Chapter One
I took a deep breath of the crisp air and stretched my shoulders as I headed toward the baking pavilion. It was 5 AM, a time when most of the camp, even the early risers, was asleep, but I wasn't your usual soldier. I'm a baker; I make bread. It's my favorite thing in the world. Well, bread, pastries, crackers, anything with yeast or a lot of flour in it really. I loved getting my hands in the dough and transforming it into something delicious that could bring a smile to someone's face. Truly, is there anything better than freshly baked bread? The aroma, the warmth, the crispy crust and soft center. Bread is the foundation of food; a culinary lynchpin. No meal is complete without bread. And I make damn good bread. My plan was to open my own bakery, but that would be after I raised enough money and got out of the Falcon Army. For now, I was happy where I was. I got to do what I loved and serve my country: a win-win.
The Falcon Army that I'm contracted to is one of twelve armies whose ranks are composed of fae shapeshifters and human soldiers. We humans share a continent with the magical Fae, and that continent is continually attacked by monsters—the Farungal. Farungals are big, black, scaly, clawed, fanged, venomous things with barbs on the ends of their tails that can kill you with a single sting. In short, they're the stuff of nightmares, and they're also evil. I suppose evil is relative, and I shouldn't be classifying a whole race as such, but after fighting them, it's hard to think of them as anything else. I couldn't imagine a baby Farungal sitting on its mama's lap, looking adorable. Nope, I think they were born nasty.
The Fae lands are called Varalorre and they're separated from our portion of the continent, Stalana, by a magical misty barrier that nothing but animals and faeries can pass through. So, really, the Fae didn't have to help us. They could have hunkered down behind their sparkly mist and hoped for the best. But they knew we were the last line of defense between them and the monsters, so they sent their armies to help us defend the continent. In addition to the twelve beast armies of shapeshifting Sidhe, they also sent twelve Unsidhe armies, full of faeries whose appearances can be as frightening as the Farungal. They'd previously kept the Unsidhe armies separate because humans could be skittish around the Unsidhe, but recently, that had changed. The Unsidhe Armies had joined the beast armies, moving their camps closer to ours and adding their soldiers to our training exercises. It was quite the thing and had the human soldiers all atwitter.
Most humans weren't scared of the Unsidhe anymore, not after fighting beside them on Alantri, the Farungal's continent, across the Bellor Sea. The general attitude was excitement more than anything, and from the few training exercises I'd been a part of, I understood why. Fighting alongside the massive Trolls and Redcaps and watching the stunning Leanan-Sidhe—all women, their men don't fight—whiz about with their blades flashing was quite thrilling. But, as I said, I'm a baker.
The chefs and bakers of the armies were, of course, trained to fight just like everyone else, but our training wasn't as hardcore as it was for the regular soldiers. We had trained in the craft of cuisine along with the art of war, and once we were placed in an army, our sword training was reduced to once a week. We spent most of our time cooking for the hundreds of soldiers in our army and didn't have much time for honing our fighting skills. You'd think the other soldiers would resent us for this, or tease us for always fighting in the back when we went to war, but no one teases an army cook, especially not a baker. Not if they want to eat, and every soldier loves to eat. An army marches on its stomach, as they say. Plus, chefs have sharp knives, and we bakers have thick muscles from working dough all day. You don't have to swing a sword to be a badass.
I was particularly fortunate in that my skill had been noted early on, and I was assigned to be the Falcon Lord's personal baker, the captain who runs his baking pavilion. The Falcon Lord is my army's warlord—the Sidhe man in charge of the entire Falcon Army, both the human and fae portions of it. All warlords were elite, the best warriors Varalorre has to offer, and they were also the only ones who possessed soul stones. At leastfaesoul stones.
The Farungal had started making their own soul stones with death magic, trapping hundreds of human souls in their evil amulets to give themselves great power. You see, the Sidhe, in addition to being shapeshifters, were great magic-users and could move objects, light fires, summon rain, and stuff like that, just with a wave of their elegant fingers. The Farungal, however, had that ability taken from them when they pissed off their goddess—a goddess who, it was discovered recently, is also the mother of the Fae. It's a long story, but to sum it up, a Farungal had the hots for a faerie who didn't want him, and the Farungal resorted to black magic to get her. Then he taught all his buddies the trick, and seducing faeries with black magic became all the rage. It ended horribly, with the Goddess taking the Farungals' magic, beauty, and wings in punishment. Yeah, they used to fly. I can't tell you how grateful I am that they can't do that anymore.
