Page 20 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

D arkness suffocated the path ahead as we crept toward the Angels’ camp.

We couldn’t afford even the barest hint of a torch to find our path, lest we risk being discovered.

Instead, what little light the stars offered guided our way.

No moon rose in the sky, its mass covered by the same ink as the rest of the world around us.

Lutsk, despite its crumbling buildings and churned earth, didn’t hold the dangers the Paks Desert did.

Namely, venomous cobras that would strike at the slightest provocation.

A shiver wracked my spine at the memory of the one who sank its fangs into my calf and the blistering burn in my veins that followed.

Rokath remained at my side as we picked our way over smashed fences, avoided rotting orange pumpkins and fat purple beets, and tried not to twist an ankle on an unseen dip in the ground.

The closer we drew to the white tents in the distance, the louder the melodic voices grew.

My focus remained mere feet in front of me as I tried not to think about how I was walking into the nest of hornets.

We clung to a copse of almond trees once we’d passed through the worst of the outskirts of the city.

The cloying scent was enough to turn my already queasy stomach.

I wanted to prove myself to the whole damn army, and yet fear still clung to me like this black cloak Rokath had insisted I wear while in Araquiel’s form.

Her foggy hair and white uniform were much easier to spot than the dark ones sported by the males accompanying us.

Rapp and the Parancsok led our party, and after several glances in the camp’s direction, Rapp held up his closed fist. We all halted immediately behind him.

“Now is where we part, little imposter,” Rokath rumbled in that gravelly tone that always heated my blood.

I swallowed, though my mouth was drier than the Paks Desert. “I will let you know once I’ve located them.”

“We will wait for your signal to cause a diversion,” Rokath assured me again, though I wasn’t sure which one of us needed it more.

But I wasn’t the weak female who had cowered beneath Vagach’s onslaught. I was the fucking Imposter, the only one to ever live, and I would use my magic to save Banand and Zurronar just as Rokath used his to protect us on the battlefield.

I owed it to Izgath—the male who had died protecting my true identity—to rescue his brother. I owed it to myself to claim my power in my own right.

Tugging at the strings of the cloak, I let it fall away, then handed it to my mate. I made to step away, but he snatched my wrist and tugged me into his chest again. “I love you,” he said, his tone so low no one but me heard.

“I love you too, Rokath. Now release my wrists so I can rescue the two males you so thoroughly lost. Someone has to clean up your mess after all.” I patted his chest for extra effect.

He grunted in response but peeled his fingers away.

Dragging in a steadying breath, I turned away from him, briefly locking eyes with Rapp, who nodded in reassurance. The confirmation of his belief in me was another layer to my armor.

You can do this, Assyria.

Shadows flickered in my chest like a crackling fire, ready for me to call upon them should I need them.

Then, I departed the haven of almond trees, keeping a low, slow pace as I approached the first row of white tents.

My hearing remained on high alert, listening for voices around me, trying to catch snippets of conversation and also gauge where others might be walking.

Just because I looked like Araquiel and spoke a few words of Angelic didn’t mean I had any intention of traipsing straight through the neat rows without a care in the world.

Clinging to the dark periphery, I searched for a striped tent on the outer circle. Araquiel had said that was the best place to enter. From there, the prisoner’s cages were only four rows inward, in a similarly decorated tent.

One minute passed, then two, before I finally found it.

Hovering against the edge of the canvas, I peered around to ensure the way was clear.

Only a distant hum of activity reached my ears.

It was the dining hour in the Angel camp, another reason Rokath had strategically selected this time for our assault.

I crept forward, shoulders tense and attention darting over everything. Two rows in, a sharp peal of laughter stopped me in my tracks. Footfalls mingled with the sound, both drawing closer.

Shit, shit, shit.

I glanced around, searching for a place to hide. Finding a narrow alley between the backs of two tents, I darted to the space. The white-blonde hair of a tall female flashed at the edge of my vision moments before I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle my breathing.

“...Zahe is so dreamy, really,” one giggled.

“But he’s not even a Bassi,” the other pointed out with a longing sigh. “My father said if I were to find a male in the army, it had to be an officer.”

“Forget what your father says. He’s not here. Besides, the Goddess loves when we smoke her blessed herbs and screw beneath her stars,” the first replied.

“It’s been far too long since we’ve done that. I think next time…”

Their voices faded away, and not a moment too soon. Breath slammed into me, battling against my racing heart for space in my chest. I waited another minute before emerging from my hiding spot.

“Everything okay?” Rokath asked down our bond.

“Fine.”

I shut Rokath out, needing to focus. After a thorough assessment of my surroundings, I made my way forward again. The striped tent should be close…

There.

I ducked into the darkness again.

Ivory lines jutted against a blue as bold as the midday sky. It was long, nearly as long as the command center in the center of the Demon camp, and just as wide. And outside it stood two guards. Two tall torches rested on either side of them, casting flickering light around the area.

One shifted his weight, and ice shattered through my veins. It was the very same one I’d kneed in the face during my own captivity. That ice gave way to fire when he flicked his attention in my direction. He hadn’t seen me—yet.

“Found them,” I told Rokath.

“Wait until they move before attempting to enter,” he replied, ever the commander.

“I know,” I snapped back, my attention still wholly fixated on the sentries.

The two chatted quietly, too far away for me to hear what they were saying. It wasn’t long before distant shouts reached my ears.

The diversion had begun.

