“Apologies, Halálhívó, but the High Priestess has had another vision and sent me straight to you with this. She said it couldn’t wait,” the acolyte panted, planting her hands on her hips as I snatched the parchment.

Xannirin crowded my space a moment later, and the female plunged into a curtsy. “My Kral, may your thread hold strong.”

We ignored her and flipped open the partly crumpled note. Kiira’s handwriting was usually an artistic, flowing script, but this was a chaotic scrawl. Words bled together in haphazard strokes, the ink uneven and smeared as if written in a frenzy. I recognized the odd way she wrote her F, with the strikethrough closer to a forty-five degree angle than straight across, but otherwise, the words were nearly indecipherable.

“Was the High Priestess still mid-vision when she wrote this?” I asked, handing it to Xannirin in hopes he’d have more luck uncovering its meaning than me.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, curtsying again. Her fingers remained in the folds of her skirt as if she didn’t know what to do now that she stood in front of the two most powerful Demons in all of Keleti and between two males sworn to die protecting us if necessary.

“Fuck,” Xannirin swore, flipping the page around as if a different angle would provide him more insight.

“Did she say anything else? Anything at all. The small details are still important,” I pressed, studying her for any sign of deception.

“Well, she was repeating one word. Burgundy. But nothing else,” she stammered, cheeks flaming.

Xannirin’s head snapped up from the paper, and he stared directly at me. He didn’t need to speak for me to know what he was thinking. This must be related to the female with eyes of devious burgundy Kiira had seen during her last visit to Gyor Palace.

“You may return to Varbad now,” I told her, stepping back. The acolyte’s final words were silenced by the slamming of the door. The deep baritones of the Kral’s Guards filtered through a moment later, but I ignored them as I snatched the parchment from Xannirin. Smoothing out the crinkles, I scanned it again, looking at the words with F’s in them again. “Perhaps I should make the trek to Varbad and check on her myself,” Xannirin mused, looking over my shoulder.

“I’ll escort you on my way to the war camp,” I muttered, smashing the paper in my fist. Stomping back to my sleeping chamber, I grabbed my leather bag and stuffed it through a small hole at the top, tucking it beneath some clothes so it wouldn’t tumble if the bag were jostled.

“Thank you, Rokath.” He paused for a moment, and I waited because I knew Xannirin wasn’t quite finished speaking. “I’m worried about Kiira,” he finally admitted. Xannirin paced, tension rolling off him in a way he only ever showed to me. “She’s unraveling before our eyes, and clearly these visions are taking a toll on her. They are more like the prophecies told by the Angel seers. The Fates have only ever given her information sporadically, and to flood her with all of this over the past few weeks?”

Lifting my helmet from its stand, I donned it, the cool ebony resting against my skin and covering the tattoos lining it. “Even if Kiira doesn’t remember what she foretold, we need to search for the burgundy-eyed female. Have Kiira use her network to locate every single one in the realm and have them brought to Uzhhorod. I’ll have my officers interrogate their squads for leads as well. Someone knows this female, and once she’s here, we can figure out exactly why she’s essential.”

Xannirin stopped mid-stride and faced me. He scratched his beard, then nodded. “Good thinking. There can’t be that many. Most of them are concentrated here, given the number of nobles residing in the city.”

“Bring all of them in too. It could be one of them,” I commented, shouldering my bag. Xannirin fell in step with me as we returned to the sitting chamber. Grem and Zeec popped up, tails wagging.

Blocking the end of the hall, four Kral’s Guard waited, and I snapped orders at them to send a message to the stables that the Kral and I were to depart imminently. Xannirin slipped into his rooms to change into appropriate attire for riding through the city. His appearance at Varbad Temple would cause quite the stir, and he would need to be dressed in a way that spoke to his power over the Demons. By the time he returned, so too had his guards with news that our mounts waited at the front gates.

Much like my entry into Gyor some weeks prior, the halls teemed with sycophantic nobility, their jeweled heads bowed low as Xannirin and I passed. A murmur of reverent whispers followed us, each word oozing flattery as they angled for his attention. I ignored them all, my focus fixed on escorting Xannirin to Varbad and then returning to the war camp.

This influx of soldiers was everything I needed to regain our foothold in the northern part of the Demon Realm, then to spear into the northern part of the Angel Realm, pushing down into the Eső Forest. More than this female, these conscripts were essential to winning this war. Bodies to fight the Angels, bodies for me to raise and control, bodies to move the supplies from place to place.

In the end, that was all we were to the Fates anyway—bodies to be controlled like puppets in their endless game.

Revealing what they were trying to tell Kiira, though, weighed heavily on me as we burst into the sunshine. Two dozen red-armored soldiers waited on horseback for us with a group on foot around them. At the front, two held Xannirin’s white stallion, while another held my black one.

Once we were secure in our position atop them, I called for the guards to open the gates, and we rode out into the city I hated so much, beginning the long, winding trek to Varbad.

After depositing my horse with one of the mounted units, I strode straight to the heart of the camp where the giant map table, the bone room, and all my officers waited.

“What’s the latest on our numbers at the front?” I snapped, striding to the table and flattening my hands on the wood. The scent of sweat and ink mixed together as I settled myself in place.

My gaze landed heavily on each Parancsok, and I was pleased that none had to straighten. They didn’t get to their ranks through laziness. Each was disciplined, hard working, and a brilliant fighter and leader. Each had to earn their spots, just as I had, and I held them to the same standard as I held myself.

Rapp moved a few stone pieces about the map to update positions based on the latest reports. “Hadvezér Trol has corralled the Angel advance into the pass beyond Ustlyak,” he commented, sliding a large cluster of white between two sets of mountains.

Too fucking close.

At this rate, they’d slaughter everyone who remained behind with Trol within six weeks. After that? They’d spear straight to the capital and everything those fucking nobles had been whispering about would come to pass. We desperately needed to get these males north. With a wave of my hand, I sent Grem and Zeec deeper into the tent, to their usual spots on either side of the throne of bones.

Ustlyak was one of the few oases in the vast wasteland north of here, and if the army could hold its position there until we could ride in with reinforcements, we might be able to push back the advance, especially with the assistance of those familiar with the high, arid mountains surrounding the Paks Desert. Plus, without access to Ustlyak, the Angels would be without water, and they might end up retreating on their own.

Better to catch them with their backs turned anyway.

“And?” I pressed, wanting the exact number of soldiers remaining.

“And we’ve taken a larger hit to our ranks than expected, nearly six thousand more.” Rapp finally met my gaze, a hint of sympathy dancing in his burgundy eyes.