59
The moment a snowy white dove fluttered into camp, I knew the taunt from the Angels had arrived. Insomnia wasn’t what had kept me awake the entire night; no, it was the blinding rage of my mate being taken right under my nose and the utter ineptitude of my soldiers from preventing that from happening.
How the fuck had they allowed Angels into our camp? How in all the worlds were they so sloppy as to not see a group coming?
The whip dropped from my hand as I reached out to accept the offered parchment from the bird. The males on their knees in front of me, backs flayed, whimpered from the reprieve. Should I have dragged as many as I did to the posts and beaten them to satiate the anguish ripping apart my soul?
No.
But I didn’t fucking care.
Tearing the paper open, I read the note written in the common tongue.
We have your mate. What a lovely sacrifice she will be to the Goddess. Should you like to parlay for her life, bring your entire force onto the flats, then come with your officers to our camp. Unarmed.
A cease in action had been ordered in the middle of the night after I discovered Assyria missing, and the Angels were more than happy to oblige me. The fucking smirks they wore told me they all knew what their ferocity had been for. Why they had needed to cause such a disturbance within our battalions during that battle.
A snarl ripped from my throat, and I stalked away from the bloody males, toward the nearby tent filled with messenger birds. The dove had already departed, which told me they weren’t waiting for a reply. I would show, or I wouldn’t.
“Anything from Hadvezér Trol or Hadvezér Rapp?”
I growled at the two attendants.
They both jumped, then swept into kneeling positions. The birds tittered too and smashed their wings against their cages. Shirtless, covered in blood, my face etched with fury, it wasn’t hard to imagine why fear pooled in their wide eyes. “No, Halálhívó. We will find you the moment we have a message from them.”
I left without a word, stomping to my black tent. Black, like my soul, like my morals, like the actions I would take without a second thought to return Assyria to my arms.
One of the Parancsok jogged up, opening his mouth to say something. “Do not speak,”
I snapped. All I could see was red. But not just any red.
A burgundy so deep that I wanted to drown myself in it, with flecks of purple the color of wine and red the color of the rising sun. A mosaic of color so complex I could stare at it forever and never appreciate the full picture.
The Parancsok followed me down the row, remaining silent. But words were poised on the tip of his tongue, waiting to spill over. Finally, I groused, “Speak.”
“What did the note say?”
he asked in a rush.
“They have her.”
I ducked inside and he followed me. Grem and Zeec were there, resting, and both flicked their ears forward at the sight of us. Their eyes were sad, as if they too regretted not protecting Assyria. They hadn’t scented the Angels either, which was concerning. Rubbing my temples, I collapsed into a broken chair. It creaked and cracked again, but at least it didn’t shatter to the ground.
“What do you want to do?”
he asked, pulling out the one Assyria always sat in. I almost told him to get the fuck out of it. Something had stilled my hand with that one when I smashed every other piece of furniture to bits.
I wanted Rapp here to talk about this, not one of the Parancsok. But by the sounds of it I didn’t have time to wait for him or Trol.
“Why didn’t you tell us she was your mate? We would have protected her better. Had a dedicated guard for her–”
“For this fucking reason,”
I snapped. “Though look at the good it did me anyway. I knew bringing her was a fucking risk.”
I banged my fist on the damaged table so hard the wood splintered. Still, my rage wasn’t slaked. I smashed two into it, and it collapsed in on itself. “But I was weak and the Fates’ damned bond wouldn’t let me part from her.”
“I don’t think anyone could have done that with such a fresh bond,”
he said, attempting to reassure me. I didn’t want his pity or his sympathy. This fuck up was on me, and I had to fix it.
“They want us to go to the flats unarmed. Then, the officers to their camp to bargain for her life.”
The words dropped like a stone into a still lake, and the ripple stole the breath from the Parancsok’s lungs. “We will go with you, of course. We will bring others with strong shadows or who can render themselves invisible to go with us as extra protection. What if they want your life for hers?”
I returned to massaging my temples, head pounding like it was an anvil and a blacksmith was striking it with his hammer. The entire situation was so fucked. “I don’t know. I don’t know what they want in exchange.”
The Angels had laid a trap, of that I was certain, and yet my emotions were so heightened I couldn’t fucking think through all the possibilities. I was unmoored, unable to use my strategic mind to determine the best path forward.
The Parancsok fiddled with a broken piece of wood. “When will we go?”
I blew out a breath. “Now. There is no point in dragging it out.”
Shoving off the chair, I went to my bag and unbuckled it. The memory of Thast hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d failed him. I couldn’t save him from my father’s wrath.
But I could save—would save—Assyria from the Angel’s.
There was no other option.
“Gather the warriors and get them in formation. Tell the Százados if we do not return, they are in charge of reuniting with the rest of the army. They can go through the hills if they have to. And relay what happened to Hadvezér Rapp and Hadvezér Trol.”
“Halálhívó,”
he said, tone threaded with protest.
“Go,”
I snarled with enough violence that his footsteps scurried away immediately.
A low whine filled my ears as Zeec rose and trotted toward me, nuzzling my neck. “I know, boy. I’m going to get her back.”
Running my hand through his soft fur, I tried to let that soothe me, to abate the adrenaline coursing through my veins. Whatever the Angels had planned wouldn’t end well for me or the Demons.
We were so fucking close to victory.
Was this the Weaver’s plan all along? Was the vision the Giver had offered Kiira of me walking the streets of Sivy with Zaph and the Angel Zahal’s heads a lie? Had this all been a curse from the Reaper?
I’d never doubted this path before. I’d walked down it, no matter the cost. Why else would the Giver have blessed me with the power of Calling, Xannirin with the power of Speaking, and Kiira with the power of Sight, if we weren’t supposed to use them in their name?
Why had the Fates turned their backs on us? Did we not spill enough blood for them? We changed an entire society to venerate them thrice daily, made countless terrible choices to get to that point, and for what?
To have my weakness snatched and used against me.
Fuck you, Fates.