Shit, that’s exactly what I’m supposed to do. Get it together, Assyria!

Clearing my throat, I stepped forward. “Uh, I am Kormánzó Vagach, though most of you heard that from Vezető Dromak’s announcement. While I have extensive experience managing the lands under my control, I have minimal knowledge of fighting and war. Outside of what I studied in texts of course,” I added hastily, remembering that Vagach had a host of tutors for his education. I kicked myself internally for even admitting that, because it was something Vagach absolutely would not have done. Before I could spiral too far, I rushed out another string of words to distract from my mistake. “If you promise patience with me, I promise to listen to your counsel as well as those of the other Vezető to ensure I am leading you on the right path. The Weaver’s thread holds strong for us, and we will be victorious in the end.”

A few glanced skeptically among themselves, but for the most part, all kept their chins high and shoulders squared in my direction. “Glory to the Demons,” one at the front shouted, and the rest thumped their fists against their chests.

“Join your brothers in teaching my villagers how to fight,” I commanded them. As they broke apart and rejoined the others, a heady wave washed over me, making my heart race and fingers tingle.

Is this what power is like?

“Nicely done,” Izgath commented. “You can train with us. Our tutelage will get you in fighting shape faster than what Dromak has them doing.”

I followed his gaze to the soldiers split between lapping our camp, pushing themselves off the ground and shouting out the count, and dropping into a squatting position, only to pop into the air after. In my true form, I was a good runner and strong from years of working the field. In Vagach’s form? It was anyone’s guess.

“Plus, you need to cut this,” Izgath added, giving the low ponytail a flick. I smothered the urge to flinch at his sudden touch. I’d never seen Vagach without it, and as vain as he was, I wasn’t sure he’d cut it, even for war.

“Why don’t you cut yours first?” I challenged, hoping I sounded as annoyed as Vagach would have been. I stared pointedly at the knot of hair on the top of his head.

He ran his fingers along the shaved sides. “This is what keeps me cool, and this,” he grabbed the bundle of hair, “remains hidden beneath my helmet. You can grow your hair longer and tie it up, or you can cut it. But nothing can stick out from your helmet and give your opponent more leverage over you.”

His logic was sound, and I wouldn’t have argued again if it were me speaking with him. “We have time before that happens.”

As if to prove Izgath’s point, Uzadaan yanked the end of my hair and tore me backward. Fear shattered through my veins as I stumbled into him, and a heartbeat later, one arm was wrapped around my throat, and the tip of something sharp dug into my side. I went utterly still save for my heart galloping against my ribs. “The Angels like surprise attacks. You never know when one might appear. The time is now.”

“Your point is made,” I managed to get out around Uzadaan’s arm. He released me, and I braced my hands on my knees and gulped down air as memories of Vagach’s abuse surfaced. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to banish them before they overtook me.

Not here. Not now. Later, Assyria.

“At least he’s a fast learner,” Izgath said over my head to Uzadaan.

“He’ll need it,” Uzadaan replied.

Pushing myself upright I grumbled, “Still right here.”

“Not for long. We’re going running,” Izgath grinned, and as he unfastened his leather armor, he revealed a stomach chiseled by the Fates themselves. My eyes went straight down to the V that dipped into his pants. Why couldn’t the Weaver have spun me a husband that looked like that?

Priestess Anara had taught us not to desire a particular male, for that was shameful in the eyes of the Weaver. Coupling, for me, had only led to pain. Yet I couldn’t help the way my body reacted to him, and the riot of emotions that swelled inside me left me feeling even more confused.

When I realized I was staring I tore my gaze up, only to be met with a similar view of Uzadaan.

Fates help me.

“Keep up,” Uzadaan called out as he took off in the direction of a distant tree. My attention snagged on the perfect circle between his shoulder blades, the universal sign that he was, in fact, mated.

With a groan, I jogged after them, deciding to keep my shirt on. Wearing the form of another while running was no easy task, and I cursed my incoordination. Tripping over a rock hidden in the field, I nearly pitched to the ground but managed to flail my arms in such a way that I remained upright, if not even further behind Izgath and Uzadaan. The sound of the males counting drifted away until only my heaving breaths were audible over the blood pounding in my ears.

They reached the tree long before I did, pausing and resting their hands on its trunk while they caught their breath. Even from this distance, the sweat dripping down their torsos was visible, and the sheen that coated their skin glittered where the sun struck it. That view was enough motivation for me to put on a burst of speed. The priestesses would be ashamed of my desirous thoughts, but at that moment, I would have taken anything to help me through the painful process of running.

My footsteps lightened as I approached, slowing to a walk as my chest heaved. The linen tunic stuck to me in a way that was wildly uncomfortable, and I resisted the urge to straighten it or tear it from my body.

“Took you long enough.” Izgath swiped the back of his hand across his forehead and made his bicep flex.

Focus, Assyria!

“I am…not accustomed…to running,” I wheezed out. Sweat dampened the low ponytail, making it cling to the back of my neck, and if I adjusted it in any way, Izgath would say something about it. So I straightened my spine, sucked down some air, and tried to at least pretend that I was confident in my abilities.

“That much is obvious,” Izgath grinned. The way his lips pulled back from his teeth reminded me of the wild dogs that roamed the plains south of Stryi when they cornered their prey. I was merely a toy for his amusement, and he took satisfaction from my suffering. Something about the dynamic overheated me further, and I felt like I might faint.

Uzadaan shot Izgath a look that said he needed to lessen his taunts. “You will be soon,” he encouraged, and I was grateful at least one of them wasn’t enjoying this torture.

“What now?” I asked through pants. My heart rate had slowed enough that I didn’t feel like vomiting all over my boots. By the look in Izgath’s garnet eyes, it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

“Now we do what the others were doing, but a little differently. Instead of sticking to one exercise or another, you’ll combine them into a series of movements,” he explained.

You have got to be kidding me.

“It will help your agility,” Uzadaan added, like that was supposed to convince me of its value.

Checking on the well of shadows in my chest, I made a mental calculation of what was possible with my increasing fatigue. “Fine, but if we have to run back, I can’t do much.”

“Oh, you definitely have to run back,” Izgath commented, pushing off the tree. “For now, follow my lead.”

Hands on hips, I watched as Izgath planked on the ground, lowered and raised himself, then tucked his feet beneath him and leaped toward the sky. As soon as his boots touched the ground again, he dropped to one knee and used his other leg to slide forward, keeping one hand raised in front of him before popping into a crouch. From there, he rolled forward over his shoulder and straightened to his full height. Then he repeated the whole process.