Page 189

“You’re fucking welcome,” I muttered.

Behind me, Blynth made a choked noise. It sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Your Majesty!” The voice was panicked, and I whirled, sweeping my gaze toward the tents behind me, where a young soldier wiped blood from his face as he approached.

“Who?” I asked, dread pooling in my gut.

“Orivan.”

“Take me to him.”

The hybrid general had been dragged into Tibris’s tent. And yet my brother wasn’t working on him. Oureyes met, and Tibris shook his head.

“What happened?” I demanded.

The soldier had followed me inside the healer’s tent. “He saw Yars go down. The general was friends with Yars’s father. He trained that boy since the day he could hold a sword.” He wiped a hand over his face and only succeeded in smearing more blood across his cheek. “I think maybe the general went a little crazed, Your Majesty. He leaped into the battle as if he were still a young man.”

Tibris gestured him forward. “You need stitches for that cut.”

Their voices faded to a murmur as I stared down at what was left of Orivan. The broadsword had almost cut him in half. He hadn’t had a chance.

Turning, I walked out of the tent. And the slaughter continued.

32

Prisca

When our soldiers had told stories of battle while we traveled here, I’d attempted to listen to what they didn’t say.

I’d tried to pick apart their words, to prepare myself for just how horrifying this battle would be.

But nothing had prepared me for the smell of blood, heavy in the air. Nothing had prepared me for the brutal screams of the wounded and dying. And nothing had prepared me for this part—when I would be forced to do nothing but watch.

Despite our plan, soon, I would have no choice but to join the battle and use my power to buy my people as much time as I could. Enough time for them to run as fast and as far as possible.

I let my gaze drift to Lorian, my chest clenching.

His head suddenly whipped around. And he wasn’t the only one. On the battlefield, Marth began roaring, his sword slashing so fast, it was a blur of blood and death.

Galon grinned, pointing behind me.

I whirled. Far in the distance—so far, Ihad to squint despite the eye tonic I’d taken—marching in neat rows, silver armor gleaming in the sun…

Conreth’s fae army. He’d marched his army through the northwestern fae lands and over the Minaret Mountains.

Our people fought with renewed vigor as that army marched toward us. A few footspans away, someone was sobbing, thanking the gods.

The color drained from Blynth’s face, and the stern general suddenly looked as shaken as I’d ever seen him.

He’d accepted his death, I realized. He’d come to terms with it, and now Conreth was offering a tiny glimpse of hope.

The fae soldiers wasted no time. With no other choice, they marched straight into our lines, fighting shoulder to shoulder with our own soldiers as their power slammed into the Eprothans.

The moment Conreth was close enough, I threw my arms around him. The amulet he wore clinked against my armor.

Conreth stiffened, his surprise evident. But his hand came up to pet my shoulder. “My army is exhausted,” he said. “An early snowfall hit, and we had to make camp for three days. Jamic helped there.” He turned to glance at Jamic, who strode up to me with an easy confidence. Clearly, leaving him with Conreth had been the right choice.

“But we’re here,” Conreth said. His gaze slid over my shoulder, and I knew without looking that Lorian had left the battlefield to Conreth’s fae.