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Chapter Fifty-Four

Annora

As the first rays of dawn stretch across the horizon, I step out of Jasce’s tent and stare at the cloud of dust rising in the distance.

Earlier, I woke up and found Jasce gone. He didn’t say anything to me, didn’t warn me—just disappeared.

The cloud takes shape through the morning haze, and my heart leaps as Jasce emerges at the front of his army. Blood and dirt streak his armor, but he sits tall in the saddle.

He went to war and didn’t tell me?

Did he kill Asha?

My heart thunders in my ears as I reach out, grabbing hold of the tent.

What if she’s already dead?

I force myself to glance back at Jasce. At his brothers flanking him and his warriors riding behind him.

Jasce looks every bit the barbarian warrior, his black hair matted together with streaks of red that look gruesomely like war paint.

His gaze meets mine. Fierceness burns there. So much fierceness.

I fight the urge to turn away, to escape back into the safety of the tent, but my feet remain rooted.

“Did you kill Asha?” I ask the moment he dismounts and walks to where I stand.

“No. She retreated.”

When he takes another step toward me, I stumble backward.

“Don’t,” I whisper, raising my hands. “ Please .”

“Annora.” His voice softens, but I can’t look at him, can’t bear to see death clinging to him.

Nausea grips me as I curl my fingers into my sleeves. “You need to clean up first.”

Understanding dawns on his face as he glances down. “I’ll go wash.”

Jasce looked just like my grandfather after battle. Just like Aleksander.

I’ve noticed the similarities between the brothers before, but today I really noticed.

They’re both lethal. Both capable of toppling cities. Both capable of severing my heart in half.

No. Jasce isn’t like that.

He’d never sever my heart.

But the blood. So much blood.

Does he enjoy killing people?

I hurry into his tent and sit on the edge of the mattress.

This is Jasce.

Your Jasce.

No! The fierce warrior who strode into camp—that wasn’t my Jasce.

My Jasce crafts wooden toys for William. Sketches. Holds me like I’m made of glass.

Today, his eyes blazed with something primal, something that reminded me too much of watching villages burn.

Surely, this was different. This was battle, not slaughter. Not murder. Not like what Aleksander made me do.

Yet I saw darkness in Jasce’s eyes today. The kind of darkness that changes a person, that seeps into their soul and never truly washes clean.

I need to see my Jasce again. Need to find the gentle artist beneath the warrior’s mask.

Otherwise…

The gods help me.

I don’t want to think about otherwise…