Page 57

Amaia

M y mercy only extended so far before I was tempted to ask the devil for a favor.

Those motherfuckers from Kansas were dead the second my troops set eyes on them—I only needed to figure out how . Scouts had poured in by the many. Kansas was on the move, and it wasn’t to join our cause. Nope. I knew exactly what they were going to attempt, as if Ronan had scrawled their plans in bold across the tundra.

He wanted to chase us to the border—not push. There was a difference there. Ronan desired us to be broken by fear and exhaustion. This was not to be the battle, but a series of small ones until we couldn’t go on a second longer.

So I’d have to break him first.

We had a day, maybe less, if Wichita, Kansas City, and Topeka kept their pace. I glanced up as Reina slipped into the tent, Serenity’s jacket covering her towel shrouded body, light and snow flurries streaming in before the flap fell shut. She was followed closely by Millie, who was soaking wet, and Tomoe, her wide, hazed eyes fogged with exhaustion. Diagnosis fucked, fantastic. They pushed into the crowded tent that smelled like ass, must, and everything wrong with the world.

Things had been going too well. I was weary in finding hope in the extended bouts of peace. As we closed in on Covert’s borders and the desert merged into the beginnings of a cold, unforgiving tundra, the nerves in me only increased.

This barren land was a graveyard, and the only thing it was missing was bodies. Ours or theirs.

No one spoke. They knew me enough by now to keep their mouths shut when I was in this state—calculating, teetering on the edge of brilliance or disaster. I refused to let us be caught running, but staying meant a fight we might not win. I ignored them, flipping through Prescott’s journal instead. I needed to think—to pull from the known to prepare for the unknown.

They probably thought I was reviewing battle plans, options—I wasn’t. I was searching for something familiar to anchor me. Anything to help think clearly.

I stumbled across a page I hadn’t brought myself to read yet. One of his last entries. Ramblings—random thoughts and bits of history that had struck him as useful once. Austria. Russia. Snow and ice. Higher ground. Cinematic embellishments.

A reddish-brown hand reached over my shoulder and onto the journal, stopping me from turning the other page and my heart stopped. I froze before glancing up at Riley. His expression was unreadable, but the moment our eyes met, something clicked. This was it—the answer.

“Napoleon,” I mumbled, my mind already racing through the memories I’d stored.

“What?” Finley frowned. Up front. Per usual.

“Napoleon,” I repeated with confidence, addressing the rest of my audience. “That’s how we do this. I know what to do.”

“Yeah, you and you only.” Finley raised an eyebrow, leaning lazily against the table.

“Another proposal to lean on the past?” Claes asked from the back, his tone dubious.

“If you don’t study history, it repeats itself,” Alexiares said dryly, his warmth brushing my arm in a way only I noticed.

“And in this case,” I continued, snapping the journal shut with a decisive thunk . “Repeating it is exactly what I plan to do. Napoleon was an asshole. Brilliant, but an asshole nonetheless.”

“Good ideas. Terrible execution,” Riley added.

“What is she on about?” Millie asked from their corner of the room. I glanced over, trying to read the intentions of her statement. It wasn’t sarcasm. She appeared genuinely interested in where my mind was going.

Reina gave her a sharp elbow to the ribs. “Shut up. Don’t interrupt the maestro at work.”

I stepped closer to the table and leaned, tilting my head as I glanced over the officers that had no choice but to meet my gaze. “Most of you old shits went to West Point. Half of what you studied came straight out of Napoleon’s playbook. Love him or hate him, the man understood how to win.”

“He was a masochist,” General Harper countered, shaking his head.

Alexiares scoffed. “‘ Sadist’ is the term you’re looking for. He won wars.”

I glanced at him before I could stop myself. He wasn’t looking at me—his focus stayed on the map, his brow furrowed, lips barely moving as he spoke. The words weren’t spoken with the kind of quiet confidence that always caught me off guard. I hadn’t known him to be an admirer of Napoleon. The way his mind worked, the way he pulled something sharp and useful from a name that everyone else dismissed—it wasn’t the first time he’d surprised me.

And damn, it wouldn’t be the last.

“Lost a lot of souls too,” Harper shot back, the room bristling with tension.

