49
Trol waited, arms crossed, for Rapp and me on the outskirts of Ustlyak. He looked better when we’d left him to hold off the Angel’s advance months ago. Dust clung to every inch of him, and his close cropped hair had grown out and swirled wildly around his head. Instead of black, it was a sandy brown. His clothes, too, looked worse for the wear, and as we approached, the stench of death and decay assaulted my nostrils—yet another reminder of how close we were to those fucking fanatics.
“Trol,”
I greeted him, and he offered me a salute in return.
“Halálhívó,”
he said, then clasped arms with Rapp. “Thank you both for meeting me here. I truly needed a break from the front.”
“It is a well deserved one by all accounts,”
I told him. Behind us, the oasis city vibrated with frantic energy, with the Angels only a week’s ride north. Trol had managed to force them backward in the time we’d been traveling, thank the Fates, but the city remained poised on the edge, ready to defend or flee. On the road, we’d encountered dozens of families braving the Paks Desert to enter the southern parts of the Demon Realm.
Because if the Angels broke through our line, they’d all be slaughtered without mercy.
“Aye, it’s taken a lot out of us, and I’m not the only one who could use a rest,”
Trol commented. I had no doubt the thousands of males he’d left behind were exhausted. They’d held their ground for months while we gathered the new recruits and brought them north.
Rapp jerked his head to the open doors of a nearby tavern. “Let’s have a drink and sit.”
“I won’t refuse that,”
he chuckled, and the three of us strolled toward the shady overhang where a series of tables waited. No one had to voice that Trol was in no state to enter the establishment.
A female swept from the dark depths and took our order. Unlike Trol and Rapp, I requested a citrus water. One of us had to keep his wits about him in case of an emergency.
“When did you arrive?”
Trol asked us.
“Just yesterday,”
I replied, leaning back so the female could place our drinks in front of us. My mind drifted to Assyria, tucked safely away in Ustlyak’s nicest guesthouse. Things had been…strange with us ever since I made her come under the waterfall. A flash of hurt swept through me as I recalled the way she backed away from me when I told her she was beautiful. I had meant it when I said it, and I couldn’t help the way I wanted to continue to touch her long after I’d helped her redress and secure her arm. Then, she’d thanked me for protecting her, and I’d wanted to hold her again.
I slammed the thoughts away.
I couldn’t keep doing this with how close we were to the fighting.
“I came as quickly as I could after receiving the raven,”
Trol said, sipping from the cool mug. Black crusted the underside of his nails. I was not looking forward to suffering through that level of dirt again. The sooner we could push the Angels past Lutsk, the better. At least the city at the end of the desert was a gateway into the loamy earth that led to the ocean and around the base of the Skala Mountains.
“And how are things looking at the front? Do you still believe splitting is the best option?”
I asked him. The glass sweated over my hand as I raised it, studying the slices of fruit bobbing in it.
Trol smacked his lips as he savored his drink. “Aye. Fortunately or unfortunately, the Angel commanders have realized the futility of continuing forward and have begun to retreat on their own.”
I nodded, mulling over his words. “And you are near the end of the canyon now, correct?”
“Close enough,”
he replied with a shrug.
“So the Angels will backtrack to go overland. It’s risky given the lack of water, but if they force us out there, we’d either be weighed down by having to carry the barrels or die of thirst ourselves,”
I mused. The stakes were simple: push them back or die. That didn’t make accomplishing the task any easier.
Rapp snorted. “Either way, they win, even if they hold their line.”
Because their sole goal was to eradicate the Demons.
“That is my assumption as well,”
Trol added, then drained his ale to the dregs. He swiped his dirty hand across his mouth, then called for another.
I mulled over the different strategies we could utilize, considering the landscapes we faced. “We’ll split up then. Rapp will take a few battalions around the left hand side, and I will take a few more around the right. The mounted divisions can remain in the canyon, save for a few squads, as that many horses over that distance without water won’t serve anyone well. If the Angels try to advance around, push through what remains of their line with the horse soldiers and have them chase down any wayward groups.”
