Chapter 32
Aimee
“Imiss the desert,” Celine huffs from under layers upon layers of thick wool and heavy furs, her reddish nose the only part of her peeking through. “This place is a frozen nightmare.”
“Oh, but it’s wonderful,” Kahlya interjects, gathering snow in her palms and throwing it in the air.
It sprinkles back down like fractured moonbeams, and the redhead squeals in delight.
“I never dared to hope to see snow. I heard the old stories that the first humans of Reweroth brought with them from the continent. Of air so cold it burns your body with a frigid bite, of frozen rain falling to the ground like white sands. Those were my favorite bedtime stories.”
“Overrated if you ask me,” Celine grunts in disapproval. “How you can stand it here, Aimee, is beyond me.”
“There are perks to Wrahta,” I answer truthfully, my gaze raising to the Vampire King watching us in silence from the balcony above.
“I’m sure there are,” Kahlya says with a knowing smile, before gathering a ball of snow and throwing it directly at Celine’s chest. “Stop being so dramatic, my heart.”
A commotion from inside the castle stops their bickering short, and I throw Killian a quizzical look, but he’s already vanished from the spot he was before.
We follow the sounds to the stairwell leading to the tunnels, where Mattya and Axel support a bloodied Mael.
He’s worse for wear than the last time I saw him.
Dried blood coats his auburn hair from a nasty gash on his temple.
His clothing is muddied and ripped to shreds, and his uneven breaths come out pained.
“Dear sands, what happened to you?” Kahlya screams, grabbing his head with delicate movements and inspecting his wounds.
“Those wretched creatures attacked us. Descended on our camp in the dead of night. So much death,” the human responds, each word dragging like steel over stone.
“Get the healers now,” Killian commands, and the vampires scurry down the hallway.
“Our army?” Celine asks, deep lines etching her forehead, her brows drawn in a frown.
Kahlya struggles to keep her cousin upright, and Killian swoops in, placing the male’s arm around his neck and helping him move to the nearest chamber.
“Decimated,” Mael answers mournfully. “We lost half our men. Dead. Or worst.”
I take a sharp breath.
The only thing worse than death is becoming an onpyr.
“Half?” Kahlya asks in shock, tears brimming her eyes.
“We knew the toll of war when we agreed to this,” Celine says, placing a hand in comfort on her lover’s shoulder. “Where did this happen, Mael?”
“Along the coastline. Not far from the Fae borders. We couldn’t advance further by boat; the waves too great. We disembarked a day earlier than planned.”
“Near Bradvva,” Killian states, and my blood freezes in my veins.
They’re here; they’ve entered Wrahta.
My sister is finally making her move.
Mael nods, and a graveyard silence falls upon us. We have a day at best before they attack Sangeries.
“We fled, barely escaping their clutches. We left behind our wounded, galloped all night and day to reach here. To warn you.”
“How many?” Celine asks, her gaze steely as she assesses the threat.
“I’ve—I’ve never seen so many dreadful creatures. They blackened the lands. Set fire to villages and towns. When day broke, we could still see the dark smoke. Still could smell the charred flesh.”
The door opens with a creak of hinges; the healers carry salves and ointments. Blaise and Sariah enter behind them, followed by Ereshkygall and Soren.
“What happened here?” Blaise asks in confusion.
“Morweena,” Killian answers curtly. “Her hordes have breached our borders.”
“Fuck,” Blaise whistles, passing a hand over his face.
“Fuck indeed,” Soren grumbles before turning to his sister. “We should gather the Umbras and prepare to defend the castle.”
“We can’t let them reach the castle,” I exclaim.
“Everybody out,” the healer Esmera orders. “Let us do our job.”
Kahlya is ready to refuse, but Killian gently grabs her elbow, guiding her toward the door. “He has the best healers in Wrahta to cure him. He’ll be alright.”
His impassioned stare washes over each one of us.
“My study. Now. War has arrived at our doorstep.”
The air in the study is heavy with tension, so thick it could cut through bone. Killian paces back and forth like a caged beast, his shadows coiling and uncoiling against his flesh, pulsing with a faint crimson glow and the promise of bloodshed.
“Here,” Blaise says, hunched over a massive map unfolded on the desk. He puts his finger on a spot of ink, words written in a flourished calligraphy I can’t decipher from my vantage point. It matters not, as I already know what is scribbled there.
Bradvva. The fallen city.
Before, the onpyr hordes were contained in the North, and the Saunoque Mountains stood between them and Sangeries. The city of Dithrau was a bastion to uphold, and many died defending it. Prevailing.
Now they are attacking from the South in larger numbers due to the treacherous Fae, and there’s no barrier to hinder them.
Not anymore. My sister is coming for all of us, unleashing the scourge of her mindless puppets upon everything that stands in her way.
My heart bleeds for all those lost to her madness, vampires and humans alike.
“We can assume everything between the borders and Bradvva has fallen. Even further since the attack on the human army was hours ago. I’ve sent scouts to gather information, but no news so far.”
