Page 38 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

“There are so many!” she exclaimed, looking up at me through the slits in her helmet. “I thought only a handful would come.”

“As did I,” I replied, some of the tension in my chest easing. If they’d brought so many, perhaps my cousins were more amenable to the idea than I had anticipated.

That brief hope was slashed when Xannirin yanked on his stallion’s reins and brought him to a halt mere feet from us.

His burgundy eyes were harder than the rocks that constructed the academy’s walls.

I’d stood here to greet my father more times than I cared to count, and every time, he’d looked at me with the same cold disdain that Xannirin did now.

Kiira’s mouth was pressed into a firm, thin line, her irritation apparent even beneath her veil, though her focus wasn’t on me, but our cousin.

I studied them both as everyone around me knelt for their Kral. Rapp wobbled on his way down, only for Assyria to snatch him and assist in the final descent. Behind me, the soldiers pressed their foreheads into their arms and released a battle cry.

Only once their voices died did I greet my cousins. “My Kral. High Priestess.”

In one smooth motion, Xannirin dismounted. One of his guards caught his reins as he stomped toward me. “Halálhívó.” His tone was ice as he swept his regard over me and then over my kneeling mate.

Kiira, with much more grace, approached a moment later. Her brows shot up her forehead when she beheld Rapp. “What happened here? This wasn’t in your letter! ”

He picked up his head, wincing as the movement tugged on his bandage. “It is a recent development.”

“Rise, Hadvezér. There is no need for you to suffer further on my account,” the Kral commanded, and Assyria helped Rapp to his feet again. Olet, however, remained kneeling, along with the rest of the soldiers.

He stepped closer to me as Kiira went to Rapp and my mate, exchanging pleasantries. Through clenched teeth, he hissed, “Do you mean to tell me Hadvezér Trol is the only one at the front again?”

“Aye,” I growled, weaving threat into my tone. I didn’t like the way he was speaking to me as if I didn’t know exactly what I was doing. The army was my fucking domain, like Kiira’s was the spiritual realm and his was the nobility and general populace.

“What the fuck, Rokath? I thought you had everything under control, but clearly you do not.”

How dare he use my real name in the open like this.

“We’ll speak later,” I snapped, leaving no room for argument. “Now is not the time.”

“Yes, we will speak later because I need an explanation for all of this,” he snarled before stepping back. Smoothing away the fury in his expression, he greeted Rapp. My mate, however, he ignored entirely.

My fingers twitched toward my sword. That contempt would not go unanswered, but it would have to wait until later.

Thousands of priestesses clung to the hillsides by the time our formal greetings had finished.

All stood tall and proud as they faced off with their male counterparts.

Kiira and Xannirin came to stand beside me, at least appearing like we were a united front even if my gut told me we were anything but.

I inhaled deeply, preparing to speak. “Welcome to Fured. The time to serve your realm has come. Here, you will train as warriors of both magic and weaponry to assist in the war effort against the Angels who wish to exterminate our kind.”

The words drifted on the breeze. I turned to face the still-kneeling males. More than a few peeked from their positions at the females who waited beyond.

Xannirin cleared his throat. “You may rise.”

I shot him a glare—not that he could see it through my helmet.

Before he could speak again, I addressed my soldiers.

“These females have come to join your ranks. You will welcome them. Train them. Assist them. And above all, treat them as your equals. Their magic, combined with yours, will likely be the difference between victory and death. Any grumblings will be dealt with swiftly. Am I understood?”

Some expressions darkened. A handful tilted their heads to comment to their neighbors.

That is unacceptable.

Obsidian spilled from my hands, snaking across the ground to those who dared disrespect the ceremony. Shouts rang out as my magic wrapped around their legs and brought them to their knees.

“Százados, see these males disciplined after we dine,” I snarled. Without releasing my magic, I returned my attention to the females.

But before I could continue my instruction, Xannirin stepped forward. “Your place here isn’t carved into stone. You must earn it like the Halálhívó and I had to. Like these males,” he gestured to the gathered soldiers, “had to.”

A growl lodged in my throat. How dare he undermine me. He opened his mouth to speak again, but I cut him off. “You all have volunteered to serve the Demon cause, and for that, the Kral, the High Priestess, and myself thank you. As does the Szélhámos.”

I swept a hand in my mate’s direction. She took a half-step forward, her shoulders square and head held high. A few of the priestesses at the front grinned at the sight. Others whispered behind their hands to their neighbors, eyes wide.

I couldn’t allow them to get away with what I’d moment ago called discipline for. Yet before I could act, Assyria opened her palms, darkness slithering forward and around the waists of many of the rule-breakers. She hadn’t caught them all, but she’d done enough.

Her eyes flicked to me. “We’re in this together.”

Love swelled in my chest as I beheld my bold mate.

“In this army, we have rules. They do not bend, and they certainly do not break. Disobedience is punished swiftly and without mercy. Just because you are female does not exempt you from the same disciplinary action I would dole out to a male. I suggest you learn them, and learn them well. Any knowledge of rule breaking makes you automatically complicit in the act itself.”

Chins lifted, shoulders squared, and determination etched into their expressions, save for those with Assyria’s shadows curling around them, barely distinguishable from their dresses.

The Kral moved in front of my mate, blocking her from view. My nails bit into my palm. Yet another slight. My attention slid to Kiira, who watched our cousin with a placid expression. The tightness in the corners of her eyes told an entirely different story, however.

What is going on between them?

“I’m not certain, but I sense it too,” Assyria spoke into my mind. I hadn’t realized I’d broadcasted the thought down our bond.

In two lithe strides, the High Priestess was parallel with the Kral. “We’ve had a long journey, and you deserve a rest. Halálhívó,” she kept her attention on Xannirin but spoke to me, “would you please show us the way to our quarters? ”

Clearing my throat, I gestured for Olet to step forward. “This is Parancsok Olet. He will ensure you are all settled and assigned bunks in the barracks. Afterward, he will show you the way to the dining hall.”

Xannirin and Kiira returned to Rapp, Assyria, and me as Olet dismissed some of the males and requested others help with the unloading of supplies. Soon, the entrance to the military academy was a flurry of activity.

“I’d like to freshen up before dinner,” Xannirin pronounced, staring me down. I held his gaze with equal animosity.

Had this tension lay between us for longer than Assyria and I had been mated? I truly didn’t know what to make of this open hostility toward me.

“You know where your rooms are.” My voice was all hard gravel. Assyria shifted closer to me. Without thinking, I rested my hand on her lower back, needing to ground myself in something before I lost my temper in front of everyone.

“I’ll help with Hadvezér Rapp back into the fortress,” Kiira announced, settling herself against his bad side. With tender care, she looped an arm around his waist to support him.

“I really don’t need help,” he protested, but she silenced him with a look.

Like Assyria, Kiira would set someone on fire if it suited her. She had a depth of strength that had always impressed me. I supposed we all did, after the abuse we suffered at the hands of our fathers.

The Kral’s Guard formed around them as they entered the fray, leaving Assyria and I standing at the head of the road. Grem and Zeec rose, trotting among the priestesses as they streamed past us. Many paused, even for a brief moment, to study my mate.

Ebony dripped from her and pooled at her feet like it too knew the moment was essential to our future. Assyria was made for me—made for this—and yet, I couldn’t shake the truth gnawing at my gut.

The real battle was only beginning. And this time, I might have to bleed for more than victory.

I might have to bleed for what we believed in.