Page 83 of Horns of Wicked Ebony (Deathcaller Duet #2)

I n the command center, surrounded by haunting memories and critical stakes, we regrouped for war.

The permanence of this place gripped me as I surveyed the familiar furniture.

A heavy oaken table. Carved pine chairs.

Decorative weapons pinned to the stone walls.

A hearth with split logs stacked to the side.

The crackle of it assaulted my ears as Olet strode into the room, finally caught up from the rear, and greeted the Parancsok who had remained with Trol.

Assyria sipped from a metal mug and nibbled on a bit of goat cheese produced in the city that supported the outpost. A platter of fresh food awaited us should we want more. It was far better than the long-storing gruel we had to eat during our rapid trek here.

Trol went to a cabinet and pulled out a small box. Twined to it was a letter, the crosspoint bearing a burgundy wax seal. I accepted it from his outstretched hand, noting Xannirin’s signet stamped into it.

“This came for you just yesterday, Halálhívó. A rider from the outpost closest to Uzhhorod passed it along personally. ”

My brows climbed my forehead. Xannirin had acted quickly. His silence had spoken volumes—or so I’d thought. Perhaps he wasn’t as resistant to the changes, or the nobles had accepted them readily upon his return. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for his communication.

Assyria craned her neck to see what I held.

I tugged at the thin rope, breaking the seal. “Did he have any reports from riding the length of the wall?”

“That is one of the matters I wanted to discuss,” Trol stated. The other officers shifted in their seats around the large table. Judging by the looks exchanged between them, they already knew.

Rapp’s boots clicked against the stone as he came to stand beside me. He was well aware of my current feelings toward my cousin, our Kral.

Rokath,

Additional soldiers to help defend the realm have been sent to the outpost near Uzhhorod.

Both male and female. A chunk of my personal guard accompanied them since they are untrained.

I ordered them to begin instruction as soon as possible to ensure their lives aren’t entirely wasted the moment the Angels attack.

Additionally, I have declared all fallen free from their forced servitude. Many volunteered to join the defense. You’ll find them among the rest once you reach the wall. To further my commitment, rape is now an offense punishable by death via dismemberment.

Kiira’s stories and the portrait of Assyria and you are quite compelling. I have already begun to distribute them with the aid of the priestesses.

I issue you one warning: should you try to move against me and claim my throne with your mate, you’ll have a war of a different variety on your hands.

The box and note inside are for Kiira.

The Kra l

I clenched my teeth, wanting to punch my cousin in his fucking face for daring to suggest I wanted to rule in his stead. Again. His arrogance was grating my nerves.

Rapp reached for the box, turning it over and examining it from every angle. “What do you think he’d possibly send Kiira?” he murmured, loud enough that only Assyria and I could hear.

“No clue. Open it and find out,” I suggested on the off chance Xannirin had dared to play some trick.

With a shrug, he flicked off the latch and opened the lid. A moment later, he dropped it onto the table like it was a snake that had bitten him. He slammed the top shut before anyone could glimpse its contents.

I smacked his hands away and dragged it closer to me. Slower than he had, I eased it open.

A musky old tang assaulted my nostrils. Assyria’s metal mug clattered against the table. The fire popped, the volume like an explosion in the utter silence.

Because staring back at me was blackened blood clinging to a shriveled dick and balls.

Shock gripped me, freezing every muscle in my body. Because there was no doubt who these had belonged to if this box was intended for Kiira.

Ollmund Varrir.

So Xannirin had killed him for what he did to our cousin.

“I was certainly not expecting that,” I remarked, closing the lid and handing it to Rapp.

“Nor I,” he growled, securing the latch. “I’ll warn Kiira before I give it to her.”

“Aye,” I agreed, attention drifting to my mate, who slid her plate away. Nose scrunched, she slumped back, arms crossed over her stomach. The horror of her posture said she’d seen enough.

Clearing my throat, I redirected the conversation back to battle plans. Rapp took his seat beside Trol, tucking the box away for later. “So, what did the rider have to say?”

Trol flattened his palms on the table and stared at the map carved into the middle. “Every outpost is still manned, currently.”

“But?”

“But their numbers are dwindling with frequent raids from the Angels.”

“All of them?” I clarified.

