I dismounted, handing Assyria my reins, and approached my second Hadvezér. Boots hit the ground behind me, and then Rapp joined us.

Trol let out a low chuckle. “Good to see you alive and well, Rapp. You’re looking even better than before your injury.”

Rapp grabbed Trol’s arm and pulled him in for an embrace, clapping him on the back at the same time. “I’m glad to be feeling better too. Fured was certainly healing for me.”

Trol looked beyond us to the line of wagons and new soldiers. “How many?”

“About ten thousand. The valley looks like it’s full to the brim already,” I commented, glancing around. Makeshift structures claimed every available inch of space. Some soldiers had to turn sideways to navigate the narrow slots between them.

“Aye, it is. We’ll have to figure out where to put everyone, though I think once you hear the latest update it will solve our problem,” Trol added, running a hand over his close-cropped hair.

“Let’s talk, then.” Our weeks by the sea had been a nice break, but now, it was time to focus again.

From the chaos, Assyria and Kiira appeared. The High Priestess strode with her shoulders square, not deigning to offer any of the males her attention.

Assyria too carried an air of importance as she came to a halt beside me. “Where do you want us?”

“You’ll come with me,” I told her. “Kiira, can you try to find a temporary place to settle everyone else?”

Trol swept into a low bow. After all, she was cousin to the Kral and the highest of nobility in addition to her position as spiritual leader for the realm. “High Priestess. It is an honor to have you among us. The operations managers in the first battalion should be able to help you for now.”

“Thank you, Hadvezér Trol. The Fates shine their favor on you for your continued sacrifice and work in their names,” Kiira replied, her tone warm and inviting. She was magic in her own right. “I’ll bring a few of the females from the Deathveiled with me. It would be good for them to start speaking of their time at the academy.”

“Aye,” I told her.

Trol snapped his fingers at one of the Százados hanging in the periphery. “Take the High Priestess to the operations manager.”

“Certainly. If you’ll follow me, High Priestess,” he said. With a small wave, she bid us goodbye, calling out Maariya, Izzenna, and Vokkia to join her.

“The Deathveiled?” Trol clarified when they were out of earshot.

“We have updates of our own,” I told him. “With so much time apart, I’m sure we’ll need hours to discuss everything that’s occurred.”

“I don’t doubt it. The command room is ready and waiting for you,” Trol commented, spinning on his heel. Two Vezető jerked open the doors to the barracks, allowing us entrance.

Yet this was no homecoming—it was something far more dangerous. It was the ascension of dangerous new legends, lethal new leaders, and a warning for all who dared defy us.

The Demons were rising, and with it, the Angels would fall. But in the shadows of the mountains, our victory would not come without a sacrifice.

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46

In the command center, surrounded by haunting memories and critical stakes, we regrouped for war. The permanence of this place gripped me as I surveyed the familiar furniture. A heavy oaken table. Carved pine chairs. Decorative weapons pinned to the stone walls. A hearth with split logs stacked to the side.

The crackle of it assaulted my ears as Olet strode into the room, finally caught up from the rear, and greeted the Parancsok who had remained with Trol.

Assyria sipped from a metal mug and nibbled on a bit of goat cheese produced in the city that supported the outpost. A platter of fresh food awaited us should we want more. It was far better than the long-storing gruel we had to eat during our rapid trek here.

Trol went to a cabinet and pulled out a small box. Twined to it was a letter, the crosspoint bearing a burgundy wax seal. I accepted it from his outstretched hand, noting Xannirin’s signet stamped into it.

“This came for you just yesterday, Halálhívó. A rider from the outpost closest to Uzhhorod passed it along personally.”

My brows climbed my forehead. Xannirin had acted quickly. His silence had spoken volumes—or so I’d thought. Perhaps he wasn’t as resistant to the changes, or the nobles had accepted them readily upon his return. Whatever the reason, I was grateful for his communication.

Assyria craned her neck to see what I held.

I tugged at the thin rope, breaking the seal. “Did he have any reports from riding the length of the wall?”

“That is one of the matters I wanted to discuss,” Trol stated. The other officers shifted in their seats around the large table. Judging by the looks exchanged between them, they already knew.

Rapp’s boots clicked against the stone as he came to stand beside me. He was well aware of my current feelings toward my cousin, our Kral.

Rokath,

Additional soldiers to help defend the realm have been sent to the outpost near Uzhhorod. Both male and female. A chunk of my personal guard accompanied them since they are untrained. I ordered them to begin instruction as soon as possible to ensure their lives aren’t entirely wasted the moment the Angels attack.

Additionally, I have declared all fallen free from their forced servitude. Many volunteered to join the defense. You’ll find them among the rest once you reach the wall. To further my commitment, rape is now an offense punishable by death via dismemberment.

Kiira’s stories and the portrait of Assyria and you are quite compelling. I have already begun to distribute them with the aid of the priestesses.

I issue you one warning: should you try to move against me and claim my throne with your mate, you’ll have a war of a different variety on your hands.

The box and note inside are for Kiira.

The Kral

I clenched my teeth, wanting to punch my cousin in his fucking face for daring to suggest I wanted to rule in his stead. Again. His arrogance was grating my nerves.

Rapp reached for the box, turning it over and examining it from every angle. “What do you think he’d possibly send Kiira?” he murmured, loud enough that only Assyria and I could hear.

“No clue. Open it and find out,” I suggested on the off chance Xannirin had dared to play some trick.

With a shrug, he flicked off the latch and opened the lid. A moment later, he dropped it onto the table like it was a snake that had bitten him. He slammed the top shut before anyone could glimpse its contents.

I smacked his hands away and dragged it closer to me. Slower than he had, I eased it open.

A musky old tang assaulted my nostrils. Assyria’s metal mug clattered against the table. The fire popped, the volume like an explosion in the utter silence.

Because staring back at me was blackened blood clinging to a shriveled dick and balls.

Shock gripped me, freezing every muscle in my body. Because there was no doubt who these had belonged to if this box was intended for Kiira.

Ollmund Varrir.

So Xannirin had killed him for what he did to our cousin.

“I was certainly not expecting that,” I remarked, closing the lid and handing it to Rapp.

“Nor I,” he growled, securing the latch. “I’ll warn Kiira before I give it to her.”

“Aye,” I agreed, attention drifting to my mate, who slid her plate away. Nose scrunched, she slumped back, arms crossed over her stomach. The horror of her posture said she’d seen enough.

Clearing my throat, I redirected the conversation back to battle plans. Rapp took his seat beside Trol, tucking the box away for later. “So, what did the rider have to say?”