“Luca! Where are you, wolf cub?”
Her mother.
Of course, she was not simply directing the attack but in the thick of it. She would not run and hide. Her face and name were in the open, and now so was her stated goal.
It was just as she’d said in Amarande’s cell within the Itspi’s North Tower.
If this boy and his wolf tattoo is out to unseat the Warlord, I will personally see to it that he fails.
Amarande grit her teeth.
Well, Mother, I will personally see to it that you fail.
Amarande yanked Luca’s arm, diving behind a mostly crushed tent, and to a halt. From the cover of the sagging canvas they looked in the direction of Geneva’s voice. By the firepit. Her symbol, her power.
There—sitting tall, roaring orders from atop a silver stallion, Genevapaced as close to the pit as the horse would dare. Her men and women were herding innocents toward the leaping flames upon her command, wicked glee twisting their faces in the close light. New screams climbed to the receding stars before fading and joining their light within, new souls among the ash and the forever sky.
In that moment, Amarande was back in the Warlord’s camp, staring at the profile of the woman she thought the Runaway Queen in relief by the fire. And here she was again. Graceful neck, long hair, power in her carriage and her relationship with everyone in her orbit.
“Has anyone seenmy Otsakumea?” Geneva bellowed. “His head for your life, I swear upon my very star-born soul.”
No. No. No.
A reward for a betrayal.
And betray him they might. Frightened of both the old and the new, often the old was the easy choice, as simple as deciding upon what you know to fear rather than fearing what you don’t.
There were thousands of people hearing her words, having to make that choice. Not all would protect a king they’d just met. Burgeoning loyalty was easily stomped away.
Amarande’s grip slid from Luca’s elbow to his hand. They were both breathing hard, bodies smashed in close, weapons on guard as the Warlord’s call for Luca’s head hung with the smoke in the air.
“My Otsakumea, if you’re listening, you seem like the type to sacrifice yourself for the sake of your people. If that’s your plan, wolf cub, I’d suggest you get to it soon; the blood flows and the bodies burn. As you know, the firepit doesn’t light itself.”
Luca shifted, ready to stand, yet Amarande dug in her heels, holding fast to their stationary position and his hand. “We cannot run straight at her. You cannot run straight at her.”
He drew in a steadying breath and met her palpable worry head-on with a stiff jaw, brave face, and his kind, kind eyes. “We cannot let my people fall to the flames.”
Amarande’s heart lurched.
In those moments when Luca had revealed himself and his tattoo to the Warlord’s proxy and the element of surprise had been in the resistance’s favor, Amarande’s fears had been exactly this. Not knowing what her love was thinking, only knowing his soft heart, she had watched helplessly as he’d made himself a target to spark a battle.Now, she ran alongside him helplessly as he again made himself a target, this time not to spark a battle, but end it.
When Luca raised himself from his crouch, Amarande stood with him.
Hand in hand, they ran.
Toward the flames. Toward the people. Toward the woman who wanted Luca dead more than life itself.
In her chest, Amarande’s heart stuttered against heaving lungs as she surged forward, each inhale rife with smoke and panic.
She had to protect Luca.
She couldn’t protect Luca.
Every muscle in Amarande’s body screamed at her to use her training to knock him out. Drop Luca to his knees and then haul him out of danger, away and hidden from her mother’s scathing revenge.
It would be a betrayal of trust and agency to do such a thing.
This was Luca’s choice.
