge of her seat, ready to reach out and comfort me on a moment’s notice.

“He found another way to punish me after I really failed.” I tossed back the alcohol, relishing the burn in my throat. Then, I rolled tension from my shoulders. My stomach clenched, and my palms sweated.

Would Assyria look at me differently after I revealed my greatest failure? My greatest shame?

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad–” she started, but I cut her off with a shake of my head.

“Place,” I told Grem, and with a huff, he trotted to his bed on the opposite side of the tent. After a few turns, he curled up beside Zeec. I faced Assyria and splayed my arms across the table. I needed her grounding presence for this. She understood my silent request and slipped her warm skin against mine.

Dropping my head, I failed to steady my racing heart. She deserved to know everything, the whole truth. Yet I hadn’t spoken about the events since…ever. Rapp and Xannirin had both attempted to bring it up on multiple occasions, and I’d silenced them every time.

“That bag, the tattered, threadbare one…belonged to a male named Thast. I keep it as a reminder…” I trailed off, throat working. Then, emitting a shuddering breath, I lifted my gaze to find my mate’s. “Thast was the fourth in our group. Xannirin, Rapp, Thast, and I bunked together in Fured, and then again when we were assigned to a border outpost, every graduate’s first assignment. While we were there, I finally earned the title of Vezető. My first route with the promotion happened to be the day after the new year.”

My knee bounced under the table as the first wave of shame rose. I forced it to still, then forced myself to speak again.

“Of course, being young and ridiculously stupid, the four of us went out drinking the night before, despite our scheduled early departure for the wall. The entire unit was roaring drunk as we rode to the outpost, in fact. Our dulled senses allowed the Angels to attack. All but six of us died.” My grip on Assyria tightened, as if I could physically pin her in place should she attempt to reject me now.

“Oh, Rokath,” she whispered instead, squeezing back twice as hard. “No wonder you keep such strict rules.”

“That is part of it,” I admitted freely. A muscle feathered in my jaw as I tried to find the right words to convey what happened next. “The consequences are what solidified them.”

She nodded slowly, allowing me space to sort through it all. Her unwavering devotion was cleansing, like by baring my soul to her I was ridding myself of the centuries of dust caked to the memories.

“When the Kral and my father arrived, they were both furious. Never had I fucked up like that, and in the process nearly gotten Xannirin killed. The six survivors—Xannirin, Rapp, Thast, myself, and two others—knelt before them to beg for forgiveness. My father had a twisted version in mind. Only three of us could walk away from there, and since I was in charge, I had to be one of them, to live with my mistakes. My father offered me a choice: kill them myself using my powers and offer them a swift death, or allow him to do it as he saw fit. Had he…it would have been a slow, savage descent into the Reaper’s embrace for them.”

Assyria’s lips pressed together, and two tears leaked from her eyes. Her hands shook with how hard they held mine. Without breaking our embrace, she rose and drifted around the table to stand in front of me. With our size difference, we were nearly eye level. I brought our joined fingers to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. Then, I pulled her into my lap. She kneaded my shoulders, remaining quiet as I fought to contain my emotions.

“You don’t have to be strong for me, Rokath. I’m here to share your burdens, your pain,” she murmured. “I know what it’s like to be at the mercy of someone cruel.”

A choked sob escaped me before I brought my fist to my mouth to smother it. I gritted my teeth, trying to fight off the knife readying to flay me open. Not just for my pain, but hers. For what Vagach did to her all those years. Because of the changes I helped weave into society.

With a ragged exhale, I said, “I couldn’t kill Xannirin. The Kral saved me from that choice, along with Rapp, since he too had burgundy eyes. Which left Thast and the other two. He just let me do it.” My voice cracked, crumbled to pieces as the memory of his last words to me surfaced.

It’s okay, Rokath, he had said.

“He didn’t try to fight his fate, just accepted the Reaper was ready to take him. He didn’t cry out as I killed him. And when I had to Call his body…” a shudder wracked my frame, my temperature dropping even further, “and have him kill the other two, my father watched on with satisfaction.”

I gritted my teeth, and Assyria moved her ministrations to my jaw. She worked for a few moments while I attempted to regain control. “I’d vowed long before that to kill him. After what he forced me to do, Xannirin and I were in agreement that the brothers needed to die. With the rising threat of the Angels, they chose to slaughter three fully trained soldiers, and for what? So my father could prove he still had power over me?”

My hands balled into fists.

