Page 44 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

E bony rippled from Rokath as he glared at the obstinate clothier. The male’s weathered face told me he’d seen nearly two thousand winters. And the leather that adorned him? He was an expert at his craft.

It was a shame that he was refusing to stitch armor for the females and had incurred Rokath’s ire.

And mine, but after last night, Rokath needed an outlet.

Rokath had nearly slept through the gong that rang way too fucking early this morning. It wasn’t until I’d dumped water on him that he had awoken. I’d honestly debated about letting him sleep, given how little he usually did and the haunted state he’d come home in.

But I knew his rules were important, and so was what we had to do today.

“If you do not wish to lose your position and your coin, you will oversee this,” Rokath snarled, towering over the clothier.

I glanced down the open air hall, ensuring no one attempted a surreptitious pass to overhear the conversation.

Everyone should be gathering in the training area, but I didn’t trust that these males weren’t circling like sharks, waiting to attack from their displeasure.

“I’ve served this army for a millennia. I will not see tradition crumble on your whim,” he shot back, undeterred by Rokath’s intimidation.

“Do you doubt the Weaver’s path?” Rokath rasped, his tone like a blade scraped against stone. “For the High Priestess has seen our future.”

Not exactly a lie. Kiira had mentioned on several occasions that whatever she reported to have seen was taken as fact simply because of who she was.

The clothier pointed a gnarled finger in my mate’s face. “You do not appreciate the Fates. You never have, even as a youngling here.”

I rolled my eyes, grateful that my helmet hid my irritated expression.

Onyx tendrils coiled around the man’s arm, snaring it to his side. Only then did his furious expression shift. “Release me!”

“No,” Rokath stated, his tone threaded with command.

“I am the fucking Halálhívó. I lead here. If I say you will deliver ten thousand sets of armor, then that is what you will do. If you refuse, I will snap your neck and hang your body from the balustrade as a demonstration of what happens to those who disobey a direct order. The choice is yours.”

The clothier’s eyes bulged, his face turning the same scarlet shade of red as his eyes. “You make it impossible.”

I almost sympathized with him, having been on the receiving end of such a command. But his aged thinking would get us nowhere. “Choose now. We have better places to be,” I snapped.

His attention flicked to me, mouth thinning. Clearly, he didn’t appreciate my input into the matter. Typical.

Rokath’s shadows wrapped around the clothier’s neck. “ Fine!” he shouted, squirming in his black binds. “I’ll do it. You’ll hear no complaint from me.”

The dark snakes retreated immediately with no regard for how the male landed against the ground. With an oomph , he collapsed, shoving himself upright on shaky limbs.

“If I hear so much as a whisper of your dissent, I will not hesitate next time,” Rokath promised, leaning over him.

This time, the clothier responded with a healthy measure of fearful respect. “Yes, Halálhívó.”

Rokath strode past him while he straightened his shirt. I didn’t deign to look at him as I shouldered past, falling in step with my mate. “How many more times are we going to have to do that?”

“Too many,” Rokath grumbled back.

A long sigh slipped out of me as we rounded the final corner to the training area.

Up a short set of stairs, we found the rest of our group waiting.

Kiira shot me a grin as we approached. My giddiness mirrored her own.

Together, we’d informed the priestesses that morning they were no longer required to wear veils.

Even now, their infectious excitement swept through me.

Xannirin, however, barely appeared to be in a better mood than the previous day with how he glowered at both of us.

As I settled among the cousins, tension hung like a fat fog, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be anywhere less than I wanted to be there right now.

Maybe back on the estate in Stryi, still married to Vagach.

Countless sets of eyes settled on me, taking in my rose-covered black helmet, the wool tunic that covered my torso, the leather pants that protected my legs.

Rokath, in his full armor, was an intimidating sight.

The females’ attention should have been on him, and yet, lips moved, heads jerked, hands hid whispers—all visible with their faces now bare .

I welcomed it, showing them with every breath, every heartbeat, that I was not hidden. Not silenced. Not afraid.

I was powerful.

Rokath raised a hand, and silence fell over the priestesses.

They still wore their black dresses, and the acolytes still boasted their white rope belts.

Together, they stood on the threshold of a transformation.

They weren’t soldiers yet, but that would change today.

