And then the presence of his brother burst into his head like a minor sun.
“No!” he cried, but no one heard him. A dark figure, nearly as big as Tomaz, stood before the Kindred, flanked by the fifth Earth Daemon and a squadron of men dressed not in white-and-red but in dark black-and-red that seemed to make them a moving part of the night.
Davydd pointed his Daemon toward the figure and charged.
With a painful roar of agony, the Daemon fell back, an enormous axe blade buried in its side. And then the Daemon, with Davydd still on top, rose into the air, and was thrown not over the wall, butthroughit, bringing down a wide stretch of stone that included what had once been the gatehouse, as well as part of a guard tower.
From where the Prince stood, he could see Davydd, lying on the ground unmoving as rubble fell around him.
Kindred bowmen fell amidst dislodged stones, and the Kindred soldiers were forced to duck down and find cover wherever they could. The Prince, having stopped in his tracks when he’d recognized his brother’s presence, was on the inside of what had been the gate, and watched with horror as Ramael’s personal guard forced the Kindred back up the mountain once more.
And then, miraculously, the army halted, and the two forces separated. There was a long, drawn-out moment of silence, and then, with a deliberate slowness, the tall, dark figure of Ramael disengaged from the Imperial force and strode forward.
The Prince pushed his way to Leah and Tomaz.
“You need to run,” he said. “Run and evacuate as much of the city as you can.”
“What are you talking about?” Leah hissed back at him.
“I can distract him and buy you time, but you need to go—now!”
There was a heavy crunching sound, and the dark figure came out of the shadows and into the torchlight. He was a giant. Dressed in black and blood-red armor from head to toe, he stood eight feet tall and carried two enormous double-bladed battleaxes, one in each hand; the blades alone were easily as large as the Prince’s entire torso. He wore a helm from which grew bone-white horns, curving down and framing a metal visor, which was shaped to resemble an enraged bull. Though he stood at half the height of the Earth Daemon behind him, there was a weight to him that made him seem somehow larger, as if he were more physically present than any other being could possibly be, even beings made from the very essence of the earth. As he walked, it was easy to note that his every movement was sharp and precise; he moved with a deadly power that screamed danger.
As he approached the waiting Kindred, his gaze fell on the Prince, and his step slowed.
With two quick motions, Ramael the Ox Lord, Fifth Child of the Empress, Prince of the Realm and Defender of the Imperial Borders, sheathed his battleaxes and removed his helm.
“Hello, little brother,” he said.
Chapter Twenty-two: The Prince of Oxen
There was something eerily beautiful about all of the Children, a physical trait that seemed to come directly from the Empress Herself. It was an ethereal quality that marked them out as different and, as the Children were instructed, special.
But it was Ramael who epitomized this trait.
The moment he removed his helm, the dark night seemed to shine with reflected glory. The Prince saw Leah’s knees go slightly weak before she caught herself, and a number of the Kindred, including Tomaz, took an involuntary step forward as if to bow in deference.
Ramael’s face was framed with golden waves of thick, luxurious hair that shone like the sun even in the night with an insistent and hypnotizing luminescence. Perfectly-sized almond eyes the blue-grey color of ice framed a sharp nose that led to sculpted brows and high, sharp cheekbones over a wide, strong jaw, all of which gave him such an air of masculinity that no other man in the world could ever be considered more than a boy. He was the perfect physical being, made so by over one hundred and forty years wearing the Ox Talisman. He was stronger and faster than any man alive and had been so upon reaching adulthood.
But beneath it all, the Prince of Ravens could sense blood and hate, as he always did. The Prince of Oxen’s life was an inferno of burning metal, and from him emanated a sense of murderous heat, like coals set to the leaves of a dry forest.
The Prince of Ravens stepped forward, knowing how small and insignificant he looked in front of his brother, the same way he’d always looked.
“Ramael,” he said quietly.
“I’m amazed to find you here,” the Prince of Oxen said, smiling to reveal a row of perfect white teeth that never needed to be scrubbed clean. Even his voice was beautiful: a deep vibrating bass that penetrated pleasurably to the core of your body. “But then again, I’m not.”
“Go away, Ramael,” the Prince said, his voice low but strong. A few of the Kindred shifted behind him, as if this contradiction had helped them break free of the Ox Lord’s spell. “Or else fight us like a man.”
Ramael growled low in his throat, and his face turned ugly, lips pulling back from his teeth in an animalistic snarl. The gray-blue eyes grew even colder.
“Oh… I’m sorry,” the Prince said loudly, his own lips lifting, but in contempt. “I forgot—you don’t like people challenging you.”
“Mother isn’t here to save you from me now,” Ramael said, the anger cooling quickly everywhere but in his eyes. “I would watch what you say. No Geofred here to convince me it’s better not to teach you a lesson.”
“Watch what I say?” the Prince asked. “Does that mean you’ll leave if I ask nicely?”
The Prince of Oxen chuckled darkly. The Prince of Ravens felt his teeth clench automatically, but he took a deep breath and another step forward.
