“The Blades here are few, but they are loyal to me,” he says. “Arax and Zyphoro’s skill will be in our favor on the battlefield, and the warriors of The Grove are strong enough to hold the line.”
I force a smile, anything to distract me from my racing heart. “You speak as if we could win this.”
“We do not need to win,” Daed says, his voice the strength I need to keep my focus. “We just cannot lethimwin.” He pulls me closer. “I do not want you out there today.”
I shake my head. “I will not be herded into the shelter with the children, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, wife,” he says wryly. “I am simply stating the idea of you in danger fills me with irrationally violent thoughts.”
“Good,” I say, a grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Express those violent thoughts on the Legion.”
He grins, his eyes a paler gray than usual. “I have something that belongs to you.”
I raise a curious brow, watching as he summons plumes of smoke and tosses them in the air before they fall upon the ground with a splash of wafting mist.
My heart swells when the smoke takes form, and Ashen hisses angrily at Daed, his ears flat against his head, his teeth bared, as if he is still the massive lion he was the last time I saw him, not the little kitten before me now. Ashen swipes at Daed, sharp claws cutting through the air, but Daed doesn’t flinch. He only watches with calm annoyance.
Ashen slinks away, his body low to the ground, before he curls himself around my legs. I pick him up, rubbing my nose to his, then he leaps lightly onto my shoulder, his weight familiar and comforting as he settles into my hair.
“Thank you,” I say as Ashen’s soothing purr rumbles at my ear.
“I fear that creature will replace me,” he sighs.
I exhale. “Well, that all depends on how well he can fry an egg.”
Daed laughs, and the sound seems to startle him. “I will take you back to Pariseth after this is done.”
My chest heaves, my head dropping to look at my feet. I can’t think about this now, not with a million terrors screaming for attention. “Daed… please… I…”
“Forgive me,” he says. “If not for everything I’ve done, then just for that. We will talk after the battle, when we both survive, and you decide to let me love you for the rest of your life.”
A laugh escapes my chest, and I need it. I need to feel something other than fear right now. “Alright then.”
Before either of us can say more, the sound of horns cuts through the air.
The Legion is here.
We move silently through the forest, the leaves brushing against us as we pass. I can hear the whispers of the trees, the low hum of the Souls weaving through the earth beneath my feet. The forest feels alive, almost thrumming with the same tension that coils inside me.
We reach the edge of The Grove, where the dense trees thin out into the open plains, and there, on the horizon, the Legion of Saints wait. My stomach knots as I see them—an army in the hundreds, their gilded armor gleaming. The sun reflects off the polished steel, casting a blinding light that only makes their numbers seem greater.
“We are vulnerable in the open,” Daed says as we linger near the entrance to the forest. “If we confine the fight here, they will not be able to overwhelm us.”
“But then we risk them reaching The Grove,” I protest.
Daed nods his understanding. “Very well. The field it is.”
Our meager army of mismatched warriors passes the giant boulders, striding onto the grass with unbroken strides just as a rider breaks away from the Legion’s line, his horse snorting and stamping as he approaches us. The rider’s red cloak trails behind him like a banner, his face hard and unforgiving. He pulls his horse to a rough halt in front of me, his eyes filled with contempt.
“Turn back now,” I demand, my voice steady, though my heart races. “The Grove want no part of your war. Leave, and we’ll let you go in peace.”
The rider sneers, leaning forward in his saddle, his lips curling in disdain. “The Golden Son has already given you his answer. The negotiations are over. You can no longer claim neutrality.”
I swallow hard, anger flaring in my chest. “We have children in this forest.”
He chuckles darkly, straightening in his saddle. “Turn over your weapons and bend the knee, then perhaps The Golden Sonwill show mercy upon the children. But your head, Jewel of the Tenders…” His eyes flash with a cruel smile. “Your head will serve as a warning to any who dare defy the Legion.”
Before I can respond, before the fury bubbling in my throat can find words, Daed steps forward, his hand outstretched. A dark, smoky mist swirls around his fingers, and in a single, fluid motion, his sword manifests in his grip—Death Singer, gleaming and hungry for blood.
