Page 37

Daimon

Daimon always had the feeling of a knife twisting in his stomach when something bad was coming. He’d felt it the night before the attack on the outskirts of Drogheda, pacing his room until Aster had told him to calm down.

So many terrible things were happening during this war that it was impossible to try and decipher why his gut was telling him something bad was about to happen now. There weren’t many Nocturna that had an affinity for shadows as strong as his, but he was fairly certain the shadows were the ones warning him of danger.

These thoughts often kept him awake at night, unable to fall asleep with the number of fae that expected so much from him. But he would smile and pretend he wasn’t scared shitless for the sake of his aerial legion. He had to lead, and a commander couldn’t be afraid. They needed him to be strong for them.

Daimon let out a long breath and fought to remain present at the war table. They had been in here all day. The council had left hours ago, but Keir, Carwyn, and Senna continued to strategize.

Small, whittled pieces of wood had been carved out in different shapes and placed all over the painted map. Some were soldiers to indicate where they stationed guards, while others were tiny wyverns that were laid down where they planned to have an aerial patrol.

“My men on the eastern front noticed a change in the rebels. The last few encounters, they’ve seemed…different somehow,” Senna mused. “There was a heaviness in their presence, a darkness that’s growing.”

Daimon glanced at Keir. They had felt it too.

“We’ve noticed them using more cursed weapons lately,” Daimon added. “Almost every rebel had one during the attack on Drogheda’s edge.”

Carwyn hummed. “As I’ve said before, we need a weapon. Something to combat this dark magic.”

Keir cleared his throat, cutting his eyes to Daimon. Daimon had specifically asked him to keep Evelina’s shield quiet for a bit. He didn’t want to put extra pressure on her with everything going on, and mostly, he was worried about the implications. What danger it might put her in.

Carwyn looked between the two of them and raised a brow. “Is there something I’m missing?” she asked.

Daimon’s nostrils flared. Although he didn’t want to share it, at this point it’d be negligent as a commander. “Evelina has been able to shield on occasion, a small one that stops weapons from harming her. She learned by accident, but has been able to train it to protect others as well.”

Carwyn tilted her head to the side. “A shield,” she said slowly.

“But it isn’t worth the risk taking a healer, who isn’t trained in battle, to the ground,” he quickly amended, hoping to close the conversation. Carwyn’s eyes narrowed. “Too much expenditure wears her out. We wouldn’t want to leave her in the middle of a battle with emptied Essence.”

“It isn’t an option,” said Senna firmly, agreeing. “She would be putting more than herself at risk if she were to run empty during a battle. ”

Carwyn nodded her head, clearly taking it all in.

“But we could send more healers as we begin to transition the naval units closer to the border,” Keir jumped in. “It would be wise to have more, perhaps some that take to wielding a sword quickly. Even learning a few defensive stances would give them the upper hand.”

Senna hummed his agreement.

The door burst open, followed by a loud smack as it flung into the wall. Brielle ran in, breathless. Heads swiveled in her direction.

“Commander.” Brielle’s deep voice sliced through the war room.

The feeling tugging at Daimon intensified. Judging by the look on her face, it wasn’t good. It felt as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room at her words. No one dared speak, didn’t dare to breathe as they waited.

Then her eyes locked with Daimon’s, and he knew. He knew deep down that he needed to prepare himself for whatever she was about to say next.

“Baile was just hit.” Her voice shook. Keir, Daimon, and Senna instantly started for the door, but Brielle’s hands trembled as she quickly added, “It’s over now.”

“ Another attack?” Keir demanded. He looked at Daimon, eyes wide. “Were any Riders patrolling there today?”

“Two were stationed near Baile this evening,” answered Daimon shortly. “Willow and a beta Rider.” His eyes flicked quickly back up to Brielle, barely grinding out, “Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

Brielle’s mouth opened and then closed.

Keir’s nostrils flared with impatience. “Spit it out, Brielle.”

Brielle wasn’t a delicate fae—she was a warrior. One of the strongest Daimon had ever seen. She never turned away from a battle, never faltered to throw herself into danger. And yet here she was, barely able to hold herself together.

“They’re all dead,” she whispered.