Nosficio replied with a fanged grin.
“Fine, I’ll lead the middle—” Avilyard began.
“No, I need you commanding the right side,” said Ruenen, fighting back the tremors that inhabited him, all the way to the tips of his fingers. He wouldn’t let them see his fear. “I’ll lead the main offensive, with Commander Filitto.”
“Your Highness—” multiple commanders said at once.
“Rayghast wants me. It must be me who meets him on the field in the center of everything. Might as well make myself easy to find,” Ruenen said.
“And who will lead the left—”
“I will,” Marai stated in a voice so clear and strong, Ruenen felt she’d been born for this moment. Laimoen’s creature, she’d once called herself. The God of Death, Destruction, and War. If Lirr had indeed sculpted Marai from her partner’s darkness, Ruenen knew she would lead, and never accept defeat.
“Trust her,” said Nosficio with a devious leer around the tent, “she is Queen of the Fae, after all.”
It was as if Nosficio had unleashed a giant slap across the tent, cracking across the faces of each commander and all the werewolves. The fae didn’t appear surprised, although Leif scowled, less than pleased. Marai, however, sent a vicious, blazing glare at the vampire, who ignored it by sweeping his dreadlocks over his shoulder. The air pulsed once with a power Ruenen knew belonged to Marai. If she had looked daggers at him in that way, Ruenen would’ve cowered. Any other human would’ve pissed themselves.
Questions sizzled on Ruenen’s tongue. So many questions. But the revelation had to wait.
I don’t have time to unpack that statement.
“I trust you to hold the left flank alone,” Ruenen said. Scorching eyes softened, and Marai nodded once. “You and your unit are dismissed.”
Marai signaled with a jerk of her head to the magical folk, and they all exited the tent. Nosficio glided out after them, not at all like someone marching off to war.
The commanders slumped, loosening the tension they’d been holding at the presence of magical folk.
“Let’s continue,” Avilyard said, placing his hands on the map.
Ruenen’s feet moved before his mind had made the choice. “Excuse me for one moment, Gentlemen. Continue without me.”
He brushed aside the tent flap and found the fae, werewolves, and Nosficio huddled away from the soldiers. Raife pointed, stone-faced, assigning tasks to each of them. As Ruenen approached, Raife stopped.
“I want to know what your plan is.”
“We don’t use any magic until Keshel’s shields go down,” Raife explained. “Until then, we shall use our physical weapons. Leif, Aresti, and I will then deplete our magic reservoirs. Thora will remain in the rear to offer medical assistance.”
Thora bit her lower lip; red bloomed, but she didn’t notice. Her lips were already chapped and bruised.
That left Marai and Kadiatu, who stared at each other from across the huddle. Kadiatu, usually brimming with life, radiating joy, had her face set in steely determination.
“Do you think you can combat his magic through the earth?” Marai asked her.
Kadiatu’s lips pursed.
“What do you mean?” asked Ruenen. “Like . . . through a tunnel?”
“Kadi’s been returning balance, taking back what Rayghast stole from Nevandia,” Marai said. “She’s already been battling him through the earth for days.”
Ruenen’s eyebrows nearly shot off his face. “You can do that? Reverse the effects of his magic?”
Kadiatu swallowed. “He makes the ground heave and fluctuate, like an earthquake. It cracks, and I mend it.”
“But can you fight him?” Marai pressed, stepping closer. Kadiatu was taller than Marai by a head—Marai had to tilt her chin up—but she stood like a seasoned general commanding her soldiers.
“For a short while.”
“Your main task is to distract him, provoke him. Force him to deplete his well,” Raife said, putting a hand on Kadiatu’s shoulder.
“Rayghast uses dark magic,” Marai explained to the werewolves. “His well doesn’t empty the way ours does. Dark magic will continue to replenish him.”
“Won’t Keshel’s shields prevent him from using magic until they’re down?” Aresti asked.
“My shields only work above ground. I’ve no way to stop him underneath,” said Keshel, brow furrowed. It was the first time Ruenen had seen his impassive mask crack. “That will be up to Kadi.”
Kadiatu squared her shoulders, but her eyes betrayed the fear inside. Anguish bolted through Ruenen. This girl was not meant for gore and death. She wasn’t supposed to battle anyone. The usual glowing radiance of her skin had dimmed, the light gone from her heart. Ruenen had taken that from her this day.
“That leaves you, Marai,” Keshel said, his dark eyes landing on Marai’s face. “You save your magic for the end.”
“Why? She’s the most powerful of us. Let her go first,” Leif said. It wasn’t spoken with his usual tone of contempt.
“I don’t have the power to defeat two armies. I’ve never tested my magic against a force so large. Whittle down the numbers for me, and then I’ll finish it,” said Marai, “and hopefully stall long enough for Greltan forces to arrive.”
Ruenen didn’t like the dark glint in Marai’s eyes. Bells pealed in his head in wariness and warning. Marai was the last resort. Once she unleashed her power, Ruenen knew she wouldn’t stop. Gods, she might even call upon the dark magic, herself, if she had to. Ruenen felt it right down to the marrow in his bones: she’d give all of herself and more. But if they reduced the numbers, broke the ranks of the Tacorn and Varanese lines before she reached into her well of power, then she wouldn’t have to go so far.
Maybe she could give enough.
The tent emptied sometime in the evening. Ruenen was left alone to stare at his untouched dinner plate and wine goblet. Then to toss and turn in his lavish cot. There would be no rest for him tonight. Not with the battle looming, racing through his consciousness on horseback. Rayghast’s dark, murderous, miasmic rage crept across the moor, worming its way through the encampment, seeping in through the seams of the canvas tent.