“What’s the communication plan? Over that distance, it will be difficult to coordinate if we need to reverse course or change direction,”
Rapp asked, swirling his drink around. He drained the last of it just in time for the female to return with a pitcher and refill both Trol and Rapp’s ales.
Slightly sour yet refreshing water washed over my tongue as I considered Rapp’s question. Normally, we could spread over miles and maintain contact sheerly from the size of our army. But in this case, with groups broken up across landscapes and approaching from different angles, it would be trickier. “Ravens, as usual, though if we’re not sending enough messages back and forth one section could run out. So we need to send acknowledgement responses back. If we drift too far apart, we need to use the fire signals.”
“Would be nice if we had a few more mated pairs in the army. It was extremely useful when we entered the Angel Realm before,”
Trol grunted. Only about a dozen mated male pairs remained after our huge losses during the plague and the advance—not nearly enough to cover an army of this size.
A rush of adrenaline flooded my veins and my grip tightened over the glass of water. Rapp glanced at me, and I speared him with a glare. We were not mentioning Assyria to Trol. Counting to ten, I tried to calm myself to prevent myself from shattering it. This whole mate situation was interfering with our battle plans. Especially when I couldn’t get mine out of my head.
I couldn’t deny that Trol had a point; having more sets of mates in the army would have been useful. I wasn’t willing to risk Assyria to make it happen. She would remain by my side throughout the endeavor, where I could protect and keep her safe from the Angels.
“Would be,”
I groused, staring at the beads forming and falling over my hand. Then, clearing my throat, I changed the subject. “Stay the night and rest in a real bed with a real bath. Tomorrow, we can set out early. You can ride with the mounted battalions through the canyon ahead of us, and Rapp and I will oversee the flying of males and supplies up the ridge once we get closer to the front. No sense in hauling thousands of barrels up when we don’t have to.”
A haunted, exhausted look fell over his face, and then he nodded. Draining the rest of his second ale, he shoved the empty glass forward. It scraped along the table. “This is it. I feel it. Weaver has revealed this path for a reason, and with the new numbers, we’ll be unstoppable.”
“Aye, I believe it too,”
I told him, finishing my water. If we were to rearrange ourselves yet again, it wouldn’t be wise to attempt it in the morning when everyone tried to move out at once. Better to relay the information tonight and work out any logistical changes while the pressure to move was off.
Rapp gulped his drink in a hurry, then I tossed some coins onto the table as we rose from our seats. “Let’s go coordinate our departure.”
An annoying, repetitive plunk greeted me as I approached the locked door to my room at the guesthouse. Frowning, I shoved the key into the door and opened it to find Assyria, dressed only in a slip, on her back, tossing a gold coin at the wall behind the bed.
“What are you doing?”
I asked her.
She didn’t deign to look in my direction. “I am entertaining myself.”
I glanced at Grem and Zeec, both snoozing on either side of her. They seemed unbothered by her antics. Though with as much time as she spent with them, I assumed they were accustomed to it. Shutting the door, I entered the room and dropped a bag of apples I’d collected from a passing cart on the bed. “These are for you.”
She caught the coin again, then turned her head to look at me. Her dark hair fanned around her, unbound with a slight wave. “What is it?”
Grumbling, I passed her and began unbuckling my armor. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”
Blood thrummed in my ears as I waited for her reaction. A gasp fled her bow-shaped lips as she beheld a vibrant red apple. Zeec perked up at the sound, lifting his head and sniffing the air. When he realized the food wasn’t for him, he plopped back down with a huff.
“Apples are my favorite. Did you know that?”
she said, head tilting ever so slightly and sending her damp hair cascading to the side.
I shrugged, trying to play off my gift to her like it was nothing. I did, in fact, know that apples were her favorite food. I also knew that she had wished on multiple occasions to have one to eat with her one-handedness. Although she had more use of her dominant hand thanks to her shoulder’s quick healing, she wasn’t able to lift it for eating yet.
