“Excellent choice,” Maariya said. A wisp of obsidian emerged from her fingertips, and it snaked under the cork. With a pop, the wine opened, and another priestess caught the stopper before it rolled under a nearby settee.

Izzenna dug out the glasses and used her own magic to hold them aloft while Maariya poured. Together, they served us all.

“To our health,” Kiira cheered, clinking her glass with mine. Warmth bloomed in my chest.

This was what it felt like to be included. I savored the feeling like I savored the wine as I took a long drink. The sweetness swept across my tongue, accompanied by a hint of pepper that reminded me of my mate. I nearly moaned at the decadent notes.

“Good, right?” Kiira tucked her long hair behind her ears and her legs beneath her on the couch beside me.

“Very,” I replied, taking a smaller sip this time.

“How fare your discussions with the Kral and the Halálhívó?” a cherry-eyed female asked. Like Maariya and Izzenna, she wore her hair long and loose, and with it still damp, it held a deep wave.

“Not well, Vokkia,” she replied. She swirled the purple wine in her cup as she considered her next words. I was curious to hear her opinion because my only real perspective was through Rokath. He’d wanted me to attend, but with Xannirin’s continued condescension, he and Kiira had decided they’d likely get nowhere with me present.

She cut her attention to me for a moment. “These three are some of my most trusted advisors on the matters of our faith.”

I understood the subtext of her words. She trusted them to help her spin whatever stories she decided needed to be woven—but not with the politics of it all.

“I am lucky to be included in this circle,” I offered, smiling at each in turn.

“You deserve to be here, Assyria. You are a symbol of us all. Kiira spoke about you at length prior to our departure.” Vokkia offered a quiet smile brimming with reverence.

“Did she?” I asked, tilting my head and studying Rokath’s cousin.

“I did. Because I knew what you’d become.” Before I could ask her what she meant by those cryptic words, she answered Vokkia’s question. “The Kral is still highly resistant to all these ideas. He does not appreciate us moving forward without his approval. The Halálhívó and I are trying to sway him. Though his disagreement certainly won’t stop the Halálhívó from acting when he thinks he’s right.”

I snorted at that. She knew my mate well.

“What if you cannot sway him?” Izzenna asked, a slight waver in her voice. “Will we have to return to our positions?”

Kiira pressed her lips together. My heart twisted at the sorrow in Izzenna’s ruby eyes. “I promise I won’t let it come to that. We need you here in the army.”

She turned her attention to me. “How did you do it?”

I tapped my finger on the side of my glass as I considered how I wanted to answer. “Persistence.” The group fell into laughter. I found myself grinning, happiness sinking into my bones. “Truly though. I’ve never been one to remain quiet. It got me in…trouble with the priestess in Stryi. And my former husband. Somehow I wore the Halálhívó down.”

Kiira shook her head. “You discount your own power, Assyria. The Halálhívó does not bend. He does not break. By acting as yourself, you opened him to what he’s long been closed to. The Fates knew what they were doing when they made you mates.”

My cheeks heated, and I took a long drink of wine to cover them.

“What story can you tell him to sway him? You are the best, after all,” Maariya added.

Kiira’s serene expression faltered for a moment before she corrected it. “I’m not certain a single story would make a difference. He’s the type of male that has to think it’s his idea. My cousins, I swear, have egos the size of Ravasz.”

At that, we all laughed again.

“So what will be the message for the future?” I asked, the wine loosening my tongue. From conversations with Rokath, I knew that whatever changes needed to happen would come through the priestesses first—at least until Xannirin had finally surrendered his stubborn position.

“It is not necessarily a new one, but rather building off what is already believed. Not that the Kral would agree, regardless. All he sees is we’ve spent centuries ensuring females are reliant on males, and for him to change course now would be like him admitting it never should have happened in the first place.”

“Which it shouldn’t have,” I pointed out. The other three nodded.

“We are in agreement there,” Kiira said. “But there is another way. The people believe that I have a direct connection to the Fates—because I do. And if I tell them I have seen a future where male and female Demons battle alongside one another, then they will believe that.”

She glanced around our small group, and again, I sensed that there was more she wasn’t revealing.

“The one thing we have succeeded at more than anything else is the people’s unwavering belief that the Halálhívó, the Kral, and I are the Fates’ chosen. Despite the nobles’ grumbling, they still believe that. And if Xannirin refuses to convince them, then I will,” Kiira pronounced, draining her wine and gesturing for Maariya to hand her the bottle.

The last of the purple liquid swished into her glass. Izzenna uncorked another, and we all held out our cups for a refill.

“I want to help however I can,” I affirmed. These priestesses-turned-warriors did too, of that I was certain. And Rapp. He’d been by the cousins’ sides for centuries.

Did he still feel like an outsider, like me?

Yet no matter how much time passed, he’d never really be a member of House Vrak. Whereas I was mated to the Halálhívó.

Kiira pulled my focus away from our injured friend. “The Fates also chose you. We will use that.”

“So what comes first?” Maariya asked.

“I think the removal of veils is a solid start. It will be a shock after so long with them, but seeing us again will aid in the rest…whenever we can agree with the Kral on what that is.” Kiira let out a long sigh, the weight of her task bringing her shoulders inward.

“Why wait for him?” I questioned. With his recent attitude, I didn’t think he’d ever come around to such a change.

Kiira’s answering grin pulled a mirror one to my lips. “You’re right, Assyria. Sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

An echo to the time she’d snuck me out of Rokath’s room at Gyor Palace surfaced. That was when I’d decided I really liked Kiira.

“Are you going to leave us when the Kral returns to Uzhhorod, Kiira?” Vokkia asked, tentative sorrow in her tone.

“No,” she said with enough conviction my eyebrow twitched up. “I can still work from here, though it will take longer having to send ravens so far south.”

“We will help however we can. We may be learning to wield weapons and honing our magic, but that does not mean we have fully abandoned our other duties,” Maariya said, adjusting her wet hair over her other shoulder.

“I will send a raven to my flock tomorrow, informing them that they no longer have to hide themselves beneath sheer veils,” Izzenna offered, draining her glass.

“As will I,” Vokkia stated, lifting her chin.

Kiira softened and squeezed her priestess’ arms in turn. “Thank you both. We don’t want to rush everything too quickly. Each small change will take time to adjust. I appreciate all of your support thus far and everything I know you’ll give in the future.”

Solidarity. That was what this was. Females coming together to create change that would benefit us all.

“And I appreciate you all volunteering your lives for the army.” My throat thickened because the reality was that these three, the others tucked away in their bunks further back and down below…not all of them would survive.

Kiira knocked her shoulder into mine, and I offered her a sad smile.