“I’m sorry, my old friend. That is a line you shouldn’t have crossed.”
Geneva dropped Alasne to the sand, no hesitation nor care in it. Just dumped her like a sack of moldy potatoes and turned to Ferdinand. He’d found his footing now, and was backing away, dagger stowed so that he could have his sword up and in the strongest position possible.
“Ferdinand.” This time his name wasn’t a warning. It was a plea. Geneva’s eyes sparkled with battle fever. “Alasne did not have orders to kill you. No one does. I would never—”
“You would.” He lunged backward. “We’re on opposite sides now. And I know what you do to your enemies.”
Her tone was furious. Insistent. Futile. “You are not my enemy.”
Ferdinand gestured toward Alasne. “Neither was she.”
“Anyone who tries to harm you is my enemy.”
Before all this, that had been true. Now… he didn’t know.
What he was sure of: He couldn’t—wouldn’t—kill Geneva.
Osana had it right. Ferdinand had known it since the very first time he’d drawn his sword against her in the council room at the Itspi. And though Geneva’s action against Alasne supported her claim, he believed what he’d told the second Warlord as she’d been pressed to his sword tip. Alasne’s death would be a boon to Geneva. She would use it to gain traction and claim everything that had been Alasne’s for her own.
A good four or five yards away now, Ferdinand waited for Geneva’s expression to shift, sour, sharpen. It did, because of course, it did, but… the glare wasn’t aimed at him.
No, Geneva’s Warlord sneer was pointed over his shoulder, where a sustained rumble of thunder came from the east, Ferdinand was sure of it. A rare desert storm, a blessing from the stars to save a few souls angling toward the blasted firepit.
And when he was able to stabilize his defenses enough to search the horizon for what Geneva saw, he witnessed not a cloud in the sky, but upon the ground—dust kicked up, moving as fast and furious as a living thing. Beyond the russet swirl and puff, garnet red and blinging gold.
The protectors of the Sand and Sky. The Ardenian army in a massive forward surge.
CHAPTER 23
GENERALKoldo urged her horse to fly. Over the wind-whipped sand and scrub, over that final mile, toward the worst she had envisioned.
Bald chaos under the new dawn, fat tendrils of firepit flame reaching for the Torrentian sky just as stout and real as those upon the Hand.
The general did not need a single finger to count the number of times she’d disobeyed a direct order from her noble leader. If this was going to be the only time, she would go down fighting for the future of Ardenia with everything she had.
Save her queen.
Save her queen’s love.
Protect the innocents of Torrence.
From her vanguard position, Koldo raised a single gloved fist. A sign to her seconds. They knew the plan, its variants, and exactly what to do with the camp in sight.
Captain Xixi took her wing right.
Captain Julia took her wing left.
General Koldo stormed straight through.
Drawing on two decades of experience—of battles large and small, planned and improvised, as the instigator and the victim—Koldo scanned through the smoke and chaos, set her targets, checked their progress and positions.
Amarande in a formal gown, back to back with Luca, moving as they’d trained for years in their little meadow. Both clutched swords and pilfered shields. A lack of body armor was a problem, as was the fact that they were too close to a roaring firepit. Given the starburst pattern of innocents running away from the flames, Amarande and Luca had tried to clear Torrentians away from the man-eating inferno as an opening gambit. Defense of the people first, before offense in defeating the enemy. It was a strategy Sendoa favored.What was winning a battle if those worth protecting died before the battle’s last gasp?
Ten degrees to their right, Koldo spotted Ula and Urtzi. Good—acting as Amarande’s and Luca’s seconds, even if the royals didn’t know it, moving with their unpolished but effective strokes of brute strength and years of coiling anger.
Her queen and her love were as safe as they could be in a battle—for now.
Which meant the general’s first strike would be to end the person who threatened them the most.