“I thought roses were your favorite,”
I said instead. The irony of how many I had tattooed on my body was not lost on me.
“Yes, but you can’t eat a rose,”
she pointed out, a soft smile spreading from her lips to her eyes. “Thank you, Rokath.”
I shifted from foot to foot, fumbling with a strap on my shoulder. Her attention landed on it, and then she hopped over Grem and off the bed, striding toward me. On her tiptoes, she used her left hand to reach for it, barely managing to slip her slim fingers between the plates and pop the buckle. I caught the metal before it fell to the ground.
Assyria backed away, then took a bite out of the fruit. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she inhaled deeply, her munching filling the silence as I continued to work over my armor. Juice dribbled down her chin, then trickled down her throat and in between her breasts before she swiped it away.
“More entertaining than throwing a coin at the wall?”
I asked her, returning my attention to where it should be—her face.
“Definitely.”
She winked at me and then climbed onto the bed again. “I’m so bored, Rokath. Give me something to do. I’ve gotten good at spotting movement in the distance now. I need another challenge.”
She wasn’t wrong. She’d taken to it faster than I expected, and because of her keen eyes, we’d had a semblance of meat to eat at least twice since we entered the canyon.
“I want to keep learning to fight too. It made me feel so,”
she paused, waving the apple as she searched for the right words, “powerful. In a way I hadn’t before. In a way I never thought I would, given my sex. It helped me deal with feeling vulnerable and like I would be at the mercy of any male who wanted to harm me.”
Her eyes collided with mine with enough force that I ceased all movement. “I won’t try to join you on the battlefield. But at least help me learn how to fend off an attacker. I only had a month of training before, and that was in Vagach’s body. It’s different for me, well, as me.”
My brows dipped. “Have you tried fighting someone as you?”
Her cheeks flamed, and she tore a chunk out the apple to cover it. “Well, no.”
She chewed for a moment. “I’ve just imagined fighting you so many times, and I never see a way to win.”
I laughed. A real, unrestrained laugh that slipped out before any conscious thought could stop it. Assyria’s answer was so unexpected and yet so very her. Those devious burgundy eyes widened at the sound and she swallowed quickly.
“Little imposter, there is no possible way for you to win against me. And that’s not because I’ve had centuries longer to train and hone my magic. It’s because of our size difference.”
Finally, the last piece of metal rested among the others, and I was able to pull off my sweat-soaked tunic. The moment the air kissed my skin, I wanted to groan.
“So there’s no point in me training then?”
she said, sounding crestfallen.
A mess of emotions warred through me at the sad look in her eyes and the way her shoulders slumped. I rubbed my temples, trying to think of how best to handle this request. “I can’t deny that knowing how to defend yourself would be in your best interest, given our situation.”
The proximity of the Angels twisted my gut. “A trained warrior will beat an untrained one most of the time, unless the size difference is enormous, like us.”
Sighing, I dropped my hands to the ties of my pants and stripped them away. “So if you want to learn to fight, I will teach you. Or Rapp. Maybe a few trusted others.”
A smile split her face, and she rushed to me, throwing her arms around my bare torso. The sticky apple core touched my back, but I was too shocked by her actions to move. A floral, rosy scent enveloped me, stronger now that she’d had a chance to bathe again.
That fucking smell would be the undoing of Ravasz’s greatest general.
“Thank you, Rokath,”
she said into my chest, then dropped her arms and backed away before I had a chance to return the embrace. I itched to hold her like I had beneath the waterfall. I hated myself for thinking that, for knowing that. She was a distraction I couldn’t afford, especially not now.
“I–uh–of course. I don’t know why I didn’t consider it before.”
I knew exactly why I had decided against it before—I didn’t trust anyone else to be near her besides Rapp and I barely wanted to be around her myself. Hence, no training her to fight. “If you’ll excuse me, I would like to bathe.”
