A few had the good sense to. Others, not so much.

“If it isn’t the fake-fallen herself,” he sneered. His hair was cropped short, nearly baring his scalp, though he boasted a thick beard. One side of his face was heavily scarred, along with one of his forearms, like he’d been too long in a fire before being yanked out.

But he didn’t frighten me in the least.

I yanked my sleeves back, exposing the H carved into my wrists. “I see no F here, soldier.”

“That’s why I said fake,” he spat. “What a flimsy story the Halálhívó told about you.”

A malicious smile spread across my face. “I doubt you’d say that to him directly.”

“I certainly would. He should hear what we really think rather than forcing his decrees on us, especially when the majority disagree!” he protested, shaking his fist in the air and looking around him like he was rousing his comrades into action.

I dove into the well of my magic again and pulled Rokath’s form over mine. He didn’t flinch, which pissed me off. “Speak the words again.” My voice was all gravel and violence, exactly like Rokath’s.

The male seemed unperturbed. “Your story about your supposed mate was as thin as the air in Uzhhorod. I can’t believe he sacrificed fifty thousand of us to save you.”

I gritted my teeth, trying to find it within me not to kill him.

Fuck, was there even a difference between Rokath and me anymore?

Releasing my magic, I returned to myself. “How many did you lose? Enough to hate those who survived? Those who would fight by your side?”

“We all lost thousands,” he snapped. “This offer of more magic to protect us is horseshit. I see through the lies now.”

I cocked my head, pressing my lips together to smother a smile. I failed intentionally. After all, I’d learned a thing or two from Rokath about the power of appearances. Might as well use my expressive face to my advantage since I didn’t possess Rokath’s ability to appear unaffected by everything around me.

“Do you?” I said, each word dripping condescension. “Or are you simply grieving and want someone else to blame?”

The male’s face turned a bright shade of red. “What would you know about loss?”

“Plenty,” I snarled, my patience a mere gossamer.

“The Weaver and Reaper had plans for them,” Kiira cut in before it snapped entirely. “Just like the Fates have plans for all of us. The Halálhívó and Szélhámos took the time to burn each of their bodies to send them onto their next lives, where they will be blessed greatly for their sacrifices.”

The male scoffed at that too. “Whatever you say, High Priestess, your magic is as useless here as hers.” He indicated me with a jerk of his chin.

“Unfortunately, we might need your help,” I sent down the bond, then sliced my focus back to the male. “If the next words out of your mouth are not an apology for your disrespect, I’ll have you taken to the whipping post.”

His lips curled back, revealing the extra sharpened teeth that males who’d served for decades liked to file. “I’d like to see you try.” Then he spit a wad of saliva at my feet.

Kiira and I shared a long look. “Escort,” I snapped at the hounds. They weren’t the source of my anger, but I had no energy to put into tempering my tone when all of it had to be directed at maintaining order among these males.

Grem lunged for him, nipping at his heel. The asshole sidestepped into Zeec, swinging for my babies.

But before I could unleash my magic on the fucker for daring to touch my dogs, a heavy thud quaked the ground beneath our feet.

A second later, Rokath and Rapp burst inside, the former emanating fury hot enough to scorch the tent to ashes. His attention landed like a warhammer on the male standing at the front, facing off with us.

“Is there a problem?” he growled, the overt threat in his tone raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

The majority of gathered soldiers blanched and shrank back. Yet the blood-eyed male puffed up his chest like he was going to stand up to the Halálhívó. “I’m tired of your pretense. You get to fuck but the rest of us don’t. You have all these rules, and yet you break them all.”

Rokath took a menacing step forward, somehow growing even more massive at the outright challenge. “If you believe you could lead this army better,” his voice was low and promised violence, “then fight me for it. To the death. No one has managed to kill me yet, so if you do, then you might have earned the position.”

Only then did the male seem to lose some of his bravado. He swallowed hard, making his throat bob.

“Not so fearless now, are we?” I taunted, unable to help myself. Rokath cut his attention toward me in warning. I lifted a shoulder and dropped it in turn.

The male’s glare hardened again. “Name the time and place.”

“Now and in the barrack’s yards. We will have an audience witness your demise and the consequences of threatening the stability of this army,” Rokath bit out. Then, he sliced dagger-like glares over the rest of the gathered warriors. “I will fight any of you who wish to dispute the order. Step forward now if you wish to follow this idiot into the next life.”

No one did.

“Go and tell your comrades where to gather,” he gritted out, pointing to the exit. All hurried past us without needing further encouragement.

“Come on, dumbass,” Rapp said, throwing two thick black ropes around the blood-eyed male with a lazy flick of his wrist. Bound, with his magic locked down, Rapp marched him out of the tent. Kiira, Rokath, and I fell into step behind them. Rapp paraded him through the thoroughfares of the camp like a prized hog. The dogs trotted on either side, snapping at those who got too close.

By the time we reached the yard, the crowd was so thick Rokath and Rapp had to shout for them to part. Males and females pressed against the bars around it, and many spread up onto the hills for a better view. A few dared perch on the roof of the barracks too, while more hovered overhead, the occasional flap of their wings keeping them aloft.

I grinned up at Maariya, Izzenna, and Vokkia, who yanked their sleeves back and exposed their devious eye tattoos. The sight twisted my lips into a vicious grin. All around me, others did the same, a cry of Szélhámos tearing from their throats.

I shrugged off my jacket, bearing my tattoo and my brands for all to see. That only elicited more shouts of my name.

The gathered males stared at our arms, then at one another. This was the first time we confronted them with our solidified power. Showed them that we were our own unified front. That our rage had a place among theirs.

Rapp threw the male down in the center of the sand, releasing the binds with a wave of his hand. Kiira and I found spots at the edge of the yard, beneath the overhang of the barracks. Rokath stalked toward him, removing his helmet and the armor covering the top half of his body in an extra show. He handed the pieces to his Hadvezér.

The High Priestess didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her silence alone was a verdict to the faithful. Her stillness was essentially a death sentence for this male.

With predatory slowness, my mate drew his sword from its scabbard. The sheath he tossed to the side before flipping the blade that had already claimed countless lives. The garnet embedded in the eyes of the skull on the pommel glinted in the sun. The detractor scrambled to his feet, drawing his own weapon—a standard issue sword without the extra features that Rokath’s had. It was flimsy, to use his own word against him, in comparison.

“There will be no breaks. No mercy. From the moment we start, the ending is only death,” Rokath pronounced, loud enough for those close to hear. They relayed it back through the crowd.

Then, he raised the dark blade. With shaking hands, the offender did the same.

“On my mark,” Rapp shouted out, nearly startling me. Somehow, during all of Rokath’s posturing, he’d returned to our side.