“It took decades to properly plan everything. The Kral and his two brothers had to perish together for Xannirin to inherit the throne. But we didn’t execute it until I’d worked my way up the ranks of the army. After a particularly nasty skirmish along the wall, I’d had enough. We were lacking in males to defend the Demons and the Angels were growing more fervent by the year. Thankfully, Kiira was in agreement when I sat the two of them down and told them it was time. She might have been a bastard, but she was no stranger to the brutality the three imposed.”

“At least you had each other,” Assyria murmured, hands flattening over my chest. My heart beat into her palm, as if it knew that it was utterly safe in her care. As if it knew it belonged only to her.

“Aye. And Rapp too. He might not be of royal blood, but he helped us through it all,” I said. Already, I felt lighter, like by speaking the worst memories into existence, they could no longer fester on my soul.

“So the three of you killed them?” she clarified.

I shook my head. “Only I landed the killing blows, little imposter. By then, I was numb to the act. Xannirin hadn’t taken more than a handful of lives, and Kiira, well, I didn’t want to taint her.”

“You’ve always protected everyone, Rokath. Who ever protected you?”

I clenched my teeth, fighting off the spear of sorrow digging into my chest. Assyria had an uncanny ability to name my deepest desires and unveil the well of emotion that accompanied them. Air froze in my lungs as I forced the sob back down. “No one. I needed no one.”

Assyria shook her head. “You wanted no one because then you’d have to share this with them. But I’m here now.” She cupped my cheek, and only when she swiped her thumb across it did I realize a salty tear had slipped out. “Let me protect your emotions like you protect my body. Let me be your comfort when it all feels like too much. Lay your worries, your fears, your pain at my feet. We can shoulder this burden together.”

At that, I shattered. I snatched Assyria closer, banding my arms around her so our bodies melded together like the ores used to forge weapons. Chest heaving, I buried my grief, my shame, my anger into her hair. The scent of roses filled my nostrils, allowing me to fall deeper into the love she offered. One that was unquestionable, unrelenting despite my revelations, and so pure I was still certain I didn’t deserve it.

Assyria poured raw empathy for what I was forced to endure down our bond. Tumbling with it was how much she loved me for sharing those horrific moments with her. My mate held no walls between what she felt and what she expressed. Vulnerability was something that had been burned out of me centuries before, and yet with Assyria, it was safe to let my own crumble to ash.

“Thank you,” I managed to grind out. Straightening, I allowed her to see the gratitude written in my eyes—on my soul. For that was where she lived inside me.

Her dainty hands caressed and cleaned my face. “I love you, Rokath. Nothing will ever change that.”

I nodded, too exhausted to speak. I was raw, flayed open, and these weren’t feelings I particularly cared to experience.

Slowly, she eased out of my embrace and took my hands again. “Let’s sleep now.”

I let her direct me to our bed, blowing out candles along the way. When she crawled onto the mattress, I darkened the final hint of light, then joined her. Settling against my pillows, I said, “Come here.”

Without hesitation, she curled into my embrace, and I snaked my arms around her. Her soft curves melted into the hard planes of my body as I wholly enveloped her. My eyes closed, and she traced my tattoos. “Thank you for telling me all of that,” she whispered into the darkness. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

“It wasn’t,” I admitted. Exhaustion tugged at every fiber of my being, and for once, sleep offered itself to me freely. Perhaps it was Assyria in my arms, the highs and lows of the day, or fucking everything catching up to me, but when I crashed, I crashed hard, falling into the deepest slumber I’d had in years.

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10

With only a single day before our planned rescue of Zurronar and Banand, I wanted—needed—additional time to study the three Angel females. Taking on their forms was essential to the mission’s success. The execution had to be flawless, for my safety as much as everyone who was accompanying us to rescue the Demons imprisoned in the Angel camp.

You’ve got this, Assyria.

Rokath and I parted ways in the bone room, and I couldn’t help the flush that crept across my cheeks at the memory of the way he’d taken me on it a few days prior.

Tracing a path through the black tent, I found the caged females. In this back room, they were close enough that Rokath, Rapp, and the other officers were only a shout away, but far enough I could practice in peace.

Not that I would need anyone to save me. With the bronze bangles on their wrists and ankles, their magic was locked away, and the bars of the makeshift camp prison separated them from me. And my magic? Now, more than ever, it was an extension of me, honed like the edge of a blade and ready to draw at a thought’s notice.

“Honored by our divine creator,” I greeted them with the traditional Angelic words as I entered the sectioned-off part of the command center. Three sets of blue orbs snapped to me. Only Esha narrowed hers. Despite the stormy ocean color denoting her as the one with the least power among them, she acted as if she wielded magic like Araquiel, the most powerful. Faeya’s eyes brightened when they landed on the bundle in my arms—fresh clothes.

