Page 2 of Black Sea

I turned to my older brother as he steadily walked over, his white armor—inlaid with copper leaves rather than gilded like mine—standing out against the dark ground.

I peered at the frown on his chiseled face. A muscle twitched on his square, tense jaw.

“What is it, Araton?” I asked as I slowly stood up.

A gust of wind tousled his long, light-brown hair and the ends of the side braids that held a tiara of coppery leaves on his forehead. “Father wants to see you.”

My brow pulled. Father and I usually didn’t meet before a battle, but right on the field, just moments before the attack. Why did he send for me?

Did he have the same strange feeling I had?

I was about to ask Araton what was happening when the sudden puff of the fortress entrance hinges distinctly reached our ears. The joints produced a long, eerie creak, and the massive double door slowly began to open.

My blue eyes darted toward Araton’s jade-green ones. “We move,” I ordered.

My brother gripped the hilt of the sword hanging at his side and nodded. “I’ll see you at the end, Sister,” he said with a grin, then turned and turned around without waiting for a reply.

I watched his coppery cape flutter behind him as he strode away, disappearing among the tents, then I looked back at the fortress. The doors were nearly halfway open, and, thanks to my elven eyesight, I could already glimpse the horrifying beasts fidgeting behind the entrance, ready to surge onto the burned plain.

I held my fist in front of me and opened it, watching the ashen dirt disperse in the wind. Then I spun around and marched through the white tents of our army, heading toward Father’s. I passed between the two guards on either side of the veranda and pushed aside one of the tent flaps to go inside.

King Erech stood before the large oak table. His white armor and cloak enhanced his regal appearance. In his right hand, he carried his legendary golden-blade spear, renowned for his battle glory. With the shaft made of walnut wood, inscribed with magical runes by the Spirits, the weapon granted extraordinary strength to the wielder in the fight against evil.

“Father,” I said curtly.

He ceased examining the map with the armies’ positions on the table and lifted his head. The torchlight flickered on the crown of white-gold leaves resting on his straight, brown hair, which was gathered in a braided half-ponytail.

“I want you to stay behind, Nauriel, with the King of Men and the Queen of the Witches,” he announced solemnly.

My heart skipped a beat.

“You expect me to stand by while my people face Mornon’s legion?” I hissed. “My people’s blood will soon soak this cursed land, and I shall not leave them alone.”

Father turned toward me, and his small sapphire eyes darkened with anguish for a moment. Araton inherited our mother’s aristocratic attractiveness, but my stern beauty came from Erech.

“I shall be at your side,” I declared. “As I’ve always been since you taught me how to use a sword.”

He frowned. “Araton will fill your absence. He’s stronger than you.”

A fit of anger hit me, and I took a step forward. “He is not, and you know it.” For that reason, he’d named us both generals of the elven army. Our fighting skills were equal. I peered over at my father’s inscrutable face. “Why are you acting like this? You’ve never kept me away from a battle before.”

He closed his eyes with a sigh, then brushed my golden blonde hair back over my shoulder with a shy, gentle smile—the same one he always gave me when we were alone.

“My daughter,” he said. “Today, we shall triumph. I’m sure about that. But I don’t know at what cost.”

Upset, I was about to reply but Father raised a hand to command me not to interrupt him.

“If I should fall, I want you to take my place.”

I just blinked at him. “Araton is your heir.”

He gave me an indulgent look. “Araton is not suited for the throne, and he knows that too. But you . . .” He contemplated my tiara of golden leaflets, tucked between my side braids. “You are so like your grandmother. And, like her, you will know how to guide and protect our people with grace and wisdom. You will keep Calien’s Crystal until you deem it right. Then you will choose a new and worthy keeper and head toward your Rest”—he traced my jawline with the back of his index finger—“where we will see each other again.”

I stared at him in shock. An unfamiliar pain started spreading in waves from the center of my chest. I couldn’t accept my father’s decision.

I couldn’t.

But when I took a breath to speak, the sound of an elven horn soared above the howl of the wind, followed by the deepest sound of the men’s horn and the sharpest sound of the witches’ horn.