That was what this gathering was for, after all.

To begin the integration with their male counterparts.

They all stood a little straighter as the Halálhívó’s gaze settled over them.

Soldiers hugged the rear walls and the balconies across from us, watching the events unfold with mixed expressions.

Some appeared disinterested. Others, barely veiled disdain—likely the same as those who had been lashed for their disobedience the previous day.

Most held a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Those are the ones we need to seek out to assist us.

“Today, each of you will demonstrate your power and be assigned into units. From there, you will don a new uniform fit for fighting. The clothiers will take your measurements after your magic assessment. New armor will be delivered to you over the coming days.”

Rokath paused, surveying the scene.

Pride swelled in my chest. Together, we’d prove that we had a place in the world, that we were worthy of leaving our homes and having autonomy. That we didn’t need a male to direct our entire lives and that we could contribute through more ways than our womb.

“I suggest that you do not hold back. Wield what you know. There is ample time to learn later. An accurate measure of your power is essential, though.” Rokath tilted his head to look at Xannirin. The Kral merely kept his mouth shut and gaze forward.

At least that’s an improvement.

The females nodded their assent. The males clinging to the periphery shifted. Others with boards in hand stepped forward.

“Let the assessment begin,” Rokath commanded. The four of us retreated from the balustrade and into the shadows of the pillars.

“I’ll stay and help,” Kiira pronounced, tucking her long hair behind her ears. Quickly, she swirled the length around her finger, then secured it with a leather strip so it sat just off her neck.

Xannirin muttered something about letters to answer, turning on his heel and stalking away.

“What is his problem?” I asked, staring daggers into his backside. Was he off to scheme? To undermine us? His disdain was apparent in each strike of foot against stone.

Kiira and Rokath glanced at each other. Then, Kiira ignored my question entirely. “Assyria, let me introduce you to some of the volunteers. I think you’ll quite like them.”

Smothering an annoyed huff, I started to follow her, but Rokath let out a low growl. “Assyria is the Szélhámos. She walks first.”

“Oh, right,” I replied, shaking off my lingering irritation and stepping into my role. Because of Kiira’s status, I’d defaulted to letting her lead. But I was one of them now, and I needed to act like it. Even if Xannirin didn’t.

Thankfully, Kiira wasn’t offended. “After you, Szélhámos ,” she giggled, elbowing my ribs. With a small laugh, I passed her, then took the stairs one at a time, steeling myself for what was sure to be an overwhelming event.

Chaos ruled the training arena. Flashes of black dotted the edges of my vision as we clung to the wall in an attempt to maneuver through hundreds of bodies. Booms sounded all around as Destructors demonstrated their magic.

“Where do I go?” I asked Rokath, unable to see over the madness.

“Straight ahead. The male with the high knot. I have to see that the clothiers are behaving, but I will find you later.”

“Good luck.”

He grunted in response before peeling off from us.

A Százados whom I recognized from the healing session I’d stumbled upon took notes as he observed the females wielding their magic.

First, they called upon their shadows, then their secondary power.

Hopping around a backstepping soldier who didn’t see me, I wove my way to the Százados.

He paused when he saw our approach, dropping to one knee and resting his forehead on his arm.

When he pointedly cleared his throat, and the females around him did the same.

“You may stand,” I told him and the others, and they did. A few craned their necks to see me, and I offered them warm smiles in return. “Please continue, we want to observe.”

“Yes, Szélhámos,” he replied, then faced the females again. “Who is next?”

A maroon-eyed female stepped forward, dipping into a deep curtsey. “High Priestess, Szélhámos.”

“This is Maariya. She has served in numerous posts for decades and was one of the first to volunteer,” Kiira told me.

“Is this true?” I asked her.

“Yes, Szélhámos. Since I was young, I wanted to serve my realm. At first, being a priestess was the only way to do that. Now I have more options.”

My throat thickened as a glimmer of myself reflected back to me. “Please demonstrate your power,” I commanded, though the words were soft in comparison to Rokath’s harshness.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Onyx whirled like a twister around her, whipping her loose hair into a frenzy. When they settled, she drew a knife from her side and sliced into her thumb. Another female stepped forward, and she marked the second’s wrist with a red line before retreating.