“Then we strike faster,” Braxion said, his voice clipped. “Every hour we wait, he regathers strength.”
Ash listened quietly as the men spoke, her worry piling high. The newcomers all held hope in their eyes as they watched Race, but her stomach heaved.
As for her mate? He just stood there, looking like he would allow no other outcome but success.
Attor tapped a point on the map. “His forces will be drawn toward the passes here, searching for the attackers who they think fled into the western valleys.” He flicked Ash a quick look of acknowledgment. “Thanks to your storm, there’s nothing to find.”
“It will take careful coordination,” Braxion murmured. “Wings in the sky, claws on the ground. If he senses an attack, he will retreat, and we could lose him.”
Race nodded slowly.
“You getting into the palace is the problem, sire,” Varkyn told Race. “We have tried and lost too many. He’s turned the place into a fortress—warded gates, guard patrols, siege weapons on the walls.”
“The main gate is suicide,” Attor agreed. “There is the old service aqueduct under the east curtain, but the descent’s brutal. The tunnels are choke points—if they catch us there, that’s it.”
Ash, perched on the edge of her chair, couldn’t help a flat laugh. “Lovely. So, the choices are death by front gate or death by tunnel.”
“Or,” Race said, sweeping his gaze across the room, “we draw their attention away from the palace and split the attack. Two flanks—one strikes from the air while the other hits the gates hard and fast. Attor, Skaldr, Koal, and Rhaedra are with me. I’ll dematerialize us to the entrance so we avoid the descent. We take the aqueduct and push through the lower halls. Malcarion is mine.”
“The lower halls lead straight past the royal wing,” Skaldr cut in then, his voice tight. “My sister’s still there.”
Ash eyed him quietly. Yeah, Skaldr would probably know the layout of the palace like the back of his hand. After all, he’d once been Race’s closest friend.
Race gave Skaldr a single, curt nod. Clearly, the old feud still wasn’t settled between them.
Bregga skirted the shifters, carrying a pewter cup. He handed it to her. “A strengthening brew, and te warm ye.”
Her face burned, but Ash accepted gratefully. Heck, she definitely needed this brew, with war approaching. “Thank you.”
He nodded and slipped away. Ash sipped the warm ale spiced with a dash of something sharp and mossy.
Race was speaking, and her attention returned to him. “Malcarion will throw everything at us once we’re inside. Theonly way to win is to hit harder and give him no time to breathe. Skaldr, you get Vaesarra out as quick as you can.”
Skaldr nodded.
Race frowned at the map again. “How long until everyone can get into position?”
“We’ll be there by the early hours of morn,” Braxion said.
“Aye,” Varkyn echoed.
“What exactly do you want me to do while you’re storming the castle?” Ash asked, gripping her mug. Might as well get that out there.
Race looked up. Normally, he would order her to stay put, but Ash lifted one brow, and he merely said, “You’re with me.”
She blew out a relieved breath and sipped more of her tea.
“We will need a signal once every team is in place,” Attor said. “So, the timing doesn’t falter.”
Ash leaned forward, anticipation nipping at her like teeth. “I can draw the clouds, pull the winds if needed—even a storm over Caelvyrn. Lightning will be your mark to move.”
Race’s gaze cut to her, hard and unyielding. “Nothing too heavy. I won’t have you weakening in the middle of this.”
“No gale-force winds,” Braxion said. “It will hinder my squadron.”
“Got it.” Ash nodded.
Race’s cold gaze swept the room. “One way or another, we will end Malcarion’s reign of depravity.”