Instantly, their hands flew to the hilts of their swords. They shared a concerned look. One stepped forward, but the other shook his head and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Fuck.

Clashing steel rang out, and flashes of white lit up the sky above us. Their attention drawn upward, I took the opportunity to dart forward, closer to a pole with ropes wrapped around it, securing the stretched canvas in place.

A shriek pierced the air, and one of the males swore. “We can leave them for five minutes. If we’re there, those Demons will be dead in record time.”

The other chuckled. “True enough. No one fights like us.”

I smothered the urge to roll my eyes.

Drawn swords scraped the night air, and I pressed myself into the shadows once more, even calling on my magic to thicken them and hide myself from view. The two raced by a moment later. I counted my heartbeats, hoping they wouldn’t return immediately.

More shouts rang out, louder and thankfully still in the distance. Seizing my opportunity, I bolted toward the unguarded entrance. I yanked daggers from hidden pockets on my ribs and burst through the canvas.

No Angels started at my sudden appearance.

Thank the Fates.

The candles flickered with my brought-in breeze. I whipped around, gathering my bearings. The front room held crates, none of which were open. I sniffed the air and scented a hint of citrus. But beneath it was the unmistakable stench of unwashed bodies .

Stepping carefully among the boxes of wood, I followed my nose until it led me to another room, narrower than the last. A long workbench stretched along the expanse, dozens of instruments tossed haphazardly across it.

Bile rose in my throat as I crept forward.

A table, similar in size to the one I’d been strapped to, waited.

Rows of metal teeth smiled up at me, red with past ruin.

And on the one beside it? A Demon, half-hidden beneath a dark sheet.

Ruby oozed from his back, dropping like rain into the narrow slots beneath him. A small moan rasped in his throat.

How is he still alive?

Breathing through my mouth, I closed the remaining distance and rose to my tiptoes to peer over him.

His breath was shallow, and his face was pale.

Sweat dotted his brow, and when I glanced at his arms, I noticed the yellow pus poised to drop onto the floor.

He was dying, and likely soon, with how horribly infected the cut was.

Pain had drowned his awareness long enough that he didn’t even stir at my presence.

These fucking Angels. Why did they feel the need to harm us so? What had they hoped to gain from that male? He wasn’t one I recognized, which meant he likely belonged to Trol’s battalions. They had less information to offer than almost anyone else in the army. Was this torture all for fun?

Gritting my teeth, I turned away from him. I needed to find Banand and Zurronar, and fast. A few more steps took me into another room, much darker than the others.

“Fucking Fates,” I cursed in Demonic, doubling back to fetch more candles. When I returned—new burns from wax and all—I swept through the room, nearly shrieking when I came face to face with a handful of males crouched together in a cage.

They shot to their feet immediately, gripping the bars. One rattled them fiercely, spewing curses at me in Demonic that had me dropping my mouth wide open. Even after all my time spent in a war camp, I had never imagined such a colorful use of the words of our language.

“Where are Banand and Zurronar?” I cut them off, speaking Demonic back to them.

The rattler froze, his brows furrowing. The rest took a half step back. One gave away their location with a telltale glance. Ignoring the dumb ones, I strode deeper into the dark until I found two familiar looking faces.

“Blessed by the Giver,” I breathed, securing the candle on the ground. One set of burgundy eyes and one set of maroon eyes stared back at me with an absolutely understandable amount of confusion.

“Araquiel?” Banand asked slowly, gripping the bars and pressing his face to them. Brows furrowed, he searched my face.

So they did know each other .

Picking apart the threads of my magic, I allowed my true face to appear rather than the Angel’s.

Banand jerked back like he’d been slapped, while Zurronar blinked rapidly. “Assyria?”

I turned my attention to him. Maroon was clouded by a milky film, and a sickly pallor clung to his dark skin. He looked worse than he had only a few weeks ago.

“Sh!” I admonished them, glancing around us. “I’m here to rescue you. The sentries could return at any moment. How do I open these cages?”

“Your voice…” Zurronar trailed off, coming closer to the flames. A wheeze wracked his frame, and he turned his face into his shoulder to cover his mouth.

A stone settled in my stomach. I had to get him out of here and to a healer, fast. Izgath died because of me, and the least I could do was save his brother from the same fate .

“How are you here?” Banand asked. “How were you Araquiel?”

I cut my attention to him. “I’ll explain later. But she told me to tell you a flame waits behind a glass wall.” Narrowing my eyes on him, I gauged his reaction to the words. Suspicion still curled in my gut.

The plague-creating Demon rose slowly, his gaze distant, as if he were deep in thought. I snapped my fingers at both of them, needing them to help me help them. “How do I get you out of here?”

“Keys should be on a ring in the torture room,” Banand said with a glance at Zurronar. On shaky legs, he stood too. He swayed, gripping the bars for support.

“I’ll be right back,” I promised, then raced past the other captives and returned to where one slowly bled out on the nail table.

Of course, the Fates-damned keys dangled on a hook too high for me to reach, even in Araquiel’s taller form. With a huff, I jumped, snatched at the dangling teeth of one, and yanked. The ring flew through the air and clattered against the floor.

Cursing, I stooped to collect them. A blinding agony exploded behind my ribs. One hand shot out to steady me, while the other clutched my chest. That spot right in the center, where our connection lived among my magic, screamed.

Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

“Rokath! Are you okay? What’s happening?” I shouted down our bond.

Rage detonated from his side.

The roar that followed quaked the earth beneath my feet.

And then everything went still.