Before she could say anything, I strode to the attached bathing chamber and shut the door. Did I really ask her to excuse me? What the fuck had gotten into me?
I wasn’t the asking type. I was the telling type.
Through the door, Assyria cooed at Grem and Zeec, then their tails thumped against the bed. No doubt, she was rubbing their greedy bellies while munching on those apples. Shaking myself out of whatever state I was in, I strode to the tub and turned the taps. The water trickled slowly, and since it was such a precious resource in this part of the Demon Realm, I used the stream to begin to wash rather than waiting for it to fill.
I cleaned myself automatically, still reeling from the interaction with my mate.
Perhaps I should wait in here until she falls asleep.
There was no telling what I would do with another interaction with her this evening. She pulled out this vulnerable side of me that I buried deep, deep down. Because I was the Fates’ chosen, woven into existence with the most powerful magic Keleti had seen in millenia. I had a duty to Xannirin, to all the Demons. It was a lonely, heavy burden to bear. Even with Rapp by my side, I still felt so utterly alone in protecting all those lives.
That was what plagued me on the nights I couldn’t sleep for the past decade. What would happen if I failed? The millions of lives that would be lost—the entire race that would never be again.
There was no room for error. I had to be perfect all the time, in every battle, in every decision. The pressure was larger than the Skala Mountains and heavier than if I’d been buried under them.
I never let anyone see this part of me. Not even Rapp. And yet, I wanted to share it with Assyria. She saw through my hardened exterior. I wanted to be selfish with her, to lose myself in her so I didn’t have to fucking think for five minutes. Every time I’d been inside her, the world had fallen away like it wasn’t even there.
And after everything I’d been through, I needed that. Desperately.
Yet letting myself fall into the distraction that was her was deadly. For it would be so fucking easy for me to make a mistake, to let the Angels have another victory, if I wasn’t paying attention to every minute detail.
Assyria was lonely too. Perhaps she was right, and we could share our pain. At least we’d somewhat understand each other. She wanted to comfort me too, which was entirely foreign. I’d relied on myself for so long, kept everyone at arm’s length—further—for so long, I didn’t know how to let her in exactly.
With a sigh, I made my decision to return as soon as I finished. We had an early start in the morning, and I didn’t want to waste the opportunity to sleep in a decent bed, not when insomnia had struck me more often than not lately.
The usual pressure-filled thoughts weren’t the ones keeping me awake.
No, it was that I spent hours studying the slope of Assyria’s nose, her profile in the changing light, and contemplating everything that had happened. I knew exactly where each of her freckles were, and the little tiny hairs that sprung from her plaits. Her body was fit from years working the fields, and I knew every curve and dip in the muscles that graced her slim frame.
When she slept, she was quiet. She allowed me to take her in, to process the situation in a way that felt comfortable to me. For so long, I’d suppressed all feeling, wholly focused on mastering my magic, increasing my fighting prowess, and winning this war.
Entering the wildfire of emotion and hoping not to get burned again was an arduous ask.
With the pressure of conscripting more soldiers, then steering them all to Uzhhorod and finally pushing through the Paks Desert to Ustlyak, it had been difficult for me to relax. So many people wanting or needing something from me. So many decisions to be made. So many strategies to analyze. The intrusion was constant during the day.
That was why I always loved the silence of night.
By the time I was clean, a low humming filled the sleeping room, and I assumed Assyria was entertaining herself again. Wrapping a bath sheet around my waist, I cracked open the door and found her beneath the covers without the brace around her shoulder. The lead healer had given her permission to leave it off completely earlier that day, and yet I still felt this compulsion to pull the roll of fabric from my bag and wrap it gently around her.
To touch her. To be with her. To care for her.
I hated that I felt this way about her.
So why was it that when I crawled into bed beside her, I couldn’t tear myself away from settling my hand on the gentle slope of her waist? I craved her, and yet I couldn’t allow myself to have her. I’d claimed her, and yet she wasn’t entirely mine.
