Chapter 17 #3
“Wonderful, Commander,” I answered. His face lit up.
I spotted Alixe with a group of mortals near the melted gate.
Their clothes were soiled and rumpled, their expressions tired—the newly released prisoners, I guessed.
I waved her over. “Lonard, I’d like you to be responsible for all the army soldiers in Lumnos.
You’ll report directly to my High General, Alixe Corbois. ”
“This is an outrage,” a man bellowed behind me. “I am in charge of the soldiers.”
“Not anymore,” I said, not bothering to look. “The Emarion Army is mine to command.”
“My army will never answer to some self-righteous, Crown-stealing, half-breed b—”
His voice sizzled to silence, joined by the smell of searing flesh and a blissfully familiar thrum of magic in the air.
“Commander Lonard,” Luther said, his voice dark with fury, “one of your men just defied his Queen.” His aura pulsed, followed by a muffled scream. “Remind me, what’s the punishment for an army soldier who disobeys the Fortos Crown?”
Lonard was doing a terrible job of suppressing his satisfaction. “For a Descended, two hundred years of imprisonment.”
“And for a mortal?”
“Death.”
“Her Majesty did say she wanted things to be equal,” Luther rumbled.
My gaze slid and locked with his. There was a coldness to him now, a ruthless severity. This was not our usual playful banter—Luther wanted the Vice General bleeding, suffering, and dead.
Apparently, our time apart had dragged us both into the darkness.
“Your orders, my Queen?” he asked, a cobra ready to strike.
Kill him.
The words waited on my lips, taunting me, inviting me. The exhilaration of knowing I could do it and no one could stop me. The delight of imagining the fear it would inspire in others who might consider challenging me, too.
Kill him.
Luther wanted it so, so badly. The thought of pleasing my mate and earning his praise brought a rush of sinful delight. His eyes dropped to my lips, nostrils flaring, and desire pulsed between my legs.
What did it say about me, about us, that the prospect of his violence at my command was having this effect?
“So much for equality,” a voice mumbled in the crowd.
I turned to a woman with yellow eyes and a strip of black hair sculpted into spikes down the center of her head. Nearby soldiers jabbed her with their elbows, trying to push her out of sight, but she obstinately held her ground.
“Does your speech only apply to mortals, or do we Descended get a choice, too?” she asked.
The Descended have always had a choice, I started to bite, but thoughts of Eleanor held me back. She was Descended, and she’d never had much say in her own life. Neither had Lily. Even Zalaric’s choices had been dictated by survival.
“Every soldier gets the same options,” I said. “Take your pension and go home, or stay and fight.”
“Doesn’t look like he’s getting much of a choice.”
I followed her stare to the Fortos Vice General. Luther had mutilated him. The man’s severed tongue lay on the grass, and his feet had been burned near to bone, his legs collapsing into a forced kneel. Luther’s icy stare stayed on me, awaiting my condemnation—or my permission.
I sighed heavily. Angrily.
“Release his hands.” Shimmering blue cords unwrapped from the man’s wrists, and I faced him with a scowl. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.”
He gaped at me, aghast.
“Do you want me to heal it or not?”
He quickly fumbled for the appendage and shoved it into his blackened, bloody mouth.
“If you try anything, you’ll lose a body part you care about a lot more than that one, understood?” I snapped.
I laid a palm on the top of his head and let my healing magic fuse the charred flesh of his tongue back together, then pushed the magic to his feet, marveling at the way my godhood wove fresh sinew and skin.
I’d assumed Descended magic could only replicate normal healing, but the human body couldn’t do that with all the time and medicine in the world.
He collapsed to the ground, trembling, and stared in shock at his fully healed limbs. I looked away, enraged by the sight of my mercy.
Sometimes I hated my instinct to spare lives.
What good had it done? I could be violent and unyielding instead, wield my power with such savagery that no one would defy me ever again.
I could destroy anything that stood in my way.
The world wanted me to do it. My own mate wanted me to do it. The gods seemed to want it, too.
In my heart, I was a healer.
But healers didn’t win wars.
“Stay or go,” I snarled at him, “I don’t fucking care. But if you stay, you’ll obey me. And him”—I pointed to Lonard—“and her”—then Alixe—“and anyone else I see fit to appoint.”
I raised my voice, looking out at the crowd.
“We are at war. If we lose, all of Emarion will pay the price. Every realm. Every person, mortal and Descended. If I have to, I’ll save this world by my gods-damned self, but I will not do it just to return Emarion to what it was before.
I am your Queen, and this is my command: We will live together as equals. ”
My voice dropped to a mutter.
“Or we’ll die as them instead.”