Trol nodded. “They all need reinforcements, and I sent the first wave out with the rider upon his departure. But I suspect they’ll need more.”

He paused for a moment, jerking on the collar of his jacket. The officers around the table held their breath. My shoulders tightened as I waited for what else he had to say.

“Speak freely,” I insisted, but the grating in my tone contrasted the encouragement I wanted to deliver.

Trol swallowed, unable to meet my gaze. “I have no idea where the Angels have gone.”

“What do you mean? How the fuck do you lose an army?” My voice didn’t rise, but the chill in them silenced even the burning logs at my back. My fingers dug into the wood, turning my tattooed knuckles white.

Trol didn’t answer right away. Assyria reached for me, peeling my hand off the table. I forced myself to release a breath through clenched teeth.

“Only a handful remain at their base over the wall. Once they reached the foothills, they took to the skies for their retreat. With the high sun, we couldn’t see where they went.”

Fuck.

The Myrza had proclaimed that one of their Seers had delivered a prophecy of a battle within the mountains. Clearly, they weren’t simply regrouping to force us closer and seek out weak points in our defenses. They were spreading out to find the location of this final stand.

Technically, the wall was a neutral zone.

Each side had outposts or small cities along its length, but set back into our respective territories.

Since our rise to power, I’d ensured that the Demons had gained control of most of it, allowing our riders to pass freely without fear of running into a group of Angels attempting to patrol its tops.

My mind worked over this new information, weighing each outcome and possibility.

I doubted they’d attempt to go south of Sivy and Uzhhorod, preferring to brave the peaks between the capitals in an attempt to bring about a swift end.

The Skala Mountains rose to a crescendo at the end of Keleti, making travel through their peaks nearly impossible.

No, the foretold battle would occur in the north.

“If we don’t have eyes on them, we need to do that, and quickly. I doubt they’ve left us without surveillance,” I ground out around clenched teeth. “Which means they’ll know of our arrival.”

I paused, reaching for Assyria’s hand. Despite the twisting in my gut, I knew what I was about to say was the right thing to do. “We’ll spread along the length of the wall. My mate will assist us in fighting through this rough terrain.”

Assyria lifted her chin and offered them all a devious smile. “I’ve learned quite a few tricks since our last meeting.”

“Is that so?” Trol asked, a wry grin tugging at his war-hardened lips.

In seconds, she wore my face like a prophetic mask. Many of the officers started at the sudden duplicity of me. Rapp pressed his fist to his mouth to hide his amusement.

“But that’s not all.” From my shaved head, white hair fell, and my burgundy eyes turned aquamarine.

Tattoos melted away, revealing the regal face of the Myrza.

“I’ll lure the zealots into my trap and we’ll kill them all, save for one.

They will return to their camp, spouting off nonsense about one of their own betraying them,” she said in Demonic.

The unnerved expressions at seeing this Angel’s face speaking our language, was understandable.

“What…are you?” one of the officers breathed, studying Assyria with rapt fascination.

“An Imposter. The Szélhámos.” She returned to herself. “The female who is going to bring the Angel army to its knees.”

A grin—vicious, feral, possessive—rose to my lips as I watched my mate. My equal. My Fate.

“We’ll need to capture a few more Angel officers as well so we can perpetuate this story. Make them tear themselves apart from the inside,” I furthered, detailing the hard-wrought design Rapp, Assyria, and I had discussed during our travels.

“It’s a good plan,” one of the Parancsok commented. “My units will be thrilled to join any missions you require of us.”

“I’m glad you said that,” I began. “Because with us, we have several thousand powerful magic wielders who just so happen to be female. They held their own against the Angels in the Battle of Fured, and I want to ensure the units here embrace them. Who will take them on, and who needs to be reminded that my word is law?”

Several commented that their males would accommodate, while others noted they still struggled with sections of their battalions. I made a mental note to visit them with Assyria as soon as possible.

After that, we ventured into logistics. How many units we’d send to each outpost both to the north and south of our current location.

What weapons needed to go where. The number of healers, cooks, and clothiers to disperse.

I moved markers across the map until I was satisfied with the placement of them all .

“Everyone remembers the fire signals, yes?” It had been nearly a decade since we’d had so many soldiers at the wall. At intervals along the way, massive basins waited to be lit. The communication was far faster than sending ravens, especially during times of strife.