The desire to protect her had long surpassed what the bond had insisted I do in the beginning. When that change occurred, I wasn’t sure. I thought we had something after we coupled under the waterfall.
But she pulled away from me, and I couldn’t understand why. Especially when she seemed to come back.
I shattered any further examination of my feelings on what had happened. Within the week, we’d be facing off with the Angels on the battlefield once more.
If I didn’t remain entirely focused on that, we would all die. And I’d worked far too hard to let that happen.
***
Four young males clung to the shadows, barely managing to maintain control over their own as they snuck, roaring drunk, back into the barracks. The town had been too much of a hub of excitement that evening to resist the temptation of joining the revelers in the streets as the Demons rang in the new year.
The four weren’t the only soldiers to sneak away.
Yet these four knew they had early patrol the following day, and if they stayed out any later, they wouldn’t have time to regain their composure before riding out for the border. Ensuring the Angels remained firmly on their side of the wall that divided Keleti was of the highest importance, which was why every fresh graduate of the academy in Fured was required to do a two year rotation in one of a dozen outposts.
The Kral ensured his offspring was at the one least likely to be breached by the Angels, along with his nephew, to protect the line of House Vrak.
The young males crept into their shared space like silent wraiths. Just as the future Kral pulled back his blanket, the one with tattoos twisting up his neck cursed. “We don’t have time to sleep now. Our journey back took too long.”
He proffered the clock to his companions, who released a collective groan. “Don’t have to go,”
the next Kral slurred. “I am above reproach.”
The tattooed one shook his head. Out of all of them, he’d consumed the least drink. This was his first mission as the sole leader, and he didn’t want to fuck it up. He knew it was a bad idea to go out, but his friends had dragged him anyway. He strode to the small basin in the corner of their room and filled it with icy water. Then he snatched his cousin’s arm and forced his face into its cold depths.
“What are you doing?”
the third burgundy-eyed one exclaimed, leaping forward.
But the tattooed one released his cousin, who came up gasping for air. “Sobering him up. Don’t you feel better now, Xannirin?”
Xannirin glared at his cousin. “Fuck you, Rokath.”
“Anyone else need a turn?”
he asked, stepping back and sweeping a hand toward the basin.
The fourth, whose eyes were the color of freshly picked cherries, shouldered past them and dunked his head. He came up dripping, his shoulder-length hair soaked on the ends.
“Ready, Vezet?,”
he saluted Rokath.
Rokath rolled his eyes. “Come on, Thast, get dressed now. We need to go.”
Thast half-stumbled into Xannirin, and the two used each other to navigate the few feet to where their armor rested. The third burgundy-eyed Demon was already dressed for their patrol. Within minutes, they were ready to depart.
“No one speaks a word to the others,”
Rokath hissed, attention settling heavily on one in particular. “Especially you, Rapp.”
“Me? I wouldn’t dare,”
he quipped, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.
Rokath rolled his eyes. “After Xannirin, you’re the most social.”
“Then why didn’t Xannirin get a warning?”
Rapp teased, though his words slipped over one another as they left his mouth.
The two glanced at the future Kral, whose head lolled to the side as he leaned against the wall. Rokath merely gestured at his intoxicated cousin as if to emphasize his current drunken stupor.
“Let’s move,”
Rokath barked, gripping Xannirin’s upper arm and dragging him from the room. Rapp assisted Thast as they entered the long halls of the barracks, silent with the early hour.
The walk to the stables was a long one, and relief swept through Rokath when he realized they were the first to arrive. He stowed Xannirin and Thast in an empty stall, tossing some stale bread in their direction. “Eat that and try to regain your composure before we need to leave.”
Mindlessly, they tore into it as their Vezet? walked away.
Rapp and Rokath saddled all four horses, finishing when the first of the others entered the stables. More and more trickled in, until their squad of twenty was ready to depart. Most sported heavy bags beneath their eyes, and the stench of alcohol was unmistakable.