I raised an eyebrow, letting my gaze linger on Harper until the weight of it made him shift uncomfortably. “Are we still talking about Napoleon, General? Or is this about my record once ambushed?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The room knew exactly what he was implying—hell, they were all thinking it, too.

They remembered, as I did, the cost of my last gamble. The bodies that had piled high, the names I still carried with me. The price of my ideas when it mattered most, during the battle with the largest casualties of the last war.

But they also knew one other thing: when my plans worked, we won. And I wasn’t about to let Harper, or anyone else, forget that.

Harper flinched, but to his credit, he didn’t back down. “You say tomato, General, I say tomato.”

“I hate tomatoes. They’re bitter.” I straightened, my tone frosting over. “Do I need to worry about your ability to do as you’re told?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Good boy.” I let the words hang long enough to sting before addressing the room again. “Any other disruptions? No? Fantastic.”

I gestured to the map spread across the table. The Mississippi River cut through the heart of our position like a frozen blade. “Napoleon didn’t just fight battles—he dismantled his enemies piece by piece. At Austerlitz, he baited the Russians and Austrians into a vulnerable position near frozen water and lower ground. When their forces were in full retreat, French artillery shattered the ice beneath them, turning the water into their graves. They didn’t stand a chance.”

The room was deathly silent. I had their attention now. My fingers brushed the edge of the map as I marked key points with sharp jabs. “We’ll do the same. High ground here, here, and here.” I motioned to a ridge overlooking the river’s bend, then another set of ridges further downstream. “Goal is to draw them out onto the ice and box them in. And when they’re exactly where we want them?—”

“ Boom, ” Reina whistled with excitement, her fingers twirling as she mimicked an explosion. She sat on her hands when all eyes in the room turned toward her.

“We break the ice. They drown. Few, if any, survivors. Easy enough, I consider you all relatively capable.”

A murmur rippled through the room. Millie shifted uneasily, her gaze flicking to the river on the map. Harper, ever the thorn in my side, opened his mouth, but I cut him off with a raised hand.

“The ice won’t hold under the weight of their arrogance,” I continued, lacing my voice with steel. “They’ll think they’ve cornered us.”

“Ma’am?” A younger officer from Fargo—Kellan, if my memory wasn’t shit—raised his hand tentatively, his face pale. “What about our soldiers? If we’re that close to the river, won’t they?—”

“Then stay off the ice, soldier,” I snapped, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Hold the ridges, just far enough to lure ‘em forward?—”

“But safe enough from the trap,” Hunter added from his position near the entrance, Abel on the other side.

I jabbed the map again. “Once they’re fully committed, we shell the ice.”

Kellan swallowed hard, but nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Releasing a slow, much needed exhale, I let my gaze sweep the room. It was tense, as to be expected. More shoulders sat rigid near their ears than I’d hoped for, but after the gamble I’d laid out—who could blame them?

It was a calculation that required a certain level of brutality—the fierceness in their eyes showed they understood. Still, I hadn’t said the best—or worst—part, because when magic was involved in war, humans would always give way to cruelty, no matter your morals.

Our honor had to fall to ashes in order to survive.

“When it’s done,” I said, forcing my voice to relay a deadly calm, “we extract any of our people who fell in, then freeze any Covert sympathizers. Fall back and regroup here . Fast and clean.”

No one moved. No one spoke.

“Brief your units and prepare to move out in fifteen,” I barked, the crack of my voice jolting every last one of them into action. Chairs scraped, orders were shouted, and the air buzzed with the frenetic energy of doom.

Alexiares stayed by my side as the others spilled out into the frozen wasteland beyond the tent, Riley the last to leave, his weakening demeanor portraying the words he would not burden me with. Not now. I turned to follow when Alexiares’s fingers brushed mine. A fleeting touch that sent a flicker of comfort through me—damn the rest of the world. He didn’t speak. He stared down at me, dark eyes saying enough.

We were fighting for many things—our people, our survival, our future—but at that moment, I knew we were fighting for each other more than anything else.

And that was enough to remind me why I was willing to risk all that I did—why I would win in the end.

Only the dead have seen the end of war. Plato.

