“Well, I grew up on a farm outside Stryi,” I began, trying to think of interesting facts about myself. “I had a younger sister and she perished in the plague alongside my parents.” A knot formed in my throat at the thought of my dead family. “After I married Vagach, I started gardening to pass the time. My favorite flowers are roses, and Vagach bought me rare varieties from the Angel Realm.”

Izgath bared his teeth at the mention of the Angels but didn’t interrupt.

“I was so proud of them when they began to flourish in the garden. I spent every second I could outside with them, tending to them, singing to them, reading to them. Each had a unique life, unique pattern, and unique needs. Finding the right balance for each brought me so much joy. Until…” I trailed off as a memory of the first time Vagach struck me surfaced. After that, I struggled to look at my plants without thinking of his abuse. Ice slithered down my spine before I reminded myself where I was. Closing my eyes for a brief moment, I tipped my face to the sun and allowed the light to banish the dark thoughts.

With a sigh, I continued, “The Bordova variety is my favorite. The blooms are round and lush, and the fragrance is divine. Only a few together will fill your nostrils for hours. And the color.” I swooned in my saddle. “Such rich hues. Something just beyond white but not quite blush, a vibrant pink, and then this deep burgundy that I had to talk myself out of cutting and putting in a vase inside so I could look at it all the time.”

“Like your eyes?” Izgath teased, offering a playful grin.

My cheeks heated, and I ducked my head. “They were a similar color, yes.”

“It is strange hearing you gush about flowers in a male form,” he laughed.

More blush crept to my face. I’d inadvertently gotten passionate about my roses and talked far too much. As if Izgath sensed the direction of my thoughts, he said, “You aren’t boring me. I am fascinated actually. I only wish I could see your face light up, Assyria.”

The way the last sentence spilled from his lips made me want to drop my magic and allow him to see all of me. Whether it was his smooth way of talking, my sinful attraction to him, or something else, I couldn’t say.

I cleared my throat, wracking my brain for some topic to divert my thoughts. “What about you? Where are you from?”

“Lutsk, in the north. The landscapes are vastly different from around here,” he explained. “Beyond the capital, there is a massive desert, with the occasional oasis offering a chance for water and food. Lutsk sits in one of those.”

“I’ve never been to the capital. What’s it like?” I admitted, dropping the reins and shaking out my fingers. Blaeze plodded along dutifully, and my hands thanked me for the reprieve.

Izgath rolled his shoulders to release the tension from them. “The mountains surrounding it are beautiful, with the snow capping them. They looked close enough to touch, but it is at least a day’s ride to reach the base of them. The hilly streets of Uzhhorod are difficult to navigate. How people live on those steep inclines is beyond my comprehension,” he chuckled, a faraway look resting across his handsome face.

“That’s why the army never goes into the city as a group. Too many hills and too many people getting lost. When we arrive, we’ll camp outside the walls,” Izgath finished, twisting in the saddle to stretch his spine. My eyes tracked the way his muscles flexed with the movement.

“How many times have you been?” I questioned, tearing my gaze to his face again.

“Too many to count. I’ve been in the army since the beginning,” Izgath shrugged, adjusting in the saddle.

“And your brother?” I asked gently.

“Zurronar, the one who died, joined with me. I have another younger brother who is under the Hadvezér of the winged division. I haven’t seen him in a year or two, but with how far the Angels have beaten us back, I suspect I might find him in Uzhhorod.” The air around him seemed to dampen, along with his spirits.

Hoping to lighten the mood, I asked, “What about your parents?”

“They’re still in Lutsk, as far as I know. I’ve begged them to leave multiple times now and travel south. My mother refuses to leave her chickens.” The corner of his mouth twitched up, and he lifted his gaze from the ground. “She has so many fucking chickens.”

The playful irritation in his voice pulled a laugh from me. “What for?”

“At first, they were to eat. But then she got attached to them. Then she got different varieties, and before long, the chickens were nearly sleeping with us at night, much to my father’s dismay,” Izgath chuckled, looking off to the north like he could see the house beckoning him home.

“She sounds lovely,” I commented, one of those slashes in my heart twinging. Fates, I missed my mother. Her soft, steady tone. The way she’d scold the goats who headbutted her while she was trying to milk the cows. Her strength of will and how she worked as diligently as my father in the fields. I’d give anything to turn back time, even for a moment, and dig my hands into the earth alongside them.

“The way she talks about her chickens is the way you talk about your roses. I think she’d like you,” he said, and my stomach fluttered.

“I think I’d like her too.” A mirror smile stretched across my face, and I wished that this intimate moment could have been shared while I was in my true form.

A shout shattered our moment. “Better catch up,” I said when I noted the distance between us and the rest. Retrieving my reins, I dug my heels into Blaeze’s side. He shot forward, Izgath’s horse falling in line automatically, and we trotted to the supply wagons. At the front, the group was turning toward the low grass on the side of the road. It was then I noticed no shadows graced the ground beneath us, and I cursed myself for losing track of time.

“Follow them!” I shouted at those within earshot, directing them off the road.

Hurriedly, I raced to the front and prepared myself to lead the daily prayers after being thrown so wildly out of character talking about myself with Izgath. I left him behind, lest he distract me any more than he already had.

Offering a salute to Jaku, I directed Blaeze to where his, Dromak, and Uzadaan’s horses were already tethered, making quick work of tying him alongside them and pulling the ceremonial knife from my bag. Izgath cantered up behind me, shooting me a quizzical look as he hopped off his horse and tied her alongside ours.

“We should reach Osijek this evening. Gnim and Grex should already be there with their recruits,” Jaku said when the Vezető had gathered around him. “We need to buy more supplies to cover the remaining stretch to Uzhhorod. The cooks tell me we’re completely out of bread, potatoes, and other long-storing foods. I need you all to coordinate your units and ensure that they don’t traipse off to the fallen houses.”

“Because if they do, they’ll never be ready to leave at first light in the morning and we need to return to Uzhhorod as quickly as possible,” Dromak said, altering his voice to mimic Jaku’s.

Our Százados shot him a glare that pulled a chuckle from Uzadaan, Izgath, and me. When he turned his displeasure on us, I pressed my lips together in an attempt to reign in the laughter that wanted to escape. Izgath had no such luck, and another snort escaped him.

“I understand that my impatience to return amuses you, but the sooner we arrive, the sooner everyone can get settled, and the more time we may have to rest and recuperate in place. Those moments may be the difference between life and death.”

We sobered at Jaku’s words. He wasn’t wrong.

I cleared my throat. “Right, I should start the prayers.”

“You should.” Jaku slid his attention to the gathering soldiers. Many were settling on the ground, hands resting on knees, waiting patiently for the ritual to begin. He stood in front of them, crossing his arms over his chest and assessing them as if they were horses at an auction.