They’d surrendered their armor for my use the same day we captured them. Surrendered wasn’t quite the right word. It was more like the males had forcibly removed it from their bodies. The white and grey clothing, now pristine, rested in my pack, ready for me to don as part of the final run-through.

“Those are for us?” Faeya asked in Angelic.

“Yes,” I replied, placing the pile on a stool so I could slide the straps off my shoulders. The bag thudded against the carpet, and I rolled out my neck, relieved of the burden. Then, I approached the cage.

Faeya and Esha shot to their feet. Araquiel remained seated, her back braced against the bars on the opposite side of the cage, knees tucked to her chest. She scrutinized me and her cellmates with a detached air. To be fair, I’d studied the three of them with the same intensity, since knowing a bit about their personalities would help me respond appropriately should I be stopped by someone who knew them.

At this point, I was torn between taking on Faeya’s form or Araquiel’s. Had the latter been more forthcoming, less calculated, she would have been the easy choice. Being caged didn’t exactly allow them to show their true personalities though. Was Araquiel as shrewd as she seemed? Or was it her survival instincts kicking in to protect her?

Esha was a solid no with her eye color. She wouldn’t be in a position of importance in regard to the Angel’s prisoners. She was also the most openly hostile, and again, I wasn’t sure if it was borne of the situation or if that’s who she truly was.

Faeya seemed to accept her position by the second day. She spoke Angelic with me despite not knowing why I was practicing. While she hadn’t willingly offered up any extra information, she seemed to be the most congenial of the three. From my time living under Vagach’s abuse, I recognized her behavior for what it was: fawning. Yet it was far more helpful than the other two’s attitudes.

Stretching my arms to their max, I placed the clothes on the bars and retreated. After all, they were still Angels, and I didn’t trust them. This small act of kindness was due to my need to garner more information from them.

Truly, we were using each other.

“Do you need anything else?” I asked them.

“I need the latrine,” Faeya admitted as she stripped her dirty tunic off.

I studied her torso for any ink or birthmarks I might need to take into account. Noting a small scrawl on her ribs, I asked, “What does that say?”

She glanced under her arm while she pulled the fresh one overhead. “Myrr.” She spoke the Angelic word slowly, affording me time to hear the complexity of the sound. “It means peace,” she said in the common tongue as she pulled her long twist from the shirt and settled it over her shoulder.

I blinked, momentarily taken aback.

Why would she want ‘peace’ permanently etched into her skin?

Tucking a few short strands of her platinum hair behind her ears, she faced me again. “You take me, or do one of the males go?”

Shaking myself out of my shock, I returned to the conversation at hand. “Can you repeat?” I asked her, thinking I misunderstood her the first time she spoke.

Enunciating each Angelic word, she said, “Will you take me to the latrine, or will you fetch one of the males?”

“The males,” I replied, relieved that I’d understood her that time. “How badly do you need to go? Can you wait?”

“Not she-tas-y, but say-tes-y,” Faeya corrected my pronunciation of the word for wait. “Sooner would be better.”

“Same for me,” Araquiel added, finally rising. “I will wait to change until I return.”

Nodding, I glanced over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

The three watched me go. Outside, I found the two soldiers currently on guard duty and relayed the females’ needs. They followed me back inside, and I stood against the wall as they snapped additional chains around Faeya, then Araquiel’s wrists and led them away.

Locked in again, Esha eyed me with unveiled disgust. We were enemies, after all. To her, I was little more than a jailer and the Halálhívó’s whore. The Angels didn’t believe Demons could really have a fated mate, that it was some dark magic trickery offered by the Fates.

Silence stretched between us as we waited for the others to return. To pass the time, I called on the shadows in my chest, stirring them to life. Even if I wasn’t going to impersonate Esha, using my magic was still good practice. Pulling on the threads of it, I wove her face first, focusing on the slope of her nose and slant of her eyebrows. Once I was certain I had it, I went to my pack and fetched the mirror stowed there. Glancing between my reflection and Esha, I made a few minor adjustments to her forehead before deciding I’d done enough.

Then, I stepped closer, trying to capture the creamy color of her hair.

Some more light would be useful.

Continuing to entwine the tendrils of my magic, I formed the rest of her around me. Her sharply pointed ears that reached to the sky, the rings that lined the bottom shell. All the while, she watched, face morphing from hostility to fear as she saw herself reflected back.

I hoped she witnessed the same ugliness I did.

Before now, I hadn’t shown them what I could do. A part of me was immensely satisfied with her reaction to my power. Rapp was right, it was fucking cool.

Esha whispered furiously to herself in Angelic while hooking her thumbs together and flattening her palms over her chest. She drummed her hands there, creating a rhythm to match her fervid words. “Protect me, Goddess,” were the only ones I managed to catch besides “dark magic” and “Demon.” I didn’t need to understand each syllable to know she was praying for her deity to save her.

