Bloodwitch smoothed her dress again, that blood-red silk somehow still pristine despite the carnage. “Very well.”
She looked directly at me, those black eyes gleaming. “Please tell your High Lord,” she said, her words carrying across the battlefield with eerie clarity. “That Nyxaria accepts the terms of the meeting.” Her smile sharpened. “This was merely a courteous reminder for the future.”
She turned, began walking away through the smoke and bodies like she was strolling through a garden.
Then she paused. Glanced back over her shoulder.
“We don’t negotiate.”
The air shifted, a prickle of energy dancing across my skin. Her magic swirled around her, the crimson tendrils reaching out, grasping at shadows.
“Until next time,” she purred, her form beginning to blur at the edges. “Do try to stay alive. It would be such a shame if our next encounter was cut short.”
With a final, mocking laugh, she vanished in a swirl of shadow and crimson light, leaving nothing but destruction in her wake.
The battlefield was eerily quiet now. Smoke curled through the air, thick with the acrid scent of charred flesh. Somewhere in the distance, a soldier groaned—a broken, dying sound.
36
The moment she disappeared, I spun to face Lincatheron. He was pale, blood seeping from the gash on his shoulder. His eyes met mine, a mix of pain, anger, and something close to fear dancing in their depths.
“Are you alright?” I asked, my voice tight with concern.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he snarled, struggling to keep himself upright. “She could have killed you. She could have—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Reckless. You’re a reckless idiot.”
I shrugged. “Probably. But also, what kind of fucking name isBloodwitchanyway?”
Lincatheron stared at me. Blinked.
Then let out a huffed breath, somewhere between a groan and an incredulous laugh. “Not her real one.”
I lifted a brow. “Does everyone from that court have a terrifying nickname they gave themselves?”
This time, he actually laughed, though it quickly turned into a wince. I tugged his hand away, frowning as I inspected the wound, taking stock of how deep the blade had cut.
“Pretty much,” he admitted. “Though I know the source of that nickname.” His expression darkened. “And it wasn’t her.”
My head snapped up. “So, who was she then?”
Lincatheron’s jaw tightened, shaking his head. “That was Xyliria.” He met my gaze again, fury in his. “Ashterion’s wife.”
“His wife.” I stared at Lincatheron, processing his words. “And she just… waltzed in here and decimated an entire war camp?”
Lincatheron nodded grimly, his face tight with pain. He glanced around at the devastation surrounding us, his expression hardening. “This was her holding back.”
My stomach turned to stone.
Ashterion’s wife.
The woman who had torn through this camp wasn’t some war-hardened general. She was the wife of the High Lord himself.
And she had been toying with us.
The distant clang of steel on steel had faded. The battle was done. What remained was destruction—ash, blood, and the few surviving warriors picking through the carnage.
“Wildfire.”Kaelen’s growl sent vibrations through the earth.“We need to discuss your definition of ‘staying safe.’”
I could feel the rage radiating from him in waves. Not just anger, but the bone-deep fear of a creature who’d watched something they valued nearly get destroyed. His massive head swung toward me, those amber eyes burning with emotions too complex and too raw for words.
