Sleepless red eyes stared back at me as I rode down the line of males, some on the precipice of their first battle, others hardened against the anticipation that preceded it. As I turned my stallion around and urged him forward, the males followed, and I tried my damndest not to twist in my saddle and search for the black tent at the rear of the camp where Assyria still slept.

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53

If I thought the boredom of my existence in the war camp was bad, the anxiety of being nearly alone in it while the soldiers were away fighting was excruciating. When I’d awoken and found Rokath’s note, I’d hurriedly dressed and tiptoed out of the tent, finding only a few males still about, some tending to things that needed mending, others caring for the injured. Otherwise, the vast network I’d come to call home was eerily empty. And eerily quiet.

My thoughts, however, were loud enough to fill the void.

When our bond first snapped into place, I never thought I’d pace over a threadbare rug, fretting for his life. What the fuck was wrong with me? I shouldn’t be worrying over him. I worried for Rapp, too, assuming that he faced a similar battle across the distant canyon.

My gut twisted in knots. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, for the fear that pulsed through my veins.

I didn’t even have Grem and Zeec to keep me company. Digging through the various bags and chests in our tent, I found a ball the two of them liked to chase and threw it against the wooden table for something, anything, to distract from the breath that wouldn’t move in my chest.

When that didn’t do the trick, I plaited my hair and stepped outside again. Looking around, I found no one, so I took off at a sprint, racing down the line of tents before skidding to a stop and backtracking. It didn’t take long for me to become thoroughly winded from the exercise, so I switched into the routine Izgath and Uzadaan had shown me, taking care to properly engage my shoulder so I didn’t injure it again.

Over and over I repeated the exercises until I didn’t feel like I was going to crawl out of my skin anymore, and my breathlessness forced air into my lungs. The sun beat down overhead, only serving to make me sweat more. A few wayward tendrils of hair clung to my face, and I shoved them back, hands coming away wet.

With a sigh, I returned to the tent and stripped out of my sweaty clothes, then used the basin and some cloths to wipe myself clean. It was the best I could do for now, though at this point I was used to it.

While I cooled off, I lay in the bed and stared at the ceiling, worries slithering back into my mind like a snake through shifting grains of sand. Again, I found the ball and fidgeted with it, trying to soothe the nervousness I couldn’t shake.

Midway through the afternoon, a male I recognized as one of the healers poked his head into our tent. “Apologies, Halálhívó’s chosen, but we need to move.”

The ball I had been tossing aimlessly between my hands dropped to my lap. “Move? Why?” Rokath’s note flashed through my mind. Had they lost? Were we supposed to flee? I would know if something had happened to him through our bond, right?

Before I could reach down it to check on him, the healer responded, “We need to advance with the battalions, otherwise they won’t have food and healing supplies readily available.”

My brows crashed together. “So, they won?”

“Aye, they did.” The healer couldn’t smother the grin that split his face. “The Reaper’s eye was elsewhere this day.”

“Indeed. The Weaver’s thread too is strong. Glory to the Demons,” I replied automatically, mind still spinning. All day, I sat here, worrying to the point that my fingernails were utterly destroyed. Somehow, I couldn’t convince myself to believe that Rokath would walk back into our tent like he promised in his note.

“If you don’t mind, we’d like to pack up now,” the healer told me, stirring me from my thoughts.

“Oh, yes, right,” I said, jumping from the bed and grabbing the satchels that held mine and Rokath’s clothes, taking extra care of the worn, fraying leather of Rokath’s bag. One day, he’d tell me exactly what happened that caused him to keep it.

The healer tied back the flaps, and a gust of hot desert air blustered through the space as he and two others entered, making quick work of dismantling everything.

Squinting against the brightness, I approached a wagon just outside the tent and secured them at the front where they were easily accessible. At the last moment, I remembered the scarf and dug it out, draping it with expert precision after so many days under the sun.

Blaeze was tied to the side of it, already saddled and ready for me to ride. I stepped out of the way to let the males fill the wagon and noticed most of the rest of camp had been deconstructed already. “Why not return here?” I asked the one who had been in my tent.

“The Halálhívó wants to press their advantage. Apparently they took the Angels by quite a surprise, both from the Halálhívó’s push and Hadvezér Rapp’s,” he told me, hefting the wooden flap at the rear and then securing the pins in place so nothing would slide out. He slapped the side of it, sending an echo toward the front.

“If you’re ready, Halálhívó’s chosen,” he said, gesturing to a still-hitched Blaeze.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, going to my horse and taking his reins. The male strode around to the front and joined another in the driver’s seat.

Still feeling adrift, I dug my foot into the stirrup and mounted him. They trundled forward, and I followed alongside, unsure how to act without Rokath running interference between me and everyone else.

He must have been intensely focused on the task at hand if he allowed me to go without an entire guard toward a battlefield. I was hesitant to reach down our bond and search his mind, not only because my feelings about him were such a tangled mess, but also because I didn’t want to distract him by appearing in his mind.

If he was winning, and handily, then I wanted him to continue to do so. The sooner this was all over, the sooner I would know that Rokath, Rapp, and every Demon in the realm wouldn’t perish.

Still, the rear was the better place to be, so I stayed there, riding silently along the healers, until we approached a stretch of torn, bloodsoaked earth. The scent of death assaulted me immediately, and I coughed, gagged, and forced myself to breathe through my mouth. One of the healers dug out thick red cloths and passed them around. They each wrapped one over their nose and mouths.

“You get used to it eventually, once you’re around it enough,” the one called out to me, though his words were slightly muffled.

Taking his cue, I rewound the scarf so it also covered my mine

“It’s worse in the summer when it’s hot. Attracts more flies and everything rots faster,” he continued like this was a normal conversation.

My stomach churned, and I kept my gaze firmly forward. But then, the first pile of bodies appeared just ahead, and bile rose in my throat.

This was nothing like I’d experienced with the plague.

The moment someone died of the sickness, they were carted away and burned. Besides that, it was winter, and the smell wasn’t so foul.

Here, despite the openness, the stretch clung to everything, filling my nostrils through the scarf. True to his word, flies buzzed over the tangled pile of limbs. White hair was soaked with blood, blue eyes were glassy and lifeless. Jaws forever frozen in silent screams.

The sight was horrifying.

I ripped the scarf away, bent over and retched. The wagon halted, and the male hopped down, rushing to my side. Once I finished, gasping for air, he offered me a waterskin. “Thanks,” I said, lifting it to my lips with shaky hands. I swished the cool liquid in my mouth and spit it away from him. I dared not lift my gaze and see what else was strewn across the battlefield.