The Aegis ground commander from before was yelling out commands beneath him. The rebel archers surrounded them, shooting iron-tipped arrows in relentless waves. Daimon waited for the Aegis to retreat, preparing to dive in.
But before Daimon could get to the next cannon, the Aegis general charged.
His swings were quick—confident. Three more Aegis closed in from the other side, taking several of the archers down and distracting the others.
It was enough to buy Zephyr time to yank the weapon off the ground, joining Brielle and Aster in the sky as they raced to the sea, tossing the final of the cursed cannons into the heart of the Andronicus.
Just as the cannons sank below the water, Keir and Willow came into view in front of them, sweeping across the last of the rebels, who had quickly turned their backs in retreat, sprintingtoward the Zenovia Mountains. Willow was bleeding profusely from her shoulder, and Keir’s wyvern had one of his legs tucked into his body.
It was over—for now. The traitors were defeated, but it took far longer than Daimon would’ve liked.
He brought Zephyr to the ground, slipped off, and jogged toward the Aegis commander. He could already feel the dampening on his magic lifting. But he was one of the fortunate ones. For some of the others with weaker Essence, it would take days, sometimes a week, for the magic to return.
The Aegis commander stood straight, his eyes blazing. “We had no chance against the cannons. If your flight hadn’t been here, who knows how this would’ve ended.”
Daimon looked at the scattered bodies of their enemy, and they looked so…normal. He knew he’d have the gruesome task of searching their remains, looking for any helpful information.
The Aegis’s gaze dropped to the bodies too. Waves lapped at their feet, causing their boots to sink into the sand. Further along the beach, somewhere, was Jarrett’s body—soon to be swept away. The Aegis frowned, his face splattered with blood, covering the scar that stretched from eye to jaw. “He was a brave healer to go out into battle.”
Daimon nodded tightly. “He was a good man.” He had become so hardened to tragedy that such deaths no longer moved him. A brave healer wasn’t what they needed—bravery wasn’t worth anything against forces as dark as Moros’s. They needed order against their chaos.
“Cyprian,” the Aegis said, sticking his hand out and breaking the mounting tension. “It was an honor to fight with you, Rider.”
Daimon clasped his arm. “Daimon,” he replied. “Commander of the aerial legion.”
Cyprian smiled, the scar stretching across his face. “I know.” His eyes flicked to where Zephyr stood behind Daimon, but it wasn’t fear in his gaze. It was awe.
The whirring in Daimon’s ears finally stopped, his pulse quieting enough to hear the cries of pain from the wounded.
The pair walked down the beach, joining the aerial fleet and other ground soldiers. They searched the bodies. Though he found nothing new, Daimon couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the start of something. They were too close to losing today, much closer than he was comfortable with.
The fae rules of war protected healers from the heat of battle, but the human rebels didn’t honor the same code. He saw that today with Jarrett.
The closer the rebels pushed past the border, the closer they made it to the palace. And Daimon was trying—but failing—not to think about Evelina being in their crossfire.
It left him feeling hollow after a fight, like each step forward was three steps back.
He watched as the ground soldiers pulled the remains of those who had been killed by the cannons from the wreckage in the water, their faces unrecognizable. After all this time, it was still hard to say the end of a battle was a win. The loss was always there.
The rebels were different this time, stronger—it would’ve been a lot of effort to curse the number of cannons they had brought. Their aura was sickeningly dark.
When a life was ended, their souls passed into Caelum. But where didthesedemons go? Daimon could only hope they were sent back to the pits of darkness from which they had crawled out. If it was by his hand, even better.
Four
Evelina
Evelina wasn’ta stranger to heartache. War had made her more accustomed to death and pain than most fae her age were used to dealing with. The Valon Empire wasn’t perfect, but it was a place of wonder and peace—until the rebels decided to taint the land with their chaos and destruction.
Gloriana burst into the infirmary, nearly causing Evelina to drop the two tonic jars in her hands. “The rebels attacked the grove.”
Breathless and frantic, she started stuffing herbs and tonics into a leather crossbody bag. Evelina quickly reshelved the jars and joined her in packing. Her heart was racing as they slung their bags over their shoulders.
Lorene hurried into the room next, his chest rapidly expanding. He pushed his light brown hair out of his eyes and said, “We don’t have time to wait on the other healers. We need to go now.”
Gloriana nodded, briefly glancing at Evelina.
“I’m going,” Evelina said before Gloriana could say otherwise. Just because she was a princess didn’t mean she was going to stay behind. “You could use the extra hands; we don’t know what we’re walking into.”