But back to the fae soul stones. Every warlord was given a soul stone connected to the magic of his kingdom. As a country, Varalorre is divided by the beast races of the Sidhe. In other words, the kingdoms of Varalorre—all run by the Sidhe—are each home to a particular sub-race of Sidhe, each sub-race being determined by the animal a faerie shifts into. For example, those who can shift into falcons are Falcon Fae and live in the Falcon Kingdom. The Unsidhe live in those kingdoms too, but they're not divided by their races. Technically, only twelve armies were sent to Stalana, one from each kingdom, consisting of both Sidhe and Unsidhe soldiers. But after the Fae saw how humans reacted to the Unsidhe, they divided their armies. That's how we ended up with twenty-four instead of twelve. Anyway, there are twelve kingdoms, then those kingdoms are grouped into three regions by their animal families—Canine, Feline, and Avian.
The fae soul stones draw upon the magic of those kingdoms, and what's used cannot be replenished, so the warlords only employ their soul stones in times of great need.Orto make a valorian. Valorians are humans who have shown such great valor that a warlord decides to share his soul with them. Yep, theirsoul. This doesn't automatically make the human a valorian, they could simply end up with an extended life. However, if the Fae Goddess decides that the human is worthy, she will add her magic to that of the soul stone and use the piece of the warlord's soul to change the human into a faerie. The human is reborn, his or her body altered into an immortal version of itself. They're also given nearly as much respect as the warlord himself. In other words, it's abig fucking deal.
Back at the beginning of the war, nearly forty years ago, the first valorian had been made, but then he'd disappeared into Varalorre, and we humans forgot about him entirely. Forty years may be nothing for faeries, but it's a hell of a long time for us. Anyway, it wasn't until recently, when there was a wave of new valorians made, that we remembered—or as was the case with most of us, heard about for the first time—that valorians were a possibility. I also heard that there's a prophecy one of the valorians made; it said that every warlord would have a valorian, and they'd all be needed to end the Farungal War.
Heavy shit. I was glad I was just a baker. Don't get me wrong, I joined the army to defend my country as well as learn my trade and earn money, but I'd rather be a little guy at the back than one of the valorians up front, facing down the Farungal with magic and faerie might. I wasn't a coward, but I wasn't a hero either. I'm just your average guy, trying to survive the war so I can live knowing that my family and I are safe. And right now, that meant starting the day's bread. This was why I was up at 5 AM; I kept baking hours. Chefs get up early too, but not as early as us bakers. We had to coax the bread to life and start the process of it rising long before the other soldiers rose from their beds, or it wouldn't be ready in time for their breakfast.
But I was good with that. I liked walking through the camp at this hour. It was as peaceful as an army camp could get. Even the soft murmur of soldiers on guard duty didn't carry to me. Everything was silent, the land asleep beneath its blanket of stars. I sighed as I strolled along the beaten dirt path, a soft smile on my face, and glanced at the Falcon Lord's tent as I passed it. I passed it every morning since my work area, a baking pavilion attached to the cooking tent, was just behind the warlord's sprawling tent. This was so his food was always hot. As I mentioned, my team was assigned to the Falcon Lord, but we also prepared food for his personal guard. Every warlord has a unit of knights who are responsible for his safety and wellbeing. They aren't technically a part of the army and hold no rank in it, beholden only to their warlord. And I had a crush on one of them.
His name was Daron, and he was big, buff, and blond. I have a thing for blonds. Maybe it's that whole opposites attract thing. My father's family came over to Stalana from Lek a couple of generations back, so I have a darker complexion than most Stalanians and different features, though I've got my mother's eyes—a hazel heavy on the green—and her blue-black hair. I use those eyes to my advantage. I'm told they look striking against my honey-brown skin, and many a man has fallen prey to one of my don't-you-want-this-in-your-bed looks. Many, but not Daron. I'd been trying to catch his eye for years, all to no avail.
I sighed again, this time in lament when I saw that Daron wasn't on duty.Hold on.I stopped and backed up. There were no guards at the front of the Falcon Lord's tent. None at all. I crept closer, gooseflesh rising on my arms, and peered around one fabric corner, ducking beneath a tent rope. Bodies. A pile of them. Oh, fuck. My heart started racing, but I could still hear a soft shuffle over its pounding. Someone was inside the tent, and I didn't think it was the Falcon Lord. Or rather, I didn't think it was only the Falcon Lord.
I went cold suddenly, in a way that only happens when I'm on a battlefield. My heart calmed and my hand reached for the dagger on my hip. Creeping back to the front of the tent, I pulled my blade and stretched my shoulders. I wasn't the best at hand-to-hand combat, but I knew just where to hit a Farungal to bring instant death. All humans were taught the skill because when we fight Farungals, we have to kill fast or get killed. If I could keep the element of surprise on my side, I had a chance of killing this invader, whoever he or she was. Hey, maybe it wasn't a Farungal. Maybe it was just . . . oh, who was I kidding? It had to be a Farungal. No one else was going to sneak into our camp and slaughter the Falcon Lord’s guards.
