Page 123

She stepped again.

He did too. Boots connecting with the edge, crumbling dirt down into the pit.

A devilish smirk grew up his face when he glanced over his shoulder.

Alora stretched up onto her toes, leaning into him. “Then I guess I better start running,” she whispered and pushed him over the edge.

A circular tablestood in the center of the war tent. Twelve generals sat, discussing their next route as the High Prince leaned back in his chair between them.

Shadows swirled around his hands, around the parchment that Deimon had delivered before the discussions. Parchment that wild tendrils of smoke appeared tempted to eviscerate.

Garrik reclined in his chair, eyes slowly scanning the ink again before finally misting it away in a cloud of smoke and shadow. He stiffened in his seat, steepling fingertips in front of his face while dulled muddy-gray orbs burned into the maps strewn across the table.

In the back of the tent, against the canvas and away from the table, the growing heat of her skin made Alora’s cheeks flush. She sat tentatively listening to the elevated voices of the generals and Shadow Order. Discussing and planning a route to Alynthia, a guarded town of the richest sweet water and lush forests. Almost a paradise. Protected—hidden—by treacheroustrails in the mountain and avenged by a beast that lurked within its shadows, Alynthia was a town of myth, merely rumored by a small etching on the maps of its existence.

No faerie outside the mountain could—with any certainty—prove it existed.

And the Dragons would be marching to it in a few days’ time.

The plan, always the same. Garrik and Thalon would extract the target while the army camped ten miles south.

Along with ongoing orders of training new Mystics, both with weaponry and powers, Alora herself had grown stronger in the two months on the road. Every stop for the evening was filled with sparring sessions with not only Thalon but Jade, too. Her temper made for great practice. Alora had even eventually perfected skills that outwitted Thalon during one stormy training session, which brought him to his knees in the mud.

She was growing stronger.

Faster.

Her magic more controlled with each passing week.

Alora rubbed her death mark under training leathers and her mouth curved into a smile at the strength she could feel. It had been quite some time since she thought of herself as strong.

She had been Alora, child of Nadeleine and a beloved father whose name had never been spoken to her. Alora the orphaned faeling in the markets of Telldaira. Alora, the young, beautiful female, working and singing in a tavern just to stay alive.

Alora the betrothed of Lord Kaine Dralkin, Lord of Telldaira. Only that title still remained—betrothed.

The word threatened to ignite embers in her palms.

Betrothed.

Still owned by him. Still haunted by him. Stillhis.

Her palm tightened until it trembled, feeling power, feeling the strength in her grasp.

She couldn’t remember a time when she looked this way—feltthis way. Kaine would never have approved. He preserved his females in a state of destitution and submission, wearing ornate gowns and pseudo smiles only when it suited his pristine image of trickery. A pretty ornament for his mantel, shining and quiet, a trophy to be admired, his great victory of wealth, status, and power.

There was a time she went running once. Feeling her body grow tired day by day from lack of movement. The stones of the street had crunched beneath her boots as fresh morning air whipped her face, and her ankles had ached at the unfamiliar impact. If she hadn’t been so malnourished, perhaps she could’ve run farther, maybe never to return at all. But when she arrived home with a painful ache in her side and half breathless, Kaine had taught her why she would never go running again.

Can’t have one’s punching bag able to punch back.

Blackened abyss met her eyes covered by daydreams. Alora hadn’t realized her face had twisted at the memory. She loosened her mouth into a half-hearted grin.

Just another thing you can kill him for.Garrik’s voice brushed away the remaining poison left behind by Kaine. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, face turned up in a snarl.

Shouldn’t you be more focused on them than what I’m thinking?Alora rolled her eyes.

You are far more interesting. Next time, try not to feel yourself up in my presence and I will not desire to know what you are thinking.

I wasn’t feel— Her eyes forced a glare capable of burning a hole through him. White embers heated her palm. Alora subtly lifted a middle finger in his direction, the tip dancing with a controlled flame.I hate you.