Page 24 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

W e finally emerged from the healer’s workspace into the night. Though, it wasn’t night, not really anymore. The first whispers of dawn broke in the distance, bringing with it a new day.

At least Rapp will live. Probably. Most likely.

Rokath stopped short, and I snapped my attention to him before realizing all the males who had accompanied us on the rescue mission had jumped to their feet. Hollow and sunken eyes met ours, and a few swayed where they stood.

Had they waited out here all night?

“Halálhívó,” they said in unison, offering him a closed-fisted salute.

“How fares Hadvezér Rapp?” the Parancsok asked, taking a tentative step forward.

A heavy sigh escaped Rokath. I squeezed his hand. “The lead healer thinks he might live. But that is no guarantee.”

Metered relief swept across them, brows relaxing and shoulders easing.

Banand stepped forward, dropping to one knee between Rokath and me. He lowered his gaze until it met mine, burgundy eyes burning with reverence, and bowed until his head brushed his braced forearm. “Szélhámos, my life, my sword, is yours.”

Szélhámos.

Imposter .

Not only had Banand knelt in deference to me, but he had offered me an honorific, like Rokath’s Halálhívó, to match my power. I blinked, trying to process the monumental gesture. A wave of males mimicked him, murmurs of Szélhámos floating to my ears.

Tears pricked my eyes, and a lump formed in my throat.

I’d succeeded in earning their respect.

“Aye, you did, Assyria,” Rokath rumbled in my mind. “You are single handedly changing perceptions in this army. Word of the rescue mission will spread soon, and likely your power now too.”

Ice slithered down my spine. All my life, I’d focused on hiding my magic, on not being seen.

Knowing that my path had curved into this new direction didn’t ease that sense that I still needed to hide.

Who knew what sort of knives waited for me when the world discovered I could become anyone in a swirl of shadow?

“Rise,” I said, my voice shaky. My hands, too, trembled, and I tucked them behind my back and twisted my ring around my finger to ease some of the anxiety nipping at my nerves.

They did, and Rokath dismissed them. Some chose to linger in solidarity with Rapp, Zurronar, and a few others who needed tending by the healers.

Banand was one of them. “May I speak to you, Halálhívó?” he asked with a nervous glance at those still around us.

Rokath nodded, and with a hand on the small of my lower back, he guided the three of us off to the side, out of earshot of anyone currently awake.

Banand dropped his chin before releasing a long, slow exhale. “How many?” The words were so quiet, I almost didn’t catch them. What was unmistakable, though, was the shame and guilt that weighed them down.

Sympathy tugged at my heartstrings. When I’d first learned that the plague was caused by one of our own, I’d been furious.

That had morphed into rage when I learned that Rokath had a hand in covering it up.

My entire family had perished because of it the prior winter, leaving me utterly alone in the world.

Yet seeing the impact of what the Angels had forced Banand to do with his magic smothered the flames of my fury until only embers remained.

“Their deaths are not on you,” Rokath growled. “But I want a full account of everything you heard, saw, and did while in their custody.”

Banand picked his head up, burgundy eyes shining. His cheeks were hollow, the skin of his face stretched too tight across the bones. In the dark, I’d thought him lanky, but now I realized he was wasting away. “Of course, Halálhívó, whatever you require. I want to atone for all the pain I caused.”

Rokath turned to me. “I’ll escort you back to our tent to rest, and then I will speak with Banand.”

I shook my head. “No, I think we all need to sleep. And eat. It was a long night, and besides, Rapp isn’t awake yet. He will want to hear too.”

Rokath’s face softened as he brushed his knuckles across my cheek. I refused to believe anything other than that Rapp would live. Any moment now, he’d call out for us.

He. Would. Not. Die.

“The Szélhámos is right,” Banand murmured. “Honestly, I could use a bed and some food. It’s been a while since I had a good amount of either.”

Rokath flicked his attention between the two of us before acquiescing. “Tomorrow we will meet again. Find Hadvezér Trol and he will ensure you have everything you need, Banand.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, offering Rokath a closed-fisted salute. He dipped his head to me before spinning on his heel and departing.

“Let’s go,” Rokath told me. With one last look at the healer’s tent, I followed him through the maze and toward the black tents we called our home.

Fatigue tugged at my limbs, almost forcing me to drag them through the dirt.

