“They march against us!”
I nodded toward the ranks creeping closer, their messengers dead or broken before them. Gyrak arched his neck, Ronan upright between his spines, waiting. They wanted to make each one nothing more than a cloud of ash.
“Not them.” Kallias’ gaze swept the advancing soldiers. “Burn the–”
A shrill scream cut him off.
Tsunami dove from the sky, her cry piercing as she skimmed low over Lon’s men like a hunting hawk. Her shrill outrage scraped my nerves raw.
“The city!” Kallias shouted over her. “They’ll return for their families! Burn the stables. The stores!”
Greaves drew his sword, his mount fighting him amid the chaos.
Tsunami banked, lining up for another pass. The soldiers faltered, Radaanian horses untrained for death from above, men twisting in their saddles to track her.
“Nienna!” Kallias seized my arm, pulling me back, his face unreadable stone. “Only the stables and stores.”
My heart hammered, blood roaring in my ears. No one had trained me for this.
But I was born for it.
“Ronan!” I snapped my gaze skyward. “Burn their stables! Their stores! Distract them!”
I felt my brother’s fury at the command like heat on my skin, but Gyrak launched at once, wings beating the air as he climbed.
“Elohios, hear me,” Kallias whispered, words faint as he faced the advancing force—thousands—far more than we had. All armored and ready. His head bowed, lips moving in silent prayer.
Fallione tightened his grip on Radaan’s banner, and Greaves edged away, carving space to fight. A shiver traced my spine asdragonfire bloomed over Lon, the distant rush of flame nearly lost beneath the thunder of our soldiers at my back.
Then the King of Radaan shone with Elohios’ light.
Even knowing it would come, the brilliance forced my eyes away. Kallias spurred forward, his stallion surging into a gallop. I gathered my reins, but Fallione steadied me with a fierce shake of his head.
“Men of Lon!” their king roared, wheeling his horse before them, Greaves tight at his flank. “You who answer to the true King of Radaan—look to your home!”
Formations unraveled as soldiers turned, glancing back, heeding his voice.
“Your city burns!” His white steed cut across their line, forcing mounts to halt. “If you wish to fight, to deny the gods’ will—I stand before you! But if you wish to save your wives, your children—lay down your arms and return home!”
Tsunami and Gyrak passed over the walls, fire blooming just beyond. Their roars and screams rolled across the field, drawing the men’s attention backward. Kallias wielded fear as mercy, offering them a choice.
“But if you choose the stand against me, to allow your kin to perish in dragonfire,” he continued, light flickering around him, “Then here I am!” He lifted his spear, and Elohios’ radiance caught it, pouring through him once more.
Order shattered. Men broke ranks, some sprinting for the city, others hesitating, torn. Officers shouted, trying to rally them, but the line was already gone. Lon’s forces dissolved into chaos. A few charged Kallias. More fled.
Our army surged past me, overtaking Fallione and me as they poured forward like a rising tide, relentless and measured.
Greaves met a mounted rider, steel crashing. Another circled them, sword raised, war cry rising–
It died as Kallias’ spear punched through his chest.
My breath caught, horror suffocating me as tears blurred the field. My husband wrenched his weapon free; the body slid off before he plunged it into another.
Our soldiers met Lon’s men, and I felt it, sensed their restraint. Those who retreated were allowed to flee. Only those who pressed forward tasted their steel.
And Kallias? He never slowed.
His spear darkened to wet crimson as it cut and struck. Blood sprayed like mist, glowing red in his divine light. Distance softened his features, but his rage blazed bright. He offered mercy. And those he slaughtered refused his grace.