At least it wasn’t only us, Rokath thought as he called for the group to mount. Though something twisted in his stomach. He knew it was a risk to attend to their duty with this many soldiers in a stupor. He also knew his instincts were solid. Yet the pressure of perfection pushed him to continue anyway. His father wouldn’t appreciate the consideration for their lives if Rokath should request another unit patrol instead.
Dawn broke as they rode toward the border, casting long shadows with the tall trees surrounding them. Higher they climbed into the Skala Mountains, reaching the ramp that led to the wall as the sun started the new day. Rokath leaped from his mount and exchanged information with the departing Vezet?.
Then, his squad set out to patrol their assigned length. Yawned unhinged jaw after jaw, and one male even bent over his horse and retched. Rokath knew most were in no shape to scan the distant trees for the telltale flash of white, or for the designated Suppressor to open his awareness to the world and search for magical signatures.
An hour passed, the sun continuing to flit through the trees and highlight bits of stone ahead. A scrape sounded, and Rokath paused. Was it the wind in the trees? he thought.
Holding his breath, he listened for the sound again. The creak was faint, enough that he questioned whether the drink he’d consumed was playing tricks on him. With this being his first rotation as Vezet?, he was paranoid, and the alcohol was only making it worse, he decided. Shaking the feeling off, he continued their ride.
Xannirin, Rapp, and Thast rode immediately behind him, and as he checked on their status over his shoulder, a flash of something other than the sun caught his attention.
Before he had the chance to react, a scream sliced the air. The three males at the rear of their party were torn down from their mounts by a group of Angels.
“Fuck!”
he cursed, yanking his horse’s reins to turn him.
Heavy with drink, all of his squad was slow to react to the assault from the Angels. Four more perished before Rokath vaulted off his mount and onto the balustrade. From his thigh, he drew a dagger and hurled it at the closest Angel. The blade sank into his neck, sending him crashing to the ground. The rider he’d been moments away from attacking turned, sending his horse stumbling over the body.
“Run!”
Rokath shouted at Xannirin. Their advantage was quickly shrinking. Rapp slapped Xannirin’s horse’s rear, sending him galloping, and chased after them. Thast slid to the ground and raced into the fray.
Dragging in a breath and trying to calm his racing heart, Rokath sank into the shadows in his chest and called on his mighty power. With a thunderous crash, he collided with the ground, then wasted no time in punching his fist into the hard stone. Adrenaline flowed fast and hard through his veins, blocking the pain. Shadows exploded from the impact, twisting over the fallen bodies and yanking them upright again.
He rose and flung his hands straight forward, directing them toward the handful of Angels still remaining. Sweat dripped from his forehead immediately. Fifteen bodies was more than he’d controlled at once before, yet he knew he needed every one of them to assist his remaining squad.
Thast yelled encouragement at the others as they pressed the Angels back, and with the aid of the dead, they felled the remainder within minutes. The moment the last hit the ground, Rokath dropped his magic, fatigue sweeping through him.
He slid against the stone wall until his rear was firmly planted on the ground. Air heaved in and out of his lungs. My first mission as a Vezet?, and I failed, wildly, and miserably, he thought. The harsh, judgmental voice of his father rang in his ears, making him grit his teeth.
Xannirin and Rapp returned, the former racing directly to Rokath. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Rokath refused to look at him, to look at anyone. He could only stare blankly ahead as he weighed his options. With trepidation solidifying in his bones, he rose and counted who remained of his squad.
Six.
Through clenched teeth, he barked, “Let’s finish our patrol and report back. The officers need to know what happened.”
His cousin tried to grab his arm, but Rokath shook him off and found his horse. The moment everyone was seated again, Rokath dug his heels into his mount’s side and took off, leaving the bodies spilling blood for the Fates.