The air reeked of blood and burning magic. Screams intertwined with the thunder of cannon fire, the sharp hiss of arrows, and the sickening, unforgettable crunch of bodies meeting steel. This shit belonged in a museum. The way the snow fell in a lazy, hyperbolic drift. A shroud settling over the chaos.

From the trenches on the high ground, I could see everything. The frozen, snow-covered Mississippi—now a battleground of desperation and death.

A cannon roared beside me. The blast punched through my ears and sent me tumbling toward the ground. It put me in the perfect position to watch as shrapnel ripped through a soldier’s leg down below. He collapsed, blood pouring into the snow like ink in water, sparing him no time to react. His last seconds on this earth, not understood until he was on the other side. Maybe.

“Focus!” I barked, forcing myself upright as another soldier’s body fell lifeless at my feet. My voice was hoarse, raw. “Keep firing! Don’t let them regroup!”

We had them where we wanted them. It was almost time. If we could keep the pressure for a few more minutes, our losses would remain minimal.

Riley surged forward on my left, his ax cleaving through a Kansas soldier who had somehow made it past the trenches. Blood sprayed across his face. He didn’t blink as he turned, the earth rippling at his feet as he threw up a wall of rock to shield our gunners as they reloaded.

Right at the edge of my view, Alexiares shifted, a presence as elusive as smoke. His knives flashed as he weaved through the trenches, carving down attackers. A blade found its mark in our enemy’s chest. Alexiares spun before the body hit the ground, firing off a headshot that dropped another from his quick draw. Flames erupted in his free palm from his quick decision to ditch the metal. Three more Covert sympathizers smoldered in an inferno that lit up the trench around him.

His control was terrifying—and beautiful. Alexiares had mastered his mage, his fire slivering in snake-like fashion in order to avoid our troops.

“Where the hell are Serenity and Hunter?” I shouted over the fray, searching the battlefield for any sign of them.

“Hopefully not dead.” Riley ducked an arrow, driving his ax into the neck of the attacker.

Shit . We were losing our footing. Gaps had formed out on the battlefield, leaving more vulnerabilities than I cared to admit.

“Not funny,” I snapped, scanning the chaos below.

The cavalry was in trouble. Reina weaved through the enemy lines, her black mare moving with the wind over the ice-crusted river. She leaned to the side, her body lifting off at a near 90-degree angle to avoid a volley of arrows, her medkit bouncing against her back.

Tomoe wasn’t far. She issued warnings, keeping the riders around her alive by inches. My heart fumbled when I landed my sights on Abel. He struggled. His Plasma blade clumsy in his hand. No amount of training would make up for the loss of balance caused by an injury we were not ever sure would heal.

In his stubbornness came weakness—not by injury, but ego. Now I was forced to watch as he suffered the consequences of denying Reina’s help.

The ice beneath him cracked, a hole forming and slipping two soldiers beneath the ice.

“No.”

Abel slid, his foot plunging through the fragile surface. He caught himself on the edge, abandoning his weapon, arm trembling as the freezing water surged around him. With great effort, he pulled himself back up. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck .

“Shit.” Alexiares appeared at my side as the fractures spread, the weight of too many bodies forcing the river’s hand. The bulk of their army was now spread along the Mississippi for as far as the eye could see, but the ice was failing faster than I’d planned. It wouldn’t hold.

“Reina!” I shouted, the desperation tearing at my throat. She needed to get to Abel. Yet she could not hear me.

I grabbed the nearest officer, pulling him close. “Get a runner down there. Pull the cavalry back! Now !”

He nodded, wide-eyed, and sprinted off, but I knew it was too late. I had a choice to make.

An explosion tore through the river’s edge. The ice fractured violently, the sound like thunder splintering the sky. Soldiers screamed as they plunged into the freezing water, the surface collapsing beneath them. Archers fired blindly, and one arrow found its mark.

Reina fell. Her horse went down with her.

“No!” I strangled in my throat. Alexiares grip was the only thing keeping me standing.

Tomoe turned, her face pale, but her warning came too late. Abel, bleeding heavily, staggered as the ice gave way beneath him. He vanished beneath the water, the current swallowing him whole.