Sentries posted outside peeled off to fetch us food and water. In a haze, I entered the cool darkness.

Grem and Zeec perked up, leaping from the bed to greet us. Zeec whined, long and low, as if he sensed the agony simmering beneath our flesh. Grem nudged me with his nose, and I sank onto the ground and buried my face in his fur. Rokath crouched and wrapped himself around me from behind.

We remained like that until a male announced himself, saying he’d brought us food. Rokath and I ate quickly and in silence, both caught up in our own worries. By the time I’d drunk my fill of water, I could scarcely keep my eyes open.

I peeled off Araquiel’s leathers, which reeked of burnt seed oil, and climbed into the bed.

Rokath rinsed what blood he could off in the washbasin and then joined me.

He curled around me, his strong arm flexing as he crushed me against his hard body.

I melted into him, seeking comfort only he could offer me.

He clung to me as if his life—Rapp’s life—depended on it.

The war of emotion playing out inside him mirrored my own.

A fitful sleep soon claimed me. Over and over, my mind tumbled through my worries, but in the end, it anchored onto a singular thought—no matter what the Fates decided, no matter how the world burned, at least I had Rokath by my side.

The sound of water trickling against a metal basin pricked my ears.

Gripping the cloth harder than necessary, I wrung it out like I could twist out the urge to fall back into the habit of believing everyone I cared about was cursed to die.

Blurred vision made it difficult to pour the pitcher of fresh water over it.

I didn’t even care when I splashed some onto myself.

Truly, I was just going through the motions of cleaning myself. Worry dug its claws deep into me, making it hard to focus on anything but trying to breathe. Trying to squash the utter terror that Rapp may not survive his grievous wound.

With a shuddered exhale, I set the cloth over the rim of the basin to dry. Gripping both sides of it, I prepared to turn around and face what was left of the day. One tear fell, and then another. I quickly swiped them away, not wanting Rokath to see me cry.

My mate and I hadn’t spoken since we rose, far later than we normally did.

Between the physical exhaustion of our mission to the pure, unbridled fear holding our bond taut, neither of us had slept well.

I doubted Rokath had slept at all, his insomnia worsened by our friend’s thread mere moments from being snipped by the Reaper.

Slowly, I spun toward Rokath.

Eyes distant, he strapped on piece by piece of his black metal armor. I swept my gaze over him, noting his honorific tattooed into his knuckles, the skulls wrapping the base of his neck, the snake fangs crinkled by the worry lines on his forehead.

The powerful presence he normally carried was entirely absent.

Grem and Zeec let out low whines from where they watched us both. Neither of us had the heart to kick them out of the bed, even when the four of us crammed into it was incredibly uncomfortable.

The sound tore me from my spot across our small home. I perched on the edge of the hard mattress, stroking Zeec’s long, pointed ears and scratching under Grem’s throat. Their soft fur was soothing, but nothing would relieve this ache until I knew Rapp would live.

Rokath loomed like a storm on the horizon. Yet he didn’t wield the threat of lighting and thunder. No, his shoulders held the slightest hunch like they were clouds weighed down by rain, and his strong brows were tense. A line creased the area between them too.

On tiptoes, I reached up and smoothed it with my thumb.

He sighed and leaned into my touch. A moment passed before he wrapped his arms around me and tugged me closer.

We said nothing, not needing to when our every emotion was shared.

The bond allowed us to comfort each other in ways others would never understand.

“The worst part about all of this is that now I have to go lead. Have to pretend that I am fine when I am not,” Rokath murmured, so quiet I thought I’d imagined it.

I tipped my head up to look at him. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “I haven’t felt like this in…centuries.” He blew out a long breath, and I cupped his face.

“I’ll be there with you,” I promised. “Our pain is shared now.” I repeated the phrase I’d told him time and time again as his hardened exterior cracked.

Both of us had been lonely, albeit in our own ways—him, thinking he had to bear the burdens of his leadership alone, me, thinking that I couldn’t trust anyone to care for me.

Every day, Rokath demonstrated that he would protect and support me; every day, I would show him he had me to lean on.

“We need to debrief Banand and Zurronar today.” Rokath reached down and brushed the back of his knuckles across my cheek. “Since you were so fearless in their rescue, you should be there too.”