Page 46 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

S weat slicked my training gear to my chest as I settled on the wooden stands of the arena. Kiira fared no better, using her sleeve to wipe her forehead. The newly-sorted females trailed past us, back to their barracks to wash before retiring for the evening.

Kiira, Rapp, Rokath, and I had worked for days to slot them into units appropriate for their talents. Xannirin had been notably absent, though it wasn’t like the cousins never saw each other. No, they spoke late into the night and Rokath always returned furious.

Exhaustion tugged at my limbs from the imbalance between the hours of sleep I stole at night and the level of my exertion during the day.

I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and remain there for eternity.

Yet my mate and his Hadvezér stood on the opposite end of the arena, heads bent together and gesturing to parchment attached to portable boards.

Which meant he wasn’t leaving anytime soon, and neither was I since he had our only key .

“Let’s go for a walk, shall we?” Kiira suggested, rising with a groan.

“Ugh,” I protested, but I knew if I remained seated, the soreness would set in faster and that climb up to Rokath’s rooms would be infinitely worse. The males scarcely clocked that we were leaving, absorbed in whatever it was they were discussing.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked her as we fell in step.

“First, to the kitchens to procure some wine,” she said, her tone light and airy. “Then, to the barracks.”

I let out a small laugh. “If Rokath finds out, he’s going to be furious.”

Kiira shot me a grin. “So don’t let him.”

As much as my mate loved his rules, I did not. I’d never been great at following them. And with Kiira by my side, encouraging it? There was no way I was saying no. Some wine would ease the ache in my muscles and make the spiraling trek pass a lot faster too.

Ducking into a hall, we wound through the keep. At this hour, most were settling in for the night. The few out and about strode with purpose to their overnight posts.

The kitchens bustled with activity as the cooks cleaned up from the evening meal and prepped for the following day. They all ceased immediately when they noticed the High Priestess and me.

“High Priestess, Szélhámos,” the closest one said, dropping to a knee.

“There’s no need,” Kiira told him, her tone warm and dripping honey. “Especially if you’ll fetch us a bottle of wine and glasses.”

“Certainly, High Priestess,” he replied, hurrying off. The rest returned to their work.

A few minutes later, he slipped through the chaos, carrying a woven basket. “You’ll find everything you need in here.”

Kiira accepted it with the same easy grace she carried into every room, never a hitch in her step or a dip in her chin.

Her poise, her charm, her elegance…she exuded royalty and prestige.

We departed quickly, leaving them to their duties.

Passing out of the keep, we strode through the largest courtyard toward the eastern barracks.

The evening was brisk and the breeze cooled my skin, overheated from being in the stuffy arena for the past few hours. We continued our leisurely pace, simply enjoying a moment of peace.

Light spilled through the cracked door, and holding it wider, I allowed Kiira to slip in ahead of me. Feminine voices drifted through the space, mingling with the crashing of water against tile.

“This way,” Kiira told me, jerking her head in the direction of a small staircase that led to the upper floors. We trotted up to the highest level, where the more prominent priestesses had claimed their spaces.

Lavender, almond, and vanilla scents filled my nostrils as we strode onto the floor. Steam still hung in the air, drifting from the bathing chamber in the middle of the barracks. Moments later, Maariya, Izzenna, and a few others emerged, squeezing water from the ends of their hair.

Excited squeals greeted us, and they tossed their bath sheets onto their bunks and raced to meet Kiira.

“High Priestess!” Each greeted her with a kiss on either cheek.

“Please, the males aren’t around now,” Kiira replied, mischievousness dancing in her expression. Then, she shook the basket, causing cups to tinkle. “And we have wine.”

“Blessed by the Giver,” Maariya said, lifting the load from Kiira’s arms.

The other priestesses greeted me similarly, and Izzenna even hooked an arm through mine and steered me toward the sitting area. Maariya placed the basket on a table in the center and flipped open the top. From its dark interior, she pulled two bottles by their neck.

“Which do you want, Szélhámos?” she asked me, spinning them around so the labels were visible.

“You may call me Assyria while we’re here.” While my experience with priestesses had always been negative, witnessing how easily Kiira interacted with them had planted a seed of longing inside me. I’d never really had friends, and I desperately wanted their camaraderie.