The Kral and Rokath’s father stared down at their offspring, who knelt, heads drooping, on the packed dirt. With them were the other two who both shared a room with them and were on the disastrous patrol, and the two other survivors.
Rokath’s father stepped forward and shoved his son’s head back. “How could you be so foolish? I taught you better than that.”
Hate burned in his son’s burgundy eyes. “I was careless in my duty.”
“That’s right, you were. And now you’ve embarrassed the entire Vrak line,”
his father hissed. He stomped away and rejoined his brother, the Kral. “The question is, how to punish you.”
Rokath clenched his teeth, nails biting into his palms as he tried to rein himself in. It had been years since his father dared to lay a hand on him, and he wouldn’t let him attempt to do it again.
“It was my fault,”
the future Kral began, but Rokath elbowed him sharply. Rokath had been the Vezet? in charge, and he wouldn’t let Xannirin suffer the wrath of their fathers. Rokath had always borne the brunt of their abuse for them all, and he wasn’t about to let that change.
The two’s heavy regard settled over them, until the Kral’s brother stalked to the soldier beside his son. “Lift your head,”
he ordered.
Slowly, the male slid his attention to the imposing figure, revealing his bright cherry eyes. The Kral’s brother repeated it with the remaining two, revealing other lesser-powered eye colors. A wicked grin split his face as he returned to his son.
“You will kill one with your bare hands, then use his body to kill the others,”
he growled, and Rokath nearly leaped to his feet and choked his own father for suggesting he kill his friends.
“You cannot force me to do that,”
he replied instead, the muscles in his tattooed neck bulging from the strength of his self-restraint.
“If you do not, I will, and the Kral and I will choose which three we think deserve to die the most. And they will suffer for hours while you and the other three are tied and your eyes forced open to bear witness.”
He paused, waiting for the weight of his threat to sink into his son. “Or, you can choose three to die, and you can give them a quick send off to the Reaper.”
Rokath’s chest tightened. What his father was asking him to do made his vow for vengeance twist into an ugly beast. The blood he thirsted for would not be spilled that day, but that day would arrive sooner rather than later.
“Sacrifice me,”
Xannirin whispered to him.
The Kral clicked his tongue. “Xannirin is not an option. Neither are you, Rokath. In fact, we wouldn’t want to waste any of the burgundy-eyed powers here.”
Rokath squeezed his eyes shut. At least the Kral had taken the responsibility of choosing away from him, he thought. He didn’t see an alternative, not when they had an audience and shadows leaked from his father’s palms. His power was a cruel one, similar to that of a Demon who could create nightmares, but instead, his father forced you to feel like you were dying. Rokath had suffered the torture too many times to count.
He shoved to his feet, separating his emotions from himself as he braced for what he was about to do. Two of the lesser Demons scrambled away from him, but the cherry-eyed one beside him did not move. Thast jutted his chin and squared his shoulders. Flashes of their first meeting swept through Rokath’s mind before he sequestered the memories so far away that he’d never have to suffer through them again.
Rokath drew his dagger, and the male continued to kneel at his feet. “It’s okay, Rokath,”
he murmured, tears filling his eyes. Rokath remained expressionless. “I don’t blame you for this at all. I’ll have a great time in my next life.”
A tremble shook Rokath’s hand as he raised the knife.
And then, he sliced.
Blood sprayed from the wound at Thast’s neck, coating Rokath’s skin and the leather armor that had previously been oiled to perfection. Yet Rokath did not care. Without waiting, he smashed his fist into the ground and forced his friend’s still-warm body to rise and race after the fleeing two.
Ice caged his heart as Thast shredded both of them to ribbons. The moment they were both dead, Rokath released his magic and faced his father and the Kral.
He hoped that the hate and the rage burning in his burgundy eyes would frighten them. He pinned them with that fiery glare as he stalked from the training arena and returned to his room, one single bed never to be warmed again.
Sinking onto it, he buried his face in his bloody hands.
And then, he wept for the last time.