My mind split—one part calculating, the other shattering. I was a leader. I knew what had to be done. I knew what I had to sacrifice. The war didn’t care that Abel was my family. That Reina was my sister. That losing them would rip me apart.

I needed them alive. I needed them breathing.

Hesitation meant losing everything.

“Break the ice.”

“What?” Alexiares whipped his head around, eyes wide as he took in the scene where our friends had previously been, their absence now noted.

“Break it! Now!” I roared, panic lacing my voice.

“Ma’am?” General Trevan protested, his voice tight with concern as he stepped closer. “You want us to break the ice? Our soldiers?—”

“Shouldn’t be on it. They were warned. Now, break the damn ice, ” I snapped, the words cutting through his hesitation.

Trevan didn’t argue. He signaled his unit, holding Alexiares’s stare as they flung out their hands. Fire erupted along the river’s surface. The heat melted through the ice, the cracks spreading faster, consuming everything in their path.

“Freeze it!” I commanded as soon as the explosions stopped. This had to work … needed to work. But if my timing was off for even half a second …

Magic surged. Ice crawled over the water, jagged and unyielding, trapping soldiers where they fell. Screams rose again, this time choked and desperate as men drowned or froze in place.

“Fetch anyone still breathing.” I barked at the remaining soldiers. “Ours—not theirs. Be quick about it.”

Holy shit, it worked. Kansas forces had been decimated. The only survivors were trapped in the trenches, their screams a cruel harmony to the roar of the river swallowing its own.

I tried to feel relief. Tried to tell myself this was necessary. That their deaths weren’t in vain. But guilt bled through the cracks like water through fractured stone, soaking me to the core. I hadn’t done it to limit our losses—I’d issued my orders to limit mine . I turned away as the cries of the dying faded into the bitter wind. No pity, no hesitation. Not until I reached them. My family.

I sprinted toward the river, my legs moving on instinct. Riley caught up, steam curling from his mouth in the cold, ax dragging a crooked line in the mud.

“War is brutal,” I replied, voice flat. I ignored the urge to turn around.

A deafening scream cut through my spiraling thoughts. My eyes locked on a cluster of Pansies tearing through the crowd. Kansas soldiers now turned into weapons of experiment. They moved with terrifying precision, eyes glowing with intelligence, their voices sharp as they barked commands to each other. Communicating. Coordinating.

The herd parted as Hunter’s people emerged from the fray and formed a ring of defense—reminiscent of their training. Their hollow stares pierced through the battlefield, eyes spectators from an unspeakable abyss. Magic writhed around them, thick and unnatural, twisting the air as though reality itself recoiled in their presence. It wasn’t fire or ice, not any of the tangible elements I knew.

A wiry man with gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes raised a trembling hand. The motion seemed almost hesitant until a ripple came—a force that shattered a line of Pansies, their bodies crumpling as easily as paper. Their bodies collapsed, final croaked out groans ear splitting even in the thunderous roar of warfare.

Lola appeared at his side. Thick tendrils of darkness surged from the ground, coiling around a handful of Pansies at a time, dragging them down, eating away at their decaying flesh. The void of her power consumed them—old and dark.

General, incom ? —

Elliot’s voice seared through my mind, sharp with urgency. I spun, my fire flaring in response, but I wasn’t the target.

Right flank—now!

I whipped around before I even processed why. The split-second reaction saved me—a bolt of steel sliced through the space where I’d been standing, embedding deep into the snow. The explosion of impact sent a shockwave rattling through my ribs. I staggered back, catching my balance just as Elliot’s breath hitched.

The guttural cry of an unforgiving death made me pause.

I wasn’t sure where to look. At the Pansies making their way through my soldiers or the arrow that struck through Elliot’s throat.

He fell to his knees, blood pouring between his fingers as he clutched at the wound. Then the blade came. It slashed across his chest, his skin flaying, ribcage now exposed.

He crumpled, lifeless, his wide eyes locking with mine for one agonizing second.

“Elliot!” The scream tore from me. Primal.

Flames erupted from my hands, incinerating his killer, my fury turning on the others nearby. They focused on me with carnal delight.

“Amaia!” Alexiares grabbed my arm, yanking me back as an arrow hissed past my ear. “We can’t stand here!”

