I remember it in Amara’s hands when she first stepped into Baev’kalath. Then in her chambers, wilting a little more each night as she did. Its color fading, its spirit dimming, until she set it free in Pariseth. Something I could never do for her. I had caged her in my shadow and called it protection.
I rise, gaze shifting toward the clearing beyond the trees. I cannot see it from here, not even with my Fae sight, but I canfeelher. Through my mark. Through the threads still binding us together. The blossoms still bloom where she sleeps and as long as they live, so does she.
“Rook.”
Orios’s voice snaps me back from the edge of memory. He’s sprawled in a chair that looks far too small for his massive frame, legs wide, elbows resting on his knees. He studies me with a soldier’s quiet patience, eyes sharp as the spikes along his gauntlets.
“Are the Blades ready?” I ask.
He nods. “We are few, but still a fine company of Ebon warriors. Disciplined, loyal, lethal and more than enough to handle those Legion sacks of shit.” His mouth hardens, the hard set of him wavering. “Surely Zyphoro isn’t…”
I cut him off with a glare. “After what my sister endured for centuries? She’s too proud, too stubborn, to die at mortal hands.” My teeth scrape my bottom lip. “But her silence gnaws at me.”
Orios leans forward, eyes glinting. “A hostage, maybe. Perhaps the humans mean to strike a bargain.”
The wordbargainhits like a blow to the chest.
My jaw clenches until my fangs ache. “After what they’ve done to Amara, to the Grove?” Smoke curls from my skin. “The only bargain offered will be drowning in their own blood.”
Orios’ grin is feral as it pulls across his face.
I stare out the window again, to where sunlight drips through the canopy like molten gold.
“No more bargains,” I murmur, the words a vow now, more than a warning.
“And what if the Golden Son leads them?”
I square my shoulders until my spine feels like forged iron beneath my skin.
“That changes nothing. There is no going back now. For what they did to my wife’s people alone, they deserve smoke and wrath.”
Orios gives a low, rumbling exhale as one huge hand rubs at his chest through the worn leather of his vest. “I don’t need convincing, Rook. Just point me to the massacre.”
His enthusiasm is contagious, a scent in the air that stirs the warrior in me, that puts heat in the runes of battle and berserking etched along my skin. The pulse of it hums in my blood, begging to be unleashed. But not yet. Not until the right moment.
“What news from your scouts?” I ask, crossing the room to lean against the wall near the window. The breeze that slips through carries warmth and the faint sweetness of blossoms. I’ve grown used to it, this strange softness in the air.
“They got as close as they could without drawing attention,” Orios says, voice steady but edged. “Their encampment in the valley isn’t as large as before, but still holds strength. Mostly ground troops. Some horses. Archers. But something new. Ballistas. Dozens of them.”
My brow furrows. I fold my arms across my chest. “Not a favored human weapon.”
“Not human,” Orios replies, a shadow crossing his expression. “Even from a distance, they gleamed with gold. Fae craftsmanship, without question.”
I exhale slowly. “A gift from House Ithranor then, to use against us.”
“Seems likely. Why else aim for the skies?”
“Will they cause us trouble?”
A low sound rumbles from Orios’ chest, reluctant, almost a growl. “We Mordorin are fast. Almost impossible to track when we void-walk. But if they land a lucky shot… one of those bolts would split us clean in half.”
I grin, teeth flashing. “Then let’s not get hit.”
His shoulders ease, the faintest smirk touches his mouth. “Yes, Rook.”
He glances toward the canopy, where sunlight filters through the leaves in golden shards. “Is it late afternoon?” he asks. Beneath this dense cover, it’s always hard to tell. “We leave at dawn?”
I shake my head. “Do you remember, Orios, how the humans once called us the nightmare Fae? Of all our kind, they feared the Mordorin the most. Demons made flesh. The monsters that haunted their waking dreams.”