I wanted to exorcize her from this room. How ridiculous they were for not seeing that we were more alike than different. That Demons were just as worthy of living as they were. That we weren’t some evil spawn of different Gods.

A sharp breath tore my attention away from Esha. Faeya and Araquiel had returned, along with the guards, to the sight of their soror’s distress. I stepped back from the cage, maintaining my hold over my magic, while the males secured them again. If it weren’t for my black leather clothing, they’d have mistaken me for her, no doubt.

The two males saluted me on their way out. Their whispers tumbled through the tent, though they were low enough I couldn’t discern what they said. Probably something to do with my magic, given how few had seen it in action—if they even knew of its existence.

I faced the females, finally releasing my hold and returning to my own frame.

“You have powerful magic indeed,” Araquiel stated. Then, she turned her back on me and stripped. Again, I searched for any important features, but her skin was as smooth as a frozen stream. Not a freckle or a scar marred the surface. It was almost…uncanny. Faeya finished changing and threw her dirty clothes between the bars, in the direction of my bag.

“She is cursing us by impersonating us!” Esha protested, her clothes still hanging on the bars.

“Better to be cursed and alive,” Araquiel shot back with more bite than I’d seen since we captured her. She shoved her short, messy strands behind her ears and flicked the rest out of the collar of her tunic.

Interesting.

I noted that bit of information away for later. The three squabbled, their voices too quick for me to understand more than a word here and there.

While they worked themselves into a frenzy, I went to the nearest flap and secured it back, allowing more light into the space. Still not satisfied, I opted to stand on the stool and open one side from the top. With the sun closing in on its zenith, the space illuminated enough for me to study all the small details of their features.

“Quiet,” I hissed when I jumped down, returning to the front of the cage. I needed to practice, and for that, I needed them still. “Araquiel, can you step forward?”

With an impassive expression, she did. The light glittered in her turquoise eyes, highlighting small flecks of gray. The contours of her high cheekbones would be the most difficult part of her to capture.

Inhaling deeply, I tapped into my magic well again, calling on my magic to carve them, to shape her regal nose, and to plump her delicate lips. At least her foggy hair was easy to pull into existence. When I finished my form, she hardly even blinked, even as she stared in her own reflection.

“Impressive,” she stated without a hint of emotion in her tone. “You need to point the ears more.”

She turned her head to the side to give me a better look. The light fell perfectly over it, and so I did, noting the placement of the four studs in the uppermost corner, resembling a starburst.

“Why are you helping me?” I couldn’t help but ask as I tried to mimic her voice. There was a huskiness to it, and it was harder to capture while I also clumsily spoke their language.

She lifted one shoulder and dropped it. “Perhaps I want to see you succeed.”

I snorted. “I highly doubt that.”

“I am a Sensor. I have mastery over all kinds, including invisible ones. Sight, smell, hearing, those are all at the surface. Intuition runs deep,” she replied, switching to the common tongue. For which I was grateful, because I wasn’t certain I would have understood otherwise. Reaper, I wasn’t certain I understood anyway. Her words were cryptic in a way that I knew they’d tumble through my mind long after this, wondering what she truly meant.

Shaking it off, I asked Faeya to step forward next, honing my skill on weaving her features around me. Once I was certain of my ability to impersonate both of them, I grabbed Faeya’s clothes from my bag and pulled them on.

Her breasts were bigger than mine, though my rear was bigger than hers, so I had to change my form to fasten everything properly around me.

“You are me,” Faeya breathed, her mouth slightly parted. “Why? What is your purpose?”

Rokath had explicitly forbidden me from sharing specific plans with them. Again, we couldn’t trust them; they were our enemies. They’d likely feed us false information to ensure our failure.

And if we failed, the Angels could use Banand again to wipe us out.

I said nothing as I paced the length of the room, trying to get accustomed to the feel of another’s body over mine. My magic was more like an outer shell than anything, though I still saw through her eyes and spoke through her mouth. It was an odd sensation, really, though after spending a month in Vagach’s skin, I hardly noticed it anymore.

Satisfied, I switched to Araquiel’s clothing and pulled her form around me. “Do you have any army specific greetings?” I asked while studying all of their faces for a sign of deception.

Esha said no at the same time Araquiel said yes. I arched an eyebrow and turned my attention to the female I was impersonating. “You are a Padisa, yes?”

She nodded. “Lower ranked soldiers greet their superiors with a hand over their heart and a dipped head. They use the words, ‘Goddess save you,’ at the same time.”