I slipped through the tent flap and was instantly encased in darkness. But, at the back of the tent, a sickly green glow drew me forward. Along with the light, a soft gasping sound filtered back to me and set my teeth on edge. I wanted to race forward, but I knew the floorboards would creak and give me away. So I continued to creep down the main area of the tent, past dark passages to rooms defined by hanging panels, to the opening at the back. I edged into the halo of green light and had to bite my lip to keep from making a horrified sound.
There lay the Falcon Lord, his body sprawled between his latest lovers—a man and a woman, both dead from the look of them. The Falcon Lord, however, was still alive. His gaze, normally so bright, was dark and tainted by the glow of the Farungal soul stone that hung around the invader's neck. The Farungal hunched in his cloak, but not by design; all the Farungal have a hunch. The only time they lost it was when they used their soul stones to magnify themselves, enhancing their bodies and their magic. This one, although obviously employing his amulet, hadn't done that. I assumed he'd kept himself normal to make creeping through camp easier, but who knows why the monsters do what they do?
All I knew was that this particular monster was killing the Falcon Lord.
And the Falcon Lord hadn't managed to remove his soul stone—the Falcon Soul. It was glowing pale red on his chest, and I knew that its magic was being stolen by the Farungal before me. It was likely the only reason the Falcon Lord wasn't dead yet. A similar thing had been attempted recently, at the last big battle with the Farungal, so I knew that this monster wasn't just draining the Falcon Lord, he was also draining the FalconKingdom. The Falcon Lord's hand laid limply just below his amulet, as if he'd tried to remove it but had been weakened too quickly—likely in his sleep. His eyes shifted to me, and I saw the bleakness there turn to hope. A tear trickled down his cheek.
That tear nearly broke my cool focus, but at the same time, it also hardened me. Sharpened my determination. I couldn't let the Falcon Lord down. I didn't think about how ridiculous this was; that the magic of an entire kingdom depended on the knife skills of a baker. I just nodded to the Falcon Lord and stepped forward, my stare locking on the back of the Farungal's hood. Right above his hunch—that's where I had to hit him. The blade needed to go in right between the third and fourth vertebrae to sever his spinal cord and disable his tail so he couldn't sting me as he died. Too high or too low, and I'd still kill him, but there would be the possibility that he could get a strike in and kill me right back.
I didn't think about dying; I thought about his spine. Only that spine. I saw the bones in my mind, placed them by that hunch, and struck with as much strength as I could put behind a single blow. My blade went deep, miraculously sliding between the vertebrae just as I'd intended, and pierced the Farungal's throat to emerge out the other side. The Farungal didn't even have time to gurgle. He simply crumpled to the ground, dead.
And I was alive.Holy shit, I was alive!
I didn't have time to freak out. I left my dagger in the Farungal's neck and shouted, “Help!” as I ran for the Falcon Lord. “Someone help us! The Falcon Lord is hurt!”
I yanked the body of the woman off the bed so I could kneel on the mattress beside the Falcon Lord. He was gasping, but a smile of relief hovered around his lips. His hand twitched and his soul stone brightened as its magic returned.
“Are you all right, my lord?” I laid a hand on his chest.
“I'll live,” he whispered. “Thanks to you, soldier. Well done.”
Damn, he was beautiful. Now that the threat had been eliminated, I could appreciate that he was lying there naked. Gloriously naked and not an inch of him beneath the blankets. The Falcon Lord was even bigger than Daron, his body thick with muscles that still managed to look sleek—a fae trait. His chest alone was a thing of beauty. And you know how I love blonds? Well, this guy was like a blond supreme. His hair was a tawny blond that truly looked like spun gold, as if someone had attached gold threads to his head, but made them silken. Those metallic strands flowed around a face of such elegant and yet masculine beauty that it was hard to look at him. He was simply too stunning. Almost painfully so. Breathtaking in a literal way. Those plush lips, high cheekbones, and classically fae jawline were enough to make my knees go weak, but add to them a pair of eyes the color of amethysts and you have a face so enthralling that it became divine. And those amethyst eyes? They had gold striations in them. I'd never been close enough to see that before, but now, in the pale red light of the Falcon Soul, they glittered at me.
I finally managed to speak, “Thank God. And the Falcon Soul?”
“It's fine; the magic has been returned to it. Be at ease.” He took my hand. “What's your—”
