Without breaking my gaze, he spoke to Kiira. “You should sleep in my chambers tonight where I can keep an eye on both of you.”

Rapp leaned against the table beside her, arms crossed over his chest. “She can remain here with me. That way if she has problems in the night, the healer is readily available.”

A muscle ticked in Rokath’s jaw as he considered the proposition. “You’re in no shape to fight should someone else come for her.”

I reached for my mate and tugged him closer. “I don’t think they were after Kiira.”

His heavy brows dipped together. “Why do you say that?”

“Because of what the male said. ‘Symbols rise, symbols fall.’”

Kiira sucked in a sharp breath. “Surely you don’t mean to imply–”

“That Xannirin had something do with it?” I snapped. “Perhaps none of you remember how horribly he treated me during our first dinner, but I do.”

Rokath’s eyes flashed with the type of darkness that made my core clench. Yet beneath the outward anger, an inner storm roiled.

“There are plenty of others who are unhappy with the current situation,” Rapp pointed out. “And unfortunately, Assyria has become the face of it to many in the army.”

“He’s right,” Kiira agreed.

Their dismissal, combined with the instinct to fight leaving my body, left me irritated. “The sentries weren’t there. Who else has the power to send them away?”

“Not many. Us, Olet. The Százados in charge of the night watch,” Rokath said, his mind racing through endless possibilities. “Tomorrow, I will round up each for questioning, including the males who abandoned their posts.”

He crouched so we were eye level. “As much as I want to go on a rampage right now, I need to take care of you. Your health, your safety, your protection, are paramount to me. I am so sorry I couldn’t reach you sooner.”

Tears burned my eyes. I reached up and cupped his cheek. The soft hairs of his beard tickled my palm. “You came as quickly as you could.”

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Come, you need to rest.”

Nodding, I slid off the table. He tucked me under his arm, the safest place in all the worlds.

“Send for me if you need anything,” he told Rapp and Kiira.

“We will,” Rapp promised. Using the wall as support, he shuffled forward. Kiira joined him, her steps as careful as his. Rokath and I followed them to Rapp’s room before quickening our pace.

My entire being ached. When we reached the entrance to our tower, Rokath scooped me into his arms. I didn’t protest as he carried me up the spiral staircase, merely rested my cheek against his heart and let the steady rhythm soothe me.

And when we reached our sleeping chamber, I let him undress me. Let him carry me to bed. Let him wrap himself around me. Let him make me feel safe.

“Sleep, Assyria. I will protect you.”

But I’d tasted the truth tonight. And it was bitter. No one, not even Rokath, could shield me from the discontent of those who preferred the status quo. Traitors hid in the shadows—Fates, right out in the open.

Next time they came for me, I wouldn’t be caught unprepared.

I’d be waiting. Ready. Primed with fire in my veins and fury in my heart.

They wanted to cut down a new symbol; instead, I’d show the world what it meant to be the fucking Szélhámos.

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***

The High Priestess glided through the halls of Varbad Temple, her mind flitting over a dozen tasks still unfinished. She’d risen later than normal, entirely by accident, and at midday, she returned to her luxurious rooms at the pinnacle to retrieve a notebook she’d left behind in her rush.

“High Priestess,” her acolytes greeted her, dipping into deep curtsies as she passed them. She offered each a bow of her head in return. After all, she wanted the faithful to feel welcome and at home among these walls. For decades now, she’d been training them, honing their beliefs like her cousin honed his soldiers and their weapons. Now, it was finally time to start sending them far and wide into the Demon Realm to spread her word.

Which came with far too many challenges and far more work than she ever expected.

She ascended another staircase, internally berating herself for insisting she had the top floor all to herself. She’d wanted the views and the sanctuary, and yet as her thighs burned, pressing into step after step, she debated if it was all worth it.

Breathless, she paused on a landing, bracing herself against the wall. Beneath her lived the high-level priestesses—those who had been extremely eager to join upon the announcement of the construction of Varbad.

One such female descended the thick stairs, smiling warmly through her veil until she took in the pallor of her leader. “High Priestess?” she said, rushing forward.

With a leap, she managed to catch the High Priestess before she collapsed to the ground. The High Priestess’s burgundy eyes rolled back in her head, revealing only the whites. A convulsion wracked her frame, and foam appeared at the corners of her mouth.

“Help!” the female shouted, scanning the area for anyone else. From below, a second raced up the stairs, skidding to a stop when she beheld the scene.

“We need to carry her to her room,” the second said, shaking herself out of her shock and reaching for the High Priestess’s feet. She was the very first acolyte and had secured her place at the High Priestess’s side nearly a century ago. Yet this was the first time she’d witnessed her mentor in this state, though there was no denying what it was—a vision.

A third appeared a moment later, gasping at the sight of the High Priestess on the floor.

Together, they managed to ascend the final flights to the High Priestess’s room, settling her on a settee. An occasional tremor wracked her frame as they all watched on, scarcely breathing. The third quickly sliced into her palm, making an offering to the Fates and praying for the safe return of their High Priestess.

Yet what they witnessed was nothing compared to what their leader glimpsed of the future.

The air was thick with moisture, and the cloying scent of tropical plants assaulted her nostrils. Tentatively, she stepped through the thick underbrush. Green dripped ruby, and she nearly stumbled over something hidden among it.

Glancing down, she nearly retched. Glassy, lifeless blue eyes stared at the canopy overhead. A pool of blood surrounded his head, the cut in his throat so deep that it was hanging by the barest of sinew to his body.

Slowly, her gaze drifted forward, to an entire trail through the thick forest lined with similar corpses. Ahead, the faint sounds of fighting reached her ears. Picking her way carefully, she closed the distance. After rounding a particularly thick trunk, the city of Sivy came into focus.

Her breath caught in her chest as she beheld the smoke drifting from thatched roofs, catching their neighbors’ homes ablaze. All the way to the largest tree at the very center, two armies engaged. There, gleaming white marble entrenched its expanse, twice as large as Gyor Palace in the Demon Realm.

Her every breath felt stolen, her every heartbeat a drum in the ritual of war. This wasn’t a dream—it was a reckoning.

She raced forward, hugging each tree on the outskirts of the Angel capital, peering down alleys that weren’t thick with bodies. She did her best to remain unspotted, and yet, she nearly ran straight into a fleeing Angel. He didn’t even seem to notice her as he raced into the thick ferns a mere breath away.

Her brow furrowed, and she pressed forward. Again, no one glanced her way as she walked into the midst of battle. Bodies fell, then rose, and a sudden realization hit her: the Halálhívó was here.