My legs moved but my mind was stuck on Elliot’s broken body. Blood spread beneath him, ink spilling into a glass of water. The sight blurred. I couldn’t afford to cry. Not here. Not now.

For Morgan. For Sloan. This was a wound that couldn’t be stitched. I stumbled. Alexiares’s grip on me tightened, his voice came sharp in my ear. “Focus, baby, please. We can’t afford to lose you too.”

I had to keep going. To find my family. Elliot’s death. The screams of the drowning. The faces of soldiers who trusted me to lead them, now frozen in twisted agony beneath jagged shards of ice.

They’d been damned because of me.

But … It had worked.

Searching the decimated remains of battle, my eyes landed on a glimmer of hope.

“Reina!” My voice cracked as I spotted her, a dark shape barely visible against the icy chaos. Her horse thrashed in the freezing water, dragging her under with every desperate movement. She clung to its saddle, her strength waning as hypothermia took hold. Even from here, I could see the ice clinging to her lashes. Her lips, once flushed with exertion, were turning a sickly shade of blue.

“Someone get her!” I barked, but my order was lost in the cacophony of battle. I whipped my head around, searching for anyone, anything .

Tomoe was already moving. Her hand shot out, gripping the reins of Millie’s horse. “Take me closer!” she shouted.

“No!” I called out, not wanting to lose her too. I could do it. I would go. I removed my layers to jump in. Cold air sliced through me as Riley and Alexiares grabbed at my arms, fighting me every step of the way.

Millie was covered in decayed flesh and browning blood, her stark green eyes met mine before focusing on rescuing Reina. Determination silencing any additional pleads.

Reina’s head disappeared under the surface.

“No, no, no …”

“Let them do their job,” Alexiares hissed.

Seconds stretched into eternity. Then, a figure broke the surface of the water. Reina, sputtered, water rushing from her lungs. She shivered uncontrollably in Millie’s arms, barely conscious. Tomoe clutched the reins tightly, her eyes scanning for the fastest route to safety.

Millie’s horse was near exhaustion. She wouldn’t make it much further, but all she needed was a few extra feet and safety was theirs.

But Abel—he wasn’t out.

“Where is he?” Riley screamed, his voice hoarse from the cold and panic.

My eyes darted frantically over the battlefield, over the bodies frozen in the jagged expanse of ice.

“I’ve got him!” A soldier’s voice rang out, a flicker of hope amid the carnage. Abel dangled from the man’s grip, his arm limp, his face a gray-ish hue. He was barely holding on, his breath visible in shallow bursts.

“Get him to the medics!” I commanded, my voice shaky as I watched them haul him onto solid ground. My heart pounded in my ears, and I felt the weight of every decision leading up to now—every failure.

If I hadn’t broken the ice, they both would have slipped away. Drowned. But breaking the ice had hardly saved them and likely made us lose many others. I’d fucked up. I’d exchanged their lives for others.

Reina coughed violently as Millie gently laid her beside Abel, her frostbitten hands clutched his sleeve as if to reassure herself he was real. Her voice was weak, but her spunk was still there. “Can I give you the … arm thingamabob now?”

Abel managed the faintest of smiles, his lips blue, stubborn as the day he’d entered our family. “No.”

My boots crunched against the frost, each step heavier than the last. The weight of what I had done coiled around my ribs, squeezing until my lungs seized in uneven bursts. Alexiares’s hand gripped my arm, his touch grounding yet infuriating all at once. Riley stood rigid, his jaw locked tight. Blood streaked across his temple, his eyes stayed on me.

“What you did saved lives,” Alexiares said quietly, breaking through the war that raged in my head.

“Did it?” I snapped, my voice brittle. “I killed our soldiers too. People who trusted me. I broke the ice early, Alexiares. I sent them to their graves.”

Riley’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, pulling me toward him. “You didn’t damn them. You gave the rest of us a chance. The ice was already breaking, and we were losing control.” His tone was sharp, almost scolding, but his eyes were soft.

And yet, this was the truth of war, wasn’t it? Victory wasn’t clean—it was carved from sacrifice. Some were chosen, others stolen. And in the end, you didn’t get to feel good about it.