“No news is usually good news, but I’m wary to believe the same in this instance,” Soren replies in his serious tone, barred of the usual contempt he displays when talking to Blaise.
They seem to have put their animosity to the side, if just for a brief break.
A common enemy tends to create reluctant allies, after all.
“They will stop to raze to the ground every village and town on their way,” Killian says, fists clenched at his side, seething fury seeping out of his pores.
My fingers long to touch him, to provide some sliver of comfort.
He fought for so long to keep his people safe, and it’s proven to be all in vain.
There’s no escaping the annihilation, not until we defeat Morweena once and for all.
“That gives us what? A day?” Sariah asks, her gaze pinned on Blaise as he straightens with a sigh. His hand brushes her slightly in a movement so infinitesimal that I’m not sure if I’ve not imagined it.
“Half a day if we’re lucky. Most likely hours,” he answers with a grimace.
“I’ve sent word for the Umbras to collect all the sleeping concoction we’ve been able to produce, to prepare the wing bones, to dip arrows in it.” Soren intervenes from his place by the hearth. “It’s not nearly enough, but it will do.”
Panic seizes my chest, and I shake my fingers to chase the pressing numbness away.
The light dims in my vision, although no clouds obscure the sun.
On instinct, I try to control my breathing—the familiar mental exercises somewhat foreign, like a rhyme you once knew by heart but now struggle to remember.
My shadows press gently against my limbs, the sensation meant to ground me, to bring me back to myself. Yet all I can do is obsess over the same jarring thought.
I stupidly believed we’d have more time.
I’m not ready.
I’m not ready.
I’m not ready.
“One is never ready in the face of calamity, Omri,” comes K’haram’s gentle rumble inside my head. “Disaster has a way of striking when you least expect it, even when you’ve prepared for it with carefully laid plans. Fate bows to no creature, and tragedy even less so.”
His gravely voice dispels my rising anxiety, the room around me coming back into focus. They’re deciding where to stage an ambush for the onpyrs, to thwart their advance. I force myself to pay attention to the words coming out of Blaise’s mouth; the sound disjointed, as if I’m underwater.
“The forest outside Drovillan is our best bet. They won’t see us coming. We can use the landscape to our advantage.”
I frown when no one objects.
“It’s too close to the city, to Sangeries,” I interject. I hate how my voice comes out high-pitched, betraying my inner turmoil. I’m the fucking Foretold One. If I can’t gather my wits now, how will I do so in battle?
“It’s our best option on such short notice, umbra,” Killian states, his hand coming to rest at my waist. I gaze at him with dreadful understanding, and he silently mouths, “Are you okay?”
I shake my head just barely. There is no point in pretending. Of course I’m not fucking okay.
Nothing is.
“We could send K’haram to survey the land ahead. Find out their exact location. How fast they’re moving,” Celine says.
“No,” I instantly respond. “I will not have Morweena know about his existence. She will try to subdue him again. Or kill him.”
“Omri,” comes his voice in my head, and I know what he’s about to say. He’s all too willing to sacrifice for me, for us, but I won’t have it.
“Don’t you fucking dare. You want to fight this time around? Fine. But I will not send you out to slaughter just to save a few hours.”
“But…”
“No! My word is final, K’haram. Don’t make me invoke the soul bond.” I slam my mental doors shut on him, knowing he won’t act against my will.
“The Foretold One is correct,” Ereshkygall intervenes, speaking for the first time since we entered this room. “Keeping his presence hidden is our greatest advantage. He shall be the element of surprise in battle.”
Celine nods curtly, her protests dying on her tongue at Ereshkygall’s words. She might not be a Goddess, but her tone carries the finality of ancient wisdom. She’s the only one here to have faced these horrors in the past, the only one that survived them.
“Then it’s settled,” Blaise continues his earlier strategizing.
“We plant our warriors in the forest and we face those bastards head-on. Between vampires, Dark Umbras, and the remaining human army, they won’t stand a chance.
Tomorrow shall bring a new world order. Peace.
” His words are determined and hopeful, but his azure eyes betray his fear as he casts Sariah a furtive glance.
“We fight together, we die together,” Soren vows, thumping his fist lightly against his heart. Sariah utters the same vow, and one by one, each of us does the same.
“I’ll go check on Mael and prepare our army,” Kahlya says before she leaves the room with Celine.
“And we shall make sure our Dark Umbras are prepared,” Sariah says, gesturing Soren to join her. “Blaise, we need you to explain the layout to them.”
He nods, walking out after the brother and sister.
The room suddenly became quiet, and before I can turn to Killian and seek the comfort of his steady embrace, the sound of Ereshkygall clearing her voice drags my attention to the door. Her hand is on the handle, but instead of leaving, she shuts it with a portent click.
“What’s the matter, Eresh?” Killian asks, his voice edged with the same impatience that’s coursing through my veins.
She regards us with sorrowful intensity, clasping her hands behind her back. Time seems to slow to a crawling pace as she utters her next words.
“My liege, Foretold One, there’s one more thing that you should know.”