Today. Emillie shook her head. “Why not wait for nightfall and reduce the risk of you losing the Noct?”
The question was enough of a distraction to have Ariadne looking up again with a more neutral expression. “The first line of defense will be the Rusans. They’re weaker, slower, and less likely to put up as much of a challenge. Most will surrender, and those who do not…will die.”
“You sound quite certain.”
Shrugging, Ariadne continued, “It is the strategy I have been told. We will use daylight to move into Monsumbra proper with less resistance. From there, we will be able to set up a more advantageous position by the time the sun sets.”
Emillie shuddered. “You plan to fight all dayandnight?”
“Our forces will progress in waves.” Ariadne looked around the tent, her expression hardening at the sight of all the small cots set up for injured soldiers. “We will all have a chance to rest.”
The front of the tent opened again, this time letting Luce in. Ariadne took Emillie’s hand, dragging her attention back from the lycan, and squeezed. Her sister leaned in and kissed her forehead before saying, “I will be alright. By this time tomorrow…we will have Monsumbra.”
Ariadne turned to leave, no doubt to give Emillie a moment to speak with Luce, but she held firm to her sister’s hand. When she looked back, Emillie smiled, knowing full well that she held no joy in her expression either, and said, “I love you.”
A heartbeat passed. Ariadne swallowed hard. “I love you, Em.”
Then her sister was gone, disappearing behind the tent flap into the growing light beyond. In her wake, Emillie was left gasping for air. War was not what she had signed up for in this life. She wanted peace. She wanted her books and a comfortable lounge in a library stacked with knowledge. She wanted hot tea, fresh cake, and friends who would sit with her and discuss all sorts of topics—scholarly, if she had any say in the matter.
Instead, she was left in a medical tent, waiting to see if her sister survived a battle after mere months of training.
And to make matters worse, the woman she loved had just appeared beside her to say her own farewells. Emillie tried her hardest to choke back the sudden swell of emotions; she had not felt this poorly since the nights following her father’s death. All of a sudden, the same horrible sensations gripped her belly, making her nearly double over in grief. As much as she wanted to believe that her sister and partner would walk back into that tent after the battle, hug her, and joke about how worried she had been, she knew it was just as likely for neither of them to laugh with her again.
“Listen to me.” Luce’s voice cut through the rampant thoughts as she cupped Emillie’s face with both hands. Golden eyes seared into her. “Shewillcome back to you. Do you understand me?”
A tear slipped free despite Emillie’s best efforts. When she spoke, her voice was hoarse. “And what about you?”
The beautiful lycan leaned her forehead against Emillie’s and breathed deep. “Death could not keep me from you, Emillie Harlow. Try as it might, I will find my way back into your arms. That is a promise.”
Before she could argue for Luce to stay, their mouths collided. Emillie kissed her hard, savoring the taste of her and holding her close. It could be the last time they embraced, yet she could not—wouldnot let such poisonous thoughts consume her.
Then, without another word, Luce slid out of reach. They looked each other over one last time, memorizing the planes of one another’s faces. Before Emillie could speak, Luce slipped out of the tent, leaving her shaking.
Phulan appeared beside her a moment later and pressed a warm cup into her hand. “Drink. It will calm the nerves.”
Before she lifted the steaming liquid to her lips, Emillie turned to the mage and asked, “Am I weak for not being out there, fighting alongside them?”
Without missing a beat, the mage chuffed. She shook her head as though the question was one of the silliest she had ever heard. “It takes strength to step onto a battlefield, certainly, but there is a very different, quiet strength in watching those we love do so with nothing but a prayer on our lips for their safety.”
The words were not what Emillie expected. She gaped at the woman before her, uncertain what else to say.
“Besides,” Phulan continued, tapping the bottom of the cup gently to urge it towards Emillie’s mouth, “what’s weak about saving lives? They need us as much as we need them.”
Nodding, Emillie brought the rim of the cup to her lips and sipped. Warmth spread through her body in an instant, ceasing the shivers and flooding her with endorphins she did not expect. The tears stopped, her throat loosened, and for the first time since waking, Emillie felt ready to face the horrors that awaited her.
Chapter 22
It’d been years since Azriel marched into a vampire village, let alone a major city, with the intent of battle. In fact, the last time he’d done so with his smaller, more rugged team of dhemons, he’d already begun to lose the passion for the raids. He’d been working as a guard for the Caldwells for several months and no longer saw vampires for what he’d believed them to be for so long: cold, heartless monsters.
Now Azriel’s views had been completely turned on their head, rearranged, and painted in a completely new light. Vampires weren’t any more monsters than he was with his spiraling black horns, red eyes, and pointed teeth. They now represented the entire world of the woman he loved, and he could never take that away from her.
As they closed in on the outskirts of the city, Azriel slowed. The Rusans, it seemed, had indeed left. The nearby houses, which had light gleaming from them the night prior, now appeared void of life. No one moved behind the windows. No one workedin the fields or gardens. Not one civilian soul walked through the streets. Of course, he couldn’t account for the Caersans who believed in their army and remained in their homes at the heart of the city or in their large manors.
What hedidsee, however, were flashes of crimson.
Holding up a silent fist, the odd mix of dhemons, lycans, fae, and mages came to a halt. Half his army stood at his back, the other half waiting for nightfall to take care of the Caersan soldiers who no doubt waited for them. Half an army and yet his whole world stood at his side.
A steady calm overcame him. This was not like the nights in the Pits—not when hechoseto be there, bearing his sword to take back the land which rightfully belonged to the horned fae.