“War doesn’t care what it takes,” I muttered to myself. “Only that you’re willing to pay the price.”

Air scraped down my throat as my gaze locked on the battlefield. Bodies littered the frozen ground, some of them ours, others barely recognizable as human.

Guilt fought against the relief threatening to spill over. “I didn’t just do it to save them,” I murmured, the admission tearing at me.

Alexiares leaned closer. “No. You did it to win.”

The words cut through me. They were only painful because they were true. I swallowed hard and walked off without my family at my side. The battlefield was quieting, but I couldn’t let myself revel in the silence. Not yet. Maybe not ever. My eyes drifted over the river, now frozen over with jagged ice, and frozen bodies. The snow had stopped, and in its wake was the light of a sun that didn’t deserve to shine today.

The fire pit crackled weakly, barely enough to push back the biting cold as the allied leaders faced each other in a tense circle. I stood at the center, my arms crossed, watching their frustrations boil over.

“You’re saying this was our fault?” Kellan, the young officer from Fargo spat, his voice cutting through the night. “We lost half a unit because of her damned plan!” He jabbed a finger at me.

“No,” Isabella reasoned, her expression carved from stone. “You lost them because your soldiers broke rank. Orders were clear—stay off the ice.”

“You think this is about the ice?” General Mason Wilder—failed commander of our cavalry snapped, stepping forward. The outburst was unexpected; Rochester Compound had been easy going up until now. “It’s about leadership, Everhart. Leadership that sacrifices us while keeping her own people safe.”

I blinked slowly at him, letting his words hang in the air. Then, with an eerie calm, I spoke. “Leadership is what got you through that battle alive, Wilder. The same leadership that told you how to keep your soldiers breathing. Ensuring they follow orders? That’s your job.”

He sneered but didn’t respond, his chest heaving as he tried to find something to throw back at me.

I tilted my head, studying him with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Keeping your soldiers in check, making sure they don’t step where they shouldn’t, holding your own damn line—also your job. My job is to make sure you have no problem doing your job well. Make sure you aren’t too fucking incompetent to keep people alive. If I have to do your job and mine—if I have to hold your company’s hand every time the situation gets hard—then I don’t need you. But I do need you, don’t I?”

He didn’t answer.

“This is where you nod,” I whispered, leaning in close enough to make my point clear.

Wilder gritted his teeth with enough force to crack them, then gave a short, jerky nod.

“Great.” My voice brightened. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“That was her polite way of saying, ‘Get the fuck out,’” Alexiares drawled from behind me, his tone as dry as the wind cutting through the camp.

A ripple of uneasy chuckles moved through the circle of gathered soldiers, but they quickly died under Wilder’s glare. He stalked off, his shoulders rigid.

Silence fell over the camp, broken only by the crackling fire and the distant cries of the wounded. I looked around at the faces watching me—some weary, others wary.

The plan had worked. It had saved lives, turned the tide of battle. But the cracks in their confidence were visible. They weren’t just mourning their dead; they were mourning their belief that this fight could be won without great loss.

I exhaled slowly, the weight of my choices pressing into my chest. “If anyone else has a problem, say it now,” I said, my voice low and steady. “Otherwise, get some rest. We’ll need it.”

No one spoke.

The fire crackled on, indifferent to the weight of the silence. One by one, they drifted away, their faces shadowed with exhaustion and doubt. The battlefield was behind us, but its echoes lingered, carved into every strained step, every hollow stare.

Alexiares didn’t move from his spot behind me. A quiet presence that didn’t dare encroach on the weight pressing against my chest that was mine—and only mine—to bear.

This wasn’t guilt. It was something colder. Something that dug deeper, whispering truths I didn’t want to hear. Today was what the history books would claim a victory.

But victory wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to taste like ash.

Thousands of soldiers were hoping I was strong enough to patch those cracks, to hold them together. But how long could I do that when the person I was trying to hold together was breaking apart? I forced my shoulders back.

There was no time for doubt.

“Go to bed,” I murmured. “I’ll be there soon.”

Alexiares finally stepped closer, his hand brushing against mine. I flicked it away—his comfort was something I did not deserve.

If this was what winning looked like, I didn’t want to think about what losing would cost.