Rapp.

If I had tears to shed, I would have cried at the sight of him. Wiping my mouth, I turned back to Rapp, one of Rokath’s Hadvezér and his best friend. Squatting down, he tipped water into the mouths of Grem and Zeec. Blaeze too picked his head up, and Rapp went to him next, offering my faithful mount what he so desperately needed.

Rokath sipped slowly, and I mimicked him, my stomach still churning.

After a few more pulls, he rolled his parched lips. “The Angels killed everyone but us, Rapp.” While his voice normally held a low gravel, days in the desert without sustenance had taken it to new depths.

The torch Rapp planted in the ground beside him flickered ominously. “How?” he asked, his dark eyebrows shooting up his forehead. While he normally would have made some joke about Rokath being unbeatable, we were clearly too worn out for such an exchange.

“They took Assyria.” Rokath glanced at me, a mix of rage and guilt furrowing his brow. “Their bargain was her life or theirs.”

Rapp blew out a long breath, running a hand over the hair on the top of his head. “The rest of the army isn’t too far from here, camped outside Lutsk. Let’s get you there and then you can tell us everything.”

The animals now satisfied, he tucked the skins into his belt. Grabbing Blaeze’s reins, he attempted to coax him to his feet. But my mount’s legs wobbled, and shadows sprang from Rapp’s hands and wrapped around his belly. With the aid, my horse staggered upright, but his head hung, heavy and exhausted.

Rapp hitched him to the cart again while Rokath dragged forward, leaving thick boot marks in his wake. Seeing his friend struggling, Rapp raced to his side and shoved his shoulders under his arm.

Rokath shook his head. “Help Assyria,” he croaked. Rapp did as he was told, like a good soldier, and swept my tiny, exhausted body into his arms. Despite the water, I barely had the energy to clamp my legs over his stallion’s back. I swayed wildly, and my mate leaped to my side.

“I’m fine,” I told him, even though I clearly was not. “You should ride.”

He stepped closer and brushed the backs of his knuckles across my cheek. “I’ve endured worse hardships. Rest up there.”

I didn’t protest. Sinking down, I draped myself over the horse’s neck for added support. Rokath took the reins, then tugged him forward. I nearly groaned as his back swayed from side to side, forcing my muscles to work.

Rapp did the same for Blaeze, assisting him in rolling the cart onward with more obsidian tendrils that blended with the night.

Once again, the only sound passed between our group was the crunch of dirt beneath the horses’ hooves and the hounds’ panted breaths.

Yet down our bond, Rokath’s trepidation rose—louder than the cawing of the three crows that flew overhead—with each step closer we took to the Demon army’s encampment.

Because Rokath, the infamous Halálhívó with the power to call upon the dead to fight for him, would soon have to explain how fifty thousand of his males had perished under his command when he was supposed to be the most feared warrior in all of Keleti.

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2

The throne of angel bones dug into my backside as I waited for the moment I’d retake command of my forces. Yet I couldn’t wrestle my attention away from my mate, still resting in our bed. Our return journey to the army had been a trying one, and yet she hadn’t protested for a single moment.

She almost fucking died, and I hated myself for letting it come that close. My abhorrence for the Angels, my thirst for their blood had increased tenfold during our trek through the Paks Desert.

For days, we’d recuperated in secret—returning under the cover of darkness had been a blessing. In that time, I’d debriefed Rapp and Trol on what had occurred after we parted ways.

I’d told them of my plan to include females in the army too. I meant what I said to Assyria before we departed: the army needed to change. We could easily increase our numbers, and besides that, they could focus on fighting the Angel females while the males saved their energy for the bigger fighters. With our newly trained magic-focused units too, our force would be unstoppable.

And I was ready for Assyria to be my true equal.

Rapp had an immediate friendship with my mate and had witnessed our relationship from the very beginning, so the changes were unsurprising to him. Trol had taken a little convincing, but after the heavy losses we’d suffered, he’d come around quickly.

My initial idea had been to return to Uzhhorod, the capital of the Demon Realm, with a handful of squads and speak with High Priestess Kiira and Kral Xannirin, my cousins and co-conspirators, about another conscription. Together, we’d shaped Demon society into a devoted, faithful, and obedient flock. As much as I wanted to have the conversation about the future of our military in person, time was currently our enemy as much as those white-winged insects.

Rapp had suggested that we ask Kiira to pull exclusively from the priestesses, since they wouldn’t question her command. Her storytelling was divine, and whatever she proclaimed was taken as fact—whether or not it was true. Trol solidified our plan when he proposed that we seek out only the high-powered ones and send them to Fured for training, along with the others we’d gathered months before.

Trol managed the masses of soldiers like a seasoned shepherd—fair, firm, and calculating, though he could be ruthless when necessary. He was more familiar with the lower-level grievances and politics that emerged from having such a large company. His opinion was that integrating a smaller group first would have a trickle down effect once the entire army was reunited.

Yet I still had some atoning to do, and I didn’t want Assyria here to witness it. She was still so weak, even after days of rest. The pallor of her tan skin worried me as she continued to lay in our new bed. The dryness of her lips. Her cheekbones, sharpened by lack of food.

Shame like I’d never felt weighed heavily on me.

Whispers of my presence had grown like thorny weeds in a well-tended garden. Especially after no one else rejoined the larger group from the west. The questions had sharpened into why Assyria and I were the only ones to return and where the remainder of the males had gone.

Distracting them hadn’t quelled the growing unrest.

Especially as the Angels—dug in on the opposite side of Lutsk—had kept to themselves since we’d reunited with the army.

Which was why we’d planned this gathering, so all the soldiers could hear me speak. So the rumors would dissipate. I drummed my fingers over the skull at the end of the arm of the throne, mentally rehearsing the speech I was set to give. Never had I feared addressing my soldiers, and yet this moment was the closest the emotion had come to breaking through my hardened walls.

A riot of voices outside tore me from my thoughts.

It is time.

I rose, plucking my helmet from the ground and securing it on my head. Horns of wicked ebony speared toward the sky, and two sockets in the black skull mask over my face allowed everyone to see my burgundy eyes.

I was dressed for battle, because this address would certainly require the full force of my presence. For centuries, I’d drilled certain beliefs into the army—namely that females didn’t belong. Yet the revelation of fifty thousand soldiers’ deaths would elicit the worst response. Especially when they learned why they would never return.

As I rolled my shoulders and blew out a long breath, movement in my periphery caught my attention. From the rear room, Assyria emerged, wearing the leather armor I’d procured for her when she’d requested something more comfortable to ride in other than dresses.