Page 2 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

P illars of twisting flame speared into the sky, sending the souls of the fallen soldiers onto their next lives.

My nose had long since numbed to the scent of scorched flesh.

I paused atop a rocky ridgeline, still stained ruby from the slaughter a few days prior, and surveyed the scene we left behind.

Nausea churned my gut at the sheer size of the blazing war camp. So many dead; so many sacrificed so I could live. But my resolve to whet my own blade in blood, my determination to seek vengeance, hardened with each step, with each glance at Rokath’s broken hands.

The silver stakes Zaph had used to pin him in place weighed heavily in my pack. I didn’t carry them as relics. No, I had plans for them. A promise to keep—for myself if not for Rokath.

Day by day while we worked, I imagined the moment I’d drive them into the fucking Angel.

They wouldn’t lock down his magic like they had Rokath’s; that was what the bronze blades were for.

But the pain as I separated the bones of his hands with them would be enormous.

Especially since Rokath had promised that he’d torture him—excruciatingly slowly—for daring to take me from him.

“The bodies will continue to burn for a while,” my mate told me, coming to a stop and following my line of sight. “With the number of them, probably until we reunite with the rest of the army.”

Rokath tugged on Blaeze’s reins, leading the small wagon over bumpy gravel and blood-caked sand.

The earth crunched beneath his boots and the wheels.

Rokath was enormous, built like the craggy Skala Mountains at our back, but now, he carried far more than his powerful presence.

Zeec, still too weak to walk, hung limp against his chest. Another pack on his back, the worn leather one falling apart at the seams, held our clothes.

In his still-healing hand, he hefted a bag brimming with food.

“Let me carry something else,” I offered, jogging to catch up with them, Grem at my side. Barrels of water filled the cart, braced against a few more of our belongings and the throne of bones. We each hauled as much as we could to save Blaeze from pulling any more weight.

Rokath shook his head, burgundy eyes focused on the path ahead. “This is my penance for the deaths of nearly a third of my army. And I will not risk more injury to your shoulder.”

Molten anger flared down our bond, burning hotter than the pyres at our backs. Yet tumbling with it was a heavy mix of guilt and trepidation.

What would the reactions be when we returned alone?

In silence, we trudged past the remnants of the Angels’ camp.

The sun beat down with an almost judgmental air throughout the rest of the day.

Not for the first time, I wished we’d been able to find more horses than just Blaeze.

A stampede of hoofprints led away from the camp, so at least I knew that none had fallen to an Angel blade.

My reliable mount had wandered back the day before we decided to leave, three crows resting atop his back.

They’d squawked and flown away as I’d raced to his side and thrown my arms around his neck.

I’d never been more relieved in my life—except for maybe when we knew Zeec would live.

His reappearance meant we’d be able to survive longer in the inhospitable Paks Desert while we attempted to rejoin the larger force.

We rose with the sun, opting to break our fast later in the day.

I resisted the call of my insistent thirst for as long as I could.

We packed dozens of skins onto our bodies and in our bags, yet with five thirsty mouths, especially the one pulling most of our belongings, it disappeared faster than ever before.

Days passed, and finally, Zeec joined Grem on the ground, easing some of Rokath’s burden.

More followed, and the pain pulsing down our bond lessened as Rokath’s hands continued to heal and my shoulder ceased aching. Yet we remained silent in our march, our thoughts drifting, drifting, drifting…

At night, Rokath held me in his arms like I was the last star in the sky, and without me the heavens above us would collapse in on themselves.

Which with the way he continued to care for me at the expense of himself, I knew was true.

Despite the dry, rocky earth on which we slept night after night, he drifted off with ease.

The end of the seventh day arrived, taking with it the final drop of our water. Rokath let me have the last of it. My lips cracked and bled any time I attempted to move them.

Any conversation we attempted to have was kept purely mental for that reason.

The following morning, we stumbled across a trickle of a stream and managed to refill all our skins, though it was slow progress. The barrels we abandoned completely, barely managing to fill half of one with the odd angle we had to hold it beneath the flow.

The two of us, plus the dogs and Blaeze, were haggard, hungry, and desperate to find the rest of the army.

Surely when the other Hadvezér’s ravens go unanswered, they’ll send someone in search of us.

Rokath rested on his back and stared at the brilliant, vast expanse of sky night after night.

He told me he’d learned to navigate by the stars during his time at the military academy in Fured, but with our slow progress and the endless wasteland in front of us, I began to wonder if we’d gotten lost somewhere along the way.

Rather than voice my concern—mentally or otherwise—I remained silent. Rokath already knew, and I didn’t want to pile onto his guilt.

The ninth night swallowed us in hot, arid air.

Dust blustered around us as we collapsed against a rocky outcropping.

At least by the way the sun had disappeared over the Skala Mountains at our back, we were still trudging in the right direction.

But whether we’d angled ourselves too far north or south was a different story entirely.

At my feet, the dogs panted, their tongues dry and fur matted with dust. Blaeze sank to his knees, then flopped over on his side. I wondered if he’d ever get up again or if we’d have to leave him out here.

Rokath squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his head back, waiting for white pinpricks to blink into existence.

With no energy to speak, we sat in stillness as night settled with an ominousness that unsettled my stomach.

Like if we didn’t find the rest of the army the next day, that might actually be our last night together.

I wanted to laugh at the irony of it all .

Zaph would have snatched the most massive victory for the Angels since the war had begun. Killing fifty thousand men, then not even having to lift a finger to end the Halálhívó and his mate.

The memory of the moment our bond snapped into place flitted through my addled mind. What I wouldn’t give to return to that day, and the days after. The luxury of Gyor Palace. A soft bed. The food .

