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“If this is about their mortality,” Malaki presses, “there’s always lilac wine—”

I harden my features. “It’s about more than that.”

I’ve spent my entire life trying to prove that I’m more than just a poor, powerless dustback, but I can’t seem to crawl out of the hole I came from. Committing myself to a human will once again make me seem weak, vulnerable.

Up ahead I catch sight of the military recruitment center, where fairies can enlist—that is, if they don’t get drafted first. Not every Night fae gets called in for active duty, but those that do are often too poor or too weak to afford the spells that will remove their name from the pool of draftees.

It’s rare that a fairy will willingly recruit themselves, but that’s exactly what Malaki and I are doing.

Join the royal guard. Find your valor. What you seek lies on the other side of it.I can still hear the prophetess’s words in my head.

“I didn’t leave the Angels to hunt for a mate,” I say with finality, closing the subject.

I left to get my revenge, and by gods, I will have it.

Chapter 6

All Prophecies Have a Price

220 years ago

Being a soldieris a thankless job. The Kingdoms of Day and Night are forever fighting over the Borderlands, the territories that divide our two kingdoms. And so long as they are in dispute, there will always be another battle to fight. That means more bloodshed, more close brushes with death, more giving in to my dark nature.

Since Malaki and I joined the military nearly two decades ago, we’ve been almost continuously deployed at the Borderlands, first fighting at the territory of Dusk, and now here at Dawn.

Our camp sits on a bit of glittering meteorite the Night Kingdom keeps locked in orbit. This barren landmass makes Arestys look like an oasis.

Only the most important buildings here are solid structures. The rest of the outpost is nothing more than a small city of tents, the fabric of them faded from such extended use. The war has been waging on even longer than the Shadow King has sat on the throne. My grandmother, the king’s mother, started it nearly four centuries ago, and it has toiled on ever since.

At the end of today’s shift, I head back into my tent, the entrance flapping closed behind me. I sit down on my cot and crack my neck before I reach down and begin to remove my armor.

At this point, wearing the protective gear is a mere formality. There hasn’t been any active fighting for almost two weeks, not after we trounced the Day soldiers so completely that they had to retreat. Eventually they’ll be back. They’re never gone for long.

I unlace my greaves and toss them aside. Then I remove the boiled leather armor encasing my forearms and chest. I only give a passing glance to the blood embedded beneath my nails and between the creases of my knuckles. If I cared much, I’d spell it away. I don’t.

This place is beating down my will.

I glance up at the ceiling from where I sit. It’s been enchanted to be semi-transparent, and through it I can just barely make out the faintest hints of stars amongst the predawn sky. No matter how long I live here, I’ll never get used to the sight of the sky, caught somewhere between day and night.

… Someone’s heading your way …

The shadows are forever goading me, hoping to taste a bit of my power in return for their secrets.

Let them come.I’m in no mood to make idle deals with shadows today.

My tent flaps are thrown aside, and Malaki strides in. “It’s our last night on this fucking wasteland. Let’s get drunk and celebrate.”

It’s our last night—for now. I’m under no illusions that either of us will be back in Barbos for long. Just long enough to remember how nice it is to not fight for a stupid cause. And then we’ll be called back, just as we have been a dozen times before now. The war is always raging.

My eyes move to the bronze band circling my bicep. I frown at it. How thrilled I’d been to receive it, believing this would be my opening to face the king again. But it had amounted to nothing.

Malaki takes me in, his eyes missing nothing. “You are the only man I know who pouts about a war cuff,” he says.

I push off the cot. “I’m notpouting.”

“You are,” Malaki says. “Because leaving this damned rock means you’re farther away than ever from seeing your vendetta through.”

I push to my feet. “Where are the festivities at?” I ask, ignoring his words. Wine and women go a long way to making everything better, and there’s always a little of both around here.