The path grew steeper as we entered the foothills of the Skala Mountains, and ahead, a canyon waited for us. This route was one I’d ridden countless times over my centuries of life. Once we rounded the first bend, a small pool would line the right hand side, the perfect place to refill a waterskin if needed. After that, a tough incline challenged all riders, but the winding path beyond it was an easy enough ride to the barracks and outpost at Kohszak.

“What else?” I prodded them as we approached the water. There, two horses were tethered, and the males fetched their beasts and mounted them.

“We’ve done our best to support Hadvezér Trol as he spread us out along the northern part of the wall,” Banand said, his gelding falling into step alongside my stallion. Assyria rode ahead alongside Zurronar. “We still have custody of two of the Angel females, and we managed to capture a few more who attempted to sneak into the camp.”

“What of your magic?” I asked him.

He dropped his gaze, studying the leather reins in his hands. The path pitched upward suddenly, and he leaned into his horse’s neck, helping him clear it. We did the same, their breaths labored by the time we reached the crest.

“Banand is…struggling with it.” Zurronar turned in his saddle, his eyes first locking with mine and then drifting to his comrade. A muscle feathered in Banand’s jaw.

“My guess is that it’s more a mental block and less a physical one. The shame he felt after his rescue was apparent,” Assyria slipped down our bond.

“Aye, that was my assumption as well.”

“We’ll discuss it later,” I decided, wanting to change the subject. Speaking of it now would only further Banand’s anguish, and I needed him to pull it together to aid us in winning the war. “What happened to the third female?”

“She stole a dagger from one of the guards and killed herself,” Zurronar stated, his tone colder than the wind clawing through the canyon. An ember of something that looked a lot like rage smoldered in his maroon eyes.

Assyria sucked in a sharp breath. “Which one?”

“The one with the ocean eyes. She was always the nasty one.” He lifted a shoulder and dropped it like her death meant nothing. And to him, why should it? The torture the Angels had inflicted on the two of them had been brutal. Horrific. Gut wrenching.

In truth, her suicide didn’t affect our plans at all. She was the least powerful and therefore the least useful one. Not like the Angels thought any of them still lived.

A perusal glance over my shoulder revealed the rest of our traveling group ascending. Rapp and Kiira’s horses were close, their heads dipped and quiet words passing between them. Beyond them, the last of the supply wagons appeared over the ridge. More males and females streamed behind them on foot. Parancsok Olet, along with all the Százados who brought up the rear, would ensure every soldier successfully arrived at the outpost.

“Hadvezér Trol can explain the rest when we reach him. The edge of the camp is just ahead,” Banand said, pointing to a bend in the distance.

“Aye,” I grumbled. We hadn’t been gone long, and yet everything had changed in that time. Females—powerful in their own right—walked among seasoned warriors. Assyria had emerged as a force unto her own. Kiira had joined the army too, seemingly indefinitely, though she wouldn’t participate in any real fighting.

And Xannirin?

Fates only knew what he was doing. I hadn’t heard from him since he departed the military academy. A raven never appeared among the desert rocks, bearing an acknowledgement of my request.

At least the reinforcements should reinvigorate those who might still see the loss of the fifty thousand as an utter failure on my part—I hoped.

We needed to integrate them quickly with new units so they could spread stories of Assyria and me. Kiira had been right—once all of the academy was hooked on the mythos of us, belief had shifted quickly.

I hoped it would sway the rest of the realm too.

I glanced at my brave mate. The Fates had certainly deemed all the blood I spilled for them worthy if they’d given me such an incredible female to have by my side. There was plenty more to offer their thirsty soil. I’d gladly drench it so long as they kept her safe.

Too many times now, I’d almost lost her. First to the cobra in the Paks Desert. Second to the Angel’s kidnapping. Third to an assassin. Fourth during the Battle of Fured.

The number wasn’t nearly as high as the number of times I’d almost died myself. Yet each one was far, far too many for my liking.

I’d spent centuries preparing for war. For death. For glory. But nothing—fucking nothing—had prepared me for loving her. Nothing had prepared me for how fucking willing I was to burn the world down if it meant keeping her alive.

The first sounds of the camp reached my ears as we rounded the high cliffs dotted with towering pines and cloud trees. A few large cacti clung to the sides, absorbing whatever moisture dripped down from the few clouds that managed to cross the peaks of the Skala Mountains. Here, at least, the highest points were far lower than they were closer to Uzhhorod.

On the other side of the range, Eloi, the largest city in the northern part of the Angel Realm, loomed. From there, the Angels were poised to invade into the Demon Realm. For centuries, they’d launched their extermination attacks between here and the ocean from that base. That they’d returned yet again to that position made my jaw ache.

We’d commanded the city once. But with their numbers swelling, could we do it again?

The war camp unfurled before us, yet it was different than it had been on the open plains. Instead of a cluster of organized chaos, tents hugged the sides of the cliff face. Warriors ducked out of them, their expressions hard. Many faces were wan, and more than a few far too thin for my liking. Furs wrapped around shoulders to ward off the chill.

More scattered on either side as the canyon widened, bearing a sour note of displeasure. Fingers jerked in the direction of the females trailing behind us. Whispers echoed off the narrow walls. I noted them all.

Assyria, deep in conversation with Zurronar, paid them no heed.

Yet Grem and Zeec’s hackles raised as they trotted along the thin thoroughfare.

The valley bloomed ahead of us, and even more soldiers appeared. These, however, greeted us with more enthusiasm, salutes and my honorific slicing through their otherwise busy day.

Like the spokes of a wheel, paths carved toward the barracks. Zurronar led us through the maze, single file as there wasn’t enough room to ride abreast. My stallion’s ears flicked in all directions as sounds bounced off the mountains. I stole a glance up toward the road that led to the wall, memories of that fateful day surfacing, just like every time I returned here.

Assyria subtly slowed her horse so the distance between us lessened. My attention cut to my mate. Her helmet gleamed, and the sun highlighted the little flecks of purple in her eyes. Ebony hair spilled down her back with a slight wave from sleeping in a braid. The black leather she wore made her look all the more formidable atop her mount.

“Our absence hasn’t changed them, right?” A hint of worry slipped into her tone.

“I don’t know, little imposter. We will have to see. And if they rebel again…well they would do well to remember the consequences from before.”

She nodded and faced forward, thumb raking over the small garnet in her ring. We neared the only permanent building at last, and officers spilled out of its cool interior.

From the shadows, Trol appeared. His face was even more weathered than when we’d met in Ustlyak and he’d been covered in month’s worth of dirt and sand. His lips twisted into a smile as we slowed to a stop in front of him, but the sentiment didn’t reach the corners of his eyes. “Halálhívó, I am grateful for your quick return to the front.”