Maariya smiled at me, giving my hope wings. “Of course. Assyria, which do you want?”

My knowledge of wine was limited to the color of the liquid. Chewing my bottom lip, I looked between the two for a moment, then gestured to the red one.

“Excellent choice,” Maariya said. A wisp of obsidian emerged from her fingertips, and it snaked under the cork. With a pop, the wine opened, and another priestess caught the stopper before it rolled under a nearby settee.

Izzenna dug out the glasses and used her own magic to hold them aloft while Maariya poured. Together, they served us all.

“To our health,” Kiira cheered, clinking her glass with mine. Warmth bloomed in my chest.

This was what it felt like to be included. I savored the feeling like I savored the wine as I took a long drink. The sweetness swept across my tongue, accompanied by a hint of pepper that reminded me of my mate. I nearly moaned at the decadent notes.

“Good, right?” Kiira tucked her long hair behind her ears and her legs beneath her on the couch beside me.

“Very,” I replied, taking a smaller sip this time.

“How fare your discussions with the Kral and the Halálhívó?” a cherry-eyed female asked. Like Maariya and Izzenna, she wore her hair long and loose, and with it still damp, it held a deep wave.

“Not well, Vokkia,” she replied. She swirled the purple wine in her cup as she considered her next words.

I was curious to hear her opinion because my only real perspective was through Rokath.

He’d wanted me to attend, but with Xannirin’s continued condescension, he and Kiira had decided they’d likely get nowhere with me present.

She cut her attention to me for a moment. “These three are some of my most trusted advisors on the matters of our faith.”

I understood the subtext of her words. She trusted them to help her spin whatever stories she decided needed to be woven—but not with the politics of it all.

“I am lucky to be included in this circle,” I offered, smiling at each in turn.

“You deserve to be here, Assyria. You are a symbol of us all. Kiira spoke about you at length prior to our departure.” Vokkia offered a quiet smile brimming with reverence.

“Did she?” I asked, tilting my head and studying Rokath’s cousin.

“I did. Because I knew what you’d become.

” Before I could ask her what she meant by those cryptic words, she answered Vokkia’s question.

“The Kral is still highly resistant to all these ideas. He does not appreciate us moving forward without his approval. The Halálhívó and I are trying to sway him. Though his disagreement certainly won’t stop the Halálhívó from acting when he thinks he’s right. ”

I snorted at that. She knew my mate well.

“What if you cannot sway him?” Izzenna asked, a slight waver in her voice. “Will we have to return to our positions?”

Kiira pressed her lips together. My heart twisted at the sorrow in Izzenna’s ruby eyes. “I promise I won’t let it come to that. We need you here in the army.”

She turned her attention to me. “How did you do it?”

I tapped my finger on the side of my glass as I considered how I wanted to answer.

“Persistence.” The group fell into laughter.

I found myself grinning, happiness sinking into my bones.

“Truly though. I’ve never been one to remain quiet.

It got me in…trouble with the priestess in Stryi.

And my former husband. Somehow I wore the Halálhívó down. ”

Kiira shook her head. “You discount your own power, Assyria. The Halálhívó does not bend. He does not break. By acting as yourself, you opened him to what he’s long been closed to. The Fates knew what they were doing when they made you mates.”

My cheeks heated, and I took a long drink of wine to cover them.

“What story can you tell him to sway him? You are the best, after all,” Maariya added.

Kiira’s serene expression faltered for a moment before she corrected it. “I’m not certain a single story would make a difference. He’s the type of male that has to think it’s his idea. My cousins, I swear, have egos the size of Ravasz.”

At that, we all laughed again.

“So what will be the message for the future?” I asked, the wine loosening my tongue. From conversations with Rokath, I knew that whatever changes needed to happen would come through the priestesses first—at least until Xannirin had finally surrendered his stubborn position.

“It is not necessarily a new one, but rather building off what is already believed. Not that the Kral would agree, regardless. All he sees is we’ve spent centuries ensuring females are reliant on males, and for him to change course now would be like him admitting it never should have happened in the first place. ”

“Which it shouldn’t have,” I pointed out. The other three nodded.

“We are in agreement there,” Kiira said. “But there is another way. The people believe that I have a direct connection to the Fates—because I do. And if I tell them I have seen a future where male and female Demons battle alongside one another, then they will believe that.”