With a grunt, I shoved him up and over me, switching our position so my shoulder dug into his chest.

“Your fucking muscles,” Rapp wheezed.

“You should work on yours,” I commented, continuing to press.

“Can’t fly,” he managed to get out, and I relented my pressure, rising to my feet.

Cocking my head at him, I said, “Let’s take the fight to the air then. We’ll see who wins.”

He rose, a smirk spreading across his pierced face. “I’ll take you up on that, Halálhívó.”

Calling on the well of shadows in my chest, I pulled my black, membranous wings out of my back, letting their bulk flex and settle while Rapp did the same.

Then, I bunched my legs and leaped into the air, dusting the onlookers with the powerful strokes of my wings. Cheers rang out regardless as heads tipped up to watch us battle under the cloudless blue sky.

Rapp’s smaller size provided him an edge in agility as we grabbed, struck, and swerved in a complicated dance. There was a reason Rapp headed our winged division—he was a damn good fighter in the air.

There was also a reason I led the entire Demon army.

Rapp backflipped to dodge me, and I paused, waiting until he was nearly upside down before snatching his ankles and tugging. His momentum carried me forward and around, while my bulk forced us into another subsequent spin.

“Ugh, fuck you, Rokath,” Rapp said as I used my wings to ensure the tumble continued. The ground raced up beneath us.

“Are you yielding?” I nearly grinned.

“Reaper, yes, now let go,” he cursed, slashing his head to the side, eyes widening as he realized how far we’d fallen.

I obliged, wings snapping out, halting our descent mere feet from the ground.

Rapp did the same, and the two of us hovered while we clasped arms and slapped each other on the back.

“That was incredible!” a male exclaimed, and then chatter and cheers broke out among the crowd.

We descended the final few feet to the ground, and a smattering of salutes greeted us. Banishing my wings, I said to Rapp, “I think I am sufficiently fatigued for the day.”

“I am for a week at least,” he shot back, striding away to retrieve our discarded tunics.

I didn’t bother to put mine on, since it would have been nearly impossible with the sweat coating my inked skin. “I’ve got a few things to check on here before I return to Gyor,” I commented, as we strode away from the training area, letting the seasoned recruits teach the new conscripts how to fight. Those that had already arrived would certainly have an advantage over the ones still traveling to Uzhhorod.

“Well you’ll have to see me before you leave, given that Grem and Zeec are in my tent,” Rapp pointed out, using his tunic to dry his face and hair.

I grunted. “Just admit that you’ll miss me once I’m gone and the dogs are a lure to ensure I don’t disappear into the night, never to be seen again.”

“Never,” he shot back.

We’d arrived at the main crossroads in the camp, where the cages for those caught breaking the army regulations waited, along with a central platform and a whipping post. The rules I’d instilled among the ranks were there for a reason, and I had an extremely low tolerance for disrespecting them. All the ranking officers beneath me knew it too, and should their negligence result in one of their reports disobeying my command, they were equally as liable for my wrath.

Clapping Rapp on the shoulder, I shoved him in the direction of his tent, while I strode toward the sprawling black one that served as the command center no matter where we were.

Throwing back the flaps, I found the first room empty, no one surrounding the map table with pieces like the ones in Xannirin’s study marking known movements. Pausing, I examined them, looking for any changes since our last meeting. I nearly broke a tooth when several large white stones were further south.

We have to get back out there.

With only a week or so until everyone converged in Uzhhorod, there wasn’t much I could do other than ensure training was underway for the conscripts and every male’s magic had been thoroughly assessed.

I fucking hated it. I was a male of action, and all this inaction was fraying my nerves. Though I understood the power of patience, especially when it came to a game of war.

Moving through to what I fondly referred to as the ‘bone room’ I found it empty. The semi-throne that waited there was made entirely of bones collected from fallen Angels. I’d had it constructed after the first major battle the Demons won, and every time the Angel’s leadership had wanted to convene, I ensured it was in this very space, where they saw me perched upon their deceased comrades, souls permanently trapped in this world along with their skeletal remains.

It was the greatest insult I could give the Goddess idolaters, resolute in their cause to exterminate the Demons.

Very few understood the illogicality of these males and females. They could not be reasoned with, and Xannirin and I could. While we might have mimicked their society to bring ours to heel, Xannirin, Kiira, and I faked the depths of our belief for the most part. The Angels, especially Koron Stadiel, did not.

Therefore, the sooner I could spike his head, the better off everyone in Keleti would be. Deeper I wound until I found the group I had been searching for. “Someone tell me how the fuck the Angels advanced so quickly.”

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17

Jaku gathered his Vezető in his massive private tent after our ride for the day concluded. The seven of us sat around the table where I had eaten breakfast my first morning with the squad, the chaos of a packing camp unfolding around me. This time, however, Jaku offered us wine and cheese he had picked up along with additional supplies in Osijek.

Without waiting, Dromak snatched a bottle off the table and uncorked it, pouring a hearty measure into each of our goblets. Then, he crouched in front of his own, squinting to ensure the wine was level with the rim. Gnim and Grex only blinked at him as we watched him. They were twins, I learned, after staring a little too long and trying to figure out who was who. If it weren’t for their different shaded eyes, it would have been impossible.

Izgath lifted the bottle from his hands, giving it a slight shake. “There’s nothing left, Dromak.”

Dromak shrugged in response. “You should have poured it if you wanted more, Izgath.”

The two of them squabbled for a moment, and I seized the opportunity for a quick taste. One of the few perks of being married to a Kormánzó was the fine wine he collected, though the times when I was allowed to drink it were rarer and rarer as time went on, as Priestess Anara thought it might have been preventing me from bearing a child.

The crisp, honeyed taste washed over my tongue, engaging every bud in its complex dance. Much like roses, wines were labyrinthine, temperamental, and multifaceted.

“Enough,” Jaku said, cutting Dromak off mid-sentence. He made a noise of protest, but Jaku lifted a critical eyebrow. Clearing his throat, he finally got to the point of this gathering. “With less than a week to the Uzhhorod, we need to start organizing so our transition into the battalion is smooth. We don’t have time to waste.”

At that, four pairs of eyes simultaneously rolled.

“Everyone’s magic needs to be tested and demonstrated with accurate power measurements. Uzadaan,” Jaku turned his attention to the ruby-eyed male, “you’ll be the record keeper. Dromak and Izgath,” he turned to the other two, “you’ll be our testers. Gnim, Grex, and Vagach, you’ll organize the assessment and make sure it goes as smoothly as possible. It will take a few days to get through everyone, and I don’t want anyone missed.”