Rokath repeated the story with zero feeling, as if he were studying the sky to relay his weather prediction for the day. Yet beneath his hardened exterior, a whisper of pain drifted down our bond.

“How did you survive?” I asked quietly.

“I am the Halálhívó. Give me enough dead bodies and I can turn the tide in my favor.” He adjusted the scarf lower on his face, blocking the shifting angle of the sun.

I sat with that information for a long while, Blaeze’s back swaying beneath me as we traversed the sand. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that most of the army still wound down from the mountain. The sheer size of us was impossible to miss, and I tried to imagine why the Angels would dare ambush a group of this size.

“Where did you get that?” Rokath asked, dissipating my thoughts like smoke in the wind.

“Get what?” I asked, attention settling heavily on him.

He pointed at my hand. “That.”

Then, I realized, the garnet and gold glinted in the sunlight. “Impressive, Halálhívó, how much attention you’ve paid to me in the past two weeks. I’ve had it the entire time we’ve known each other.” A lie, but with some truth in it at least. I had it in Vagach’s bags at the war camp. It was just temporarily lost to me before Rapp won it back.

“Rapp won it back for you?”

“Stop reading my thoughts!”

“You dressed as a male and played cards with him?”

I slammed up that mental barrier.

“Try all you want, little imposter, but you can’t permanently keep me out when I want in.”

“Rapp cares about my happiness more than you.”

“Clearly I care more about your safety than he does.”

“Again, you only want to protect me to save your own skin.”

Something that felt a lot like hurt trickled down our bond before it shut off like a water tap. Then, silence stretched between us.

My thoughts tumbled like the thick, dry brush around us when the wind whipped up. After an hour or so, I was grateful for the scarf Rokath had given me. Sweat dripped down my back, and I was so miserable, alone in my thoughts, that I finally said something.

“If I’m here, I could be helpful, you know.” While I doubted that he would agree to anything, I had to try to carve out some meaning for myself other than being a fucking decoration on the horse beside him.

Without bothering to look at me, Rokath grumbled something under his breath.

“I’m serious,” I protested, tearing my head to the side and narrowing my eyes on him.

Finally, he faced me. “And what do you think you could do?”

I glanced behind us at the tens of thousands of males preparing to march into a battle. “Well, I did train on the road to Uzhhorod.”

The scoff that slipped out of him was downright offensive. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay well I can cook,” I huffed, releasing my reins and letting Blaeze hang his head. He seemed to be just as lethargic as I was as the heat continued to beat into my bones.

“And have you interacted with the army as a whole? I don’t think so,” Rokath replied.

I threw my hands in the air. “Then what can I do? I don’t know anything about armies or war but surely there’s something.”

Rokath’s burgundy eyes were shadowed as the sun dipped behind his head. “That’s right, you don’t know anything. You are here because there is nowhere safer for you than by my side.”

I clenched my teeth around the words that wanted to break free. Instead, I muttered, “So if I have to be here, at least let me help. Females can be just as useful as males, you know. Like Kiira. You trust her to do important things. Let me feel like my life has some meaning, some purpose. I went so long without it.”

Some of the edge to Rokath’s hard expression softened. It was so slight, most people wouldn’t have noticed. But with our amplified connection, it was as if I could feel his thorns dulling. “With Vagach.”

“Yes.” My throat thickened, and I looked away. His pity was unwelcome.

A long moment passed, and his eyes burned into the side of my face. “I will think about it.”

Neither of us bothered to say anything else as we rode through the afternoon, pausing once everyone was on the sand for a water break and to pray.

“You’ll kneel beside me at the front today,” he said, holding Blaeze’s reins and allowing me to dismount.

“Like a good little fallen,” I quipped, adjusting the scarf so it hid more of my face.

“Exactly like that,” he growled, and a brush of lust caressed my chest.

As I followed him to the head of the army, I stomped the sand extra hard, because my anger had to go somewhere. Grem and Zeec trotted along beside me. When Rokath halted, they automatically sank onto their haunches. A muscle ticked in my jaw before I knelt and dropped my head, staring at my folded hands like they would save me. Thousands and thousands of eyes seared into me, and I wanted nothing more than to be hidden away in one of the supply wagons like I had been during the previous days’ prayer time.

Rokath’s blade cast a spot of bright light at his feet as the sun bounced off of it. I flicked my attention up at him but remained bowed. He brought the blade to his palm and sliced without so much as a flinch.

“Weaver, who spins the threads of our fates, lay down the path for us to tread, unyielding and unbroken. We walk at your command, our feet bound by the threads you have woven. Guide us to glory as we march beneath the banner of war. For the Kral, for me, these soldiers bleed. Bind their fates to ours, so that we may rise victorious.”

His voice was like an earthquake—deep, powerful, and carrying for miles. A chill crept up my spine. This was the voice of the Halálhívó, the one that supposedly sent terror into the hearts of the Angels.

Anyone who didn’t tremble beneath its might was an idiot.

With predatory slowness, he knelt, pressing his palm flat against the earth. “Giver, bless us with abundant wells of magic so we wield in your name during battle. Let the blood we spill slake your thirst, and let us slaughter those who defy your design. Gift us with the power we need to bring majesty to your name. By our blood, we honor you.”

“By our blood, we honor you,” the males echoed, bleeding into the sand as they pressed themselves into it.

Rokath turned to me and I offered him my hand without thinking. My core clenched as the memory of him slicing into my wrists and branding me with his mark rose. He must have recalled it too by the way his pupils dilated. With surprisingly gentle ease, he slid the blade across my palm, and I turned my hand over, letting my life drip away.

“Reaper, whose curse falls upon those who stray from the path, let us not taste your wrath. We offer this blood as a pledge of our loyalty. Let your eye wander elsewhere and damn those who question your mighty power. Should we sin, may your curse be swift and unrelenting.”

“We pledge our devotion to the Reaper,” the army echoed, an almost haunting sound with how many tones blended for those seven words.

Rapp straightened from his prostrated form on Rokath’s other side. “Let the Halálhívó’s victory be swift and the Kral’s reign eternal. Our lives, our magic, our essence, are theirs to command.”

“We are theirs to command.” The conviction in the males’ tones was nearly awe-inspiring.

Rokath rose, towering over everyone kneeling in the shifting earth. “The Fates gave me the power to call death to our cause for a reason. To end the Angels and their relentless, fanatic pursuit of the extermination of the Demon race. Never forget what they will do in the name of that cause.”

With that, he dismissed everyone for their break. I went to the closest wagon, hopping in it with Grem and Zeec. The hounds panted, hot with their long black fur. The three of us settled in the shade, tucked behind a barrel so every male coming for a drink wouldn’t stare at me. A week into our journey and they hadn’t stopped. At least my wrists were healed now, though the faint white H scarred into them would never leave. I couldn’t decide how I felt about them, if I was being honest with myself.