Ashur smiled widely, then introduced me to his tribesmen and women. They all stared at me with a hero-like worship. A few of them touched my arm as if making sure I was real. I wanted to remind them I wasn’t that special, but this revolution kind of depended on them thinking that I was, so I smiled and nodded along with their praise.
“The beastborn are loyal to the sunborn,” Ashur continued, “but we do not serve the bloodborn, and we will never bow to that witch.”
That witchwas the same woman who looked as though she was attempting to melt Ashur with her glare. I doubted there would be any reconciliation between them. Surely that could work in my favor.
“Welcome to our home. I’ll be sure to seat you as far away from our mother as possible during tonight’s festivities,” Lucian said lightly, as though the right seating arrangement might resolve their bitter hatred for one another.
Ashur grunted, and the beastborn moved along, ignoring our mother entirely. My ears then tuned in to a heavy thumping in the distance. “I hear drums.”
“Must be the warborn,” Lucian said with a sigh. “Always have to upstage us, don’t they?”
A few minutes later, their entourage entered the courtyard, led by a band of humans dressed in animal skins and burgundy scarves. Their oiled, muscular arms beat on leather drums with enough force to make the floor quake.
“So primitive,” Lucian said, “and yet so arousing.”
After the drummers came the color guard propping up warborn banners, garnet with the crest of a black boar, and behind them were their human warriors—dozens of them—lined up and marching in step with the drums. They were dressed similar to Anika, with their robes flung over their shoulders like capes and fastened at the front with a black boar medallion. Every weapon imaginable was strapped to their bodies, and I suspected many more were hidden underneath their clothing.
When the soldiers were about halfway through the courtyard, they split down the middle and parted the crowd of onlookers to form a channel for their masters to proceed. The clothing of the Nephilim royals was similarly functional—leather straps and animal skins punctuated with burgundy accents. Horsehair decorated their pewter helmets, and war paint marked their faces. They were intimidating in number and appearance as they moved through the aisle of soldiers in a triangular formation. At the farthest point were two individuals whose battle scars I could see even with my human eyes.
“The terrible twosome,” Lucian said. “Aretha and Hyas. Twins run in their family too.”
“They look nothing alike,” I observed.
Aretha’s skin color was closer to my own with her thick black hair woven into an intricate braided crown while Hyas had milk-pale skin, red hair, and freckles.
“Like our fair mother and the dark-eyed temptress Lilith,” Lucian said. “The Grigori were created to resemble the humans of their ancestral lands, which makes for odd breeds of Nephilim.”
The triangle that had pointed to the twins collapsed, and they moved through a straight line until they were now at the forefront.
“Wonder how long it took them to practice that,” you said with a hint of admiration.
“Should have come to dress rehearsal last night,” Lucian chided. “I’m sure we could have come up with something equally as impressive.”
I smirked at that while the warborn twins climbed the few steps to where we stood. Aretha didn’t bother greeting Lucian but stepped directly to me and held out her hand for me to… kiss or shake? I opted for the latter. Her palm was as rough and calloused as yours, and I was thankful that my own was not quite as smooth as it had been. How many people had she killed in her long life?
“You are the Parousia we’ve been hearing about,” she said. Her tone wasn’t demeaning, but it was definitely appraising.
“So small,” Hyas said, his nut-brown eyes assessing me.
“Size isn’t everything,” I said in an attempt to cut the tension.
Neither of them smiled, but Aretha’s mouth twitched slightly.
“We’re here as our father’s ambassadors.” Aretha addressed you this time, warrior to warrior. “Any decisions will be made by Hyas and myself with the full authority of the warborn tribe.”
“Understood,” you said, always so frugal with your words.
Lucian said, “I hope you’ll find our accommodations to your liking. We’ve cleared an entire wing for your tribe.”
“We’ll be setting up camp outside.” Aretha shot Mater a derisive look. “We’re in enemy territory as it is.”
“Enemies?” Lucian scoffed. “We’re hardly a threat to the warborn. What with all this.” He waved his hand loosely, gesturing to the warborn’s pageantry.
“All it takes is one traitor to bring down an entire army.” Aretha glanced back at you. “Andronicus knows that better than anyone.”
“I go by Henri these days,” you said evenly. Usually I could guess at your opinion of our company, but in this instance, I had no clue.
“Are you still in the service of Azrael?” Hyas asked with a menacing look.