Something shimmered in the distance, like the heat that licked over the sand in the hottest hours of the afternoon.

I was really starting to lose it if I was seeing things in the dark too.

Slumping into my mate, I closed my eyes, seeking what comfort he was capable of offering. He pressed a tender kiss to my temple that felt more like an apology, a goodbye, than anything.

“Are we going to die out here?” I asked him through our mental connection.

“I will not let you die,” he growled back with more force than I’d been capable of even days ago.

My head lolled forward, and I snapped to attention again. Vision blurred with sleep, I curled into a ball at Rokath’s feet. He reached for me, stroking his fingers over my tangled, tattered braid.

“I am so, so sorry, Assyria,” he said. His expression was tortured, as if seeing me so weak and close to death was the greatest pain he’d ever experienced.

“Why?”

“For everything. For not loving you as I should have immediately. For getting us lost out here. For not protecting you from the Angels in the first place. I should have trained you from the beginning. I should have done so many things differently. ”

“Stop talking like we’re going to die out here when you told me we wouldn’t,” I bantered back, but the playful bite I was aiming for fell short.

We lapsed into quiet as darkness closed in.

A weak bark jolted me awake. I hadn’t even realized I’d fallen asleep again. Grem and Zeec shot to their feet on either side of me, hackles raised. Rokath still sagged against the rock. I nudged him with my foot, and with a groan, he opened his eyes.

Somehow, I managed to turn myself around, and then I spotted that shimmering movement again.

Energy spiked through me at the thought that Zaph might have followed us out here to witness our demise.

His light magic danced over the barren expanse, illuminating our misery from afar.

But as quickly as it appeared, it dissipated, along with the remnants of my reserves.

Great, the dogs are losing it too.

But then, a fire flickered, highlighting studs glinting in someone’s face.

Studs glinting in someone’s face.

My brain, starved and slow, struggled to piece the male together. Rokath did, faster than me, and was on his feet, though he swayed so violently I was certain he’d collapse.

The beat of hooves against the hard-packed earth quickened, and then a rider was upon us, leaping from his horse and racing to our sides.

“Rokath! Assyria! Thank the Fates you’re okay,” the person exclaimed. From his side, he pulled two skins and shoved them into our hands.

I wasted no time in wrapping my lips around the lid and chugging. The cool, crisp liquid was everything .

Rokath yanked the waterskin away from my mouth. “You’ll get sick,” he rasped .

A moment later, all the liquid I’d just consumed heaved up from my gut. Pitching to the side, I retched all over the dusty ground.

“Reaper, what happened to you two?” the person asked, and then I finally recognized the voice—one who had kept me company many nights before Rokath finally accepted our situation.

Who had helped me win back my mother’s ring while playing cards.

Who had cheered us on as we navigated our complex feelings for one another.

Rapp.

If I had tears to shed, I would have cried at the sight of him.

Wiping my mouth, I turned back to Rapp, one of Rokath’s Hadvezér and his best friend.

Squatting down, he tipped water into the mouths of Grem and Zeec.

Blaeze too picked his head up, and Rapp went to him next, offering my faithful mount what he so desperately needed.

Rokath sipped slowly, and I mimicked him, my stomach still churning.

After a few more pulls, he rolled his parched lips. “The Angels killed everyone but us, Rapp.” While his voice normally held a low gravel, days in the desert without sustenance had taken it to new depths.

The torch Rapp planted in the ground beside him flickered ominously. “How?” he asked, his dark eyebrows shooting up his forehead. While he normally would have made some joke about Rokath being unbeatable, we were clearly too worn out for such an exchange.

“They took Assyria.” Rokath glanced at me, a mix of rage and guilt furrowing his brow. “Their bargain was her life or theirs.”

Rapp blew out a long breath, running a hand over the hair on the top of his head. “The rest of the army isn’t too far from here, camped outside Lutsk. Let’s get you there and then you can tell us everything.”

The animals now satisfied, he tucked the skins into his belt.

Grabbing Blaeze’s reins, he attempted to coax him to his feet.

But my mount’s legs wobbled, and shadows sprang from Rapp’s hands and wrapped around his belly.

With the aid, my horse staggered upright, but his head hung, heavy and exhausted.

Rapp hitched him to the cart again while Rokath dragged forward, leaving thick boot marks in his wake. Seeing his friend struggling, Rapp raced to his side and shoved his shoulders under his arm.

Rokath shook his head. “Help Assyria,” he croaked. Rapp did as he was told, like a good soldier, and swept my tiny, exhausted body into his arms. Despite the water, I barely had the energy to clamp my legs over his stallion’s back. I swayed wildly, and my mate leaped to my side.

“I’m fine,” I told him, even though I clearly was not. “You should ride.”

He stepped closer and brushed the backs of his knuckles across my cheek. “I’ve endured worse hardships. Rest up there.”

I didn’t protest. Sinking down, I draped myself over the horse’s neck for added support. Rokath took the reins, then tugged him forward. I nearly groaned as his back swayed from side to side, forcing my muscles to work.

Rapp did the same for Blaeze, assisting him in rolling the cart onward with more obsidian tendrils that blended with the night.

Once again, the only sound passed between our group was the crunch of dirt beneath the horses’ hooves and the hounds’ panted breaths.

Yet down our bond, Rokath’s trepidation rose—louder than the cawing of the three crows that flew overhead—with each step closer we took to the Demon army’s encampment.

Because Rokath, the infamous Halálhívó with the power to call upon the dead to fight for him, would soon have to explain how fifty thousand of his males had perished under his command when he was supposed to be the most feared warrior in all of Keleti.