Page 191 of Burn of the Everflame

A shrill, ear-splitting whistle sliced through the air. Vance’s army jolted to attention. “Advance,” he bellowed.

“Your Majesty?” Alixe called out.

Diem’s eyes darted between her High General, her brother, and the militia marching toward us.

“We should hold,” I suggested. “Let our traps do the work for now.”

“Are they wearing . . . dresses?” Zalaric asked.

We followed his bemused stare to the middle ranks, where a number of Vance’s soldiers were marching forward in floor-length skirts and flowing robes.

“Diem,” Teller panted when he reached us. “Those people . . . they’re not mortals . . . they’re⁠—”

“Descended,” Diem finished, looking grim. “I know. He must have promised to spare them if they joined him.”

“No, you don’t understand. Those aren’t just any Descended. They⁠—”

His voice was drowned out by raucous laughter from Diem’s army as the first of Vance’s troops fell victim to the obstacles we’d hidden. On one side of the field, they dropped like stones into the hidden trenches. On the other, they tripped on roots and went sliding on ice.

Another day, against another army, I might have found it comical, too—but my Queen wasn’t laughing. Most unnervingly of all, Vance still was. Across the field, he roared with amusement at his own troops’ misfortune.

“Why aren’t they going around?” Alixe asked. “They can clearly see the trenches, but they’re walking right in.”

The sight was turning morbid. So many of Vance’s troops had fallen into the ditches and filled them up, the other soldiers were marching on them, as if their bodies were a bridge.

“It’s like they don’t even care about their own,” Diem murmured.

“Diem, listen,” Teller shouted. “I know those Descended. I met some of them in Sophos.”

“Sophos?” she repeated, frowning. “That doesn’t make any sense. Their people are scholars, not fighters.”

His face was bloodless, eyes round with dread. “Diem . . . I don’t think they’re here by choice.”

Diem’s head slowly turned to the glassy-eyed, stiff-moving Descended marching toward us. “Oh, gods,” she whispered.

“Ophiucae took over their minds with Umbros magic,” I muttered, understanding. “He’s making them fight so the mortals don’t have to.”

“We can’t hurt them,” Teller insisted. “They’re innocent. They don’t even know what they’re doing.”

“Well, we can’t ignore them,” Nidara argued. “Not if they’ve been ordered to kill us.”

Fury blazed in Diem’s glare. “I’ll fix it. Alixe, hold our people off as long as you can.” She prowled forward, and I stalked behind her.

“What are you planning?” I asked.

“If Ophiucae did it, then I can undo it.”

She continued past our lines into the expanse of open field. I snarled at her to stop, fearful she would come in range of their godstone weapons, but as we neared the marching Descended, I spotted a chilling revelation: they didn’t have any godstone weapons. Many had no weapons at all.

Vance’s whistle rang out. “Kill them,” he bellowed.

Every head in Vance’s army turned toward us. I barely got my shield up in time for the barrage of magic that sent me staggering back. Though Diem’s magic curved around me to bolster its strength, I lost sight of her as Vance’s troops closed in.

The number of them was overwhelming, but it was their empty eyes that turned my stomach to stone. No glow of their magic, no sign of emotion or thought. The pink hue of their irises had faded to a dull, murky fog. Even when they stared right at me, they didn’t seem to be seeing me. I had witnessed people whose minds were being compelled with Umbros magic . . . this was something else.

I caught a flash of white hair, and I forced my shield out toward it in a powerful burst. Descended bodies went flying, revealing Diem with a woman on her knees. Though Diem had bound her hands and feet with Arboros roots, the woman was fighting like hell—not to get at Diem, but at me.

In fact, none of them were fighting Diem. The whole of Vance’s army had their sights set on me and me alone.