shackle in his hands. Darsal suddenly felt silly.
Marak was . . . releasing her?
He straightened and set her foot on the ground.
And then she was alone.
Marak’s voice bellowed across the clearing at his men. A few horses whinnied. The breeze sent a chill through her, despite the warm sun.
Her feet felt so light after wearing the heavy chain. Now . . . now all was weightless and surreal. Even the ground beneath her barely seemed to touch her. Dare she think she had Marak’s heart?
Dare she think she could keep it?
Tree branches swayed gently, leaves rustling. Instinctively she looked up, hoping for a flicker of white wings.
“What will you do?”
Darsal swung around, dropped to a crouch.
Gabil was in front of her. “You could leave, you know. He would understand.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” That idea stung her. It wasn’t part of her mission. Elyon’s mission.
“Yes, you do.”
Darsal straightened her shoulders. “I can’t leave without Johnis and Silvie. Without Marak.”
“They’ve chosen their paths.”
“They’re in pain.”
“Yes. They are. They are deceived.”
“You would have me leave them like this?” She didn’t believe what she was hearing. Gabil wanted her to scrap the mission?
“You cannot save them all, Darsal.”
Indignation filled her. The Horde was as worth saving as the Circle, and save them she would. Or die trying.
“I only want to save three. Why do you want me to run to safety? If I leave, I condemn them. I condemn the Circle.”
“That is true.”
Darsal didn’t answer. Gabil isn’t telling me to leave them. He’s showing me why I have to stay.
“Love him for Elyon, Darsal. For Johnis.”
She balked. The hair on the back of her neck rose. It was a thread of hope, but it hinged on her ability to love a Scab general.
And on his returning that love.
“Darsal!” Marak’s voice bellowed from the clearing, through the grove of trees. They were ready to leave.
Gabil flapped off.
“Darsal?” Marak came through the trees, sighted her. Stopped.
She raised her chin. Stood in front of him just as she had that day in the dungeon. Looking at him, the fight left her. In its place was deep sorrow and love.
“I’m here.”
Marak looked at her gravely with an expression she’d never seen. And she knew: he’d expected her to leave.
For a moment they stared at each other. And then it was over.
Marak turned back into the stoic warrior and started back for the others. “It’s time to leave.”
NIGHT FELL OVER THE EXPEDITION PARTY. SERVANTS CARRYING long torches surrounded their masters, creating a ring of fire against the starlit night. The desert cooled with the rising moon. Johnis rode ahead, Sucrow and Marak behind and to either side of him. Out on the wings, two commanders. He’d noticed some strange activity between Cassak and Sucrow but thought little of it. Cassak was a mediating figure—it was likely all usual. Marak either didn’t notice or wasn’t disturbed by his captain’s movements.
Behind them all, servants . . . followed by the Throaters. They cut south through the canyons, past Natalga Gap, and into the endless sand.
Silvie should be riding next to him, not held captive by an evil priest and caged at the tail of the procession. He had to think of a way to free Silvie. He had to . . .
The siren song swelled, overpowered his vision so he could no longer think of Silvie. Johnis felt his senses sharpen and his focus narrow. He could think only of the mission.
Shaeda.
You are beautiful, he thought. Tell me more. You are a queen, with a mate, yet the Leedhan were not born until after the Desecration.
She gave a low, seductive laugh. “You are correct, my fair one, I am the eldest of our kind, at eighteen. Does such please you, that one so young might wield such power?”
He didn’t have time to answer.
“I see nothing,” Sucrow growled. He clutched his staff. A strange, heady sensation fell over them.
The moon rose high
Marak was . . . releasing her?
He straightened and set her foot on the ground.
And then she was alone.
Marak’s voice bellowed across the clearing at his men. A few horses whinnied. The breeze sent a chill through her, despite the warm sun.
Her feet felt so light after wearing the heavy chain. Now . . . now all was weightless and surreal. Even the ground beneath her barely seemed to touch her. Dare she think she had Marak’s heart?
Dare she think she could keep it?
Tree branches swayed gently, leaves rustling. Instinctively she looked up, hoping for a flicker of white wings.
“What will you do?”
Darsal swung around, dropped to a crouch.
Gabil was in front of her. “You could leave, you know. He would understand.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” That idea stung her. It wasn’t part of her mission. Elyon’s mission.
“Yes, you do.”
Darsal straightened her shoulders. “I can’t leave without Johnis and Silvie. Without Marak.”
“They’ve chosen their paths.”
“They’re in pain.”
“Yes. They are. They are deceived.”
“You would have me leave them like this?” She didn’t believe what she was hearing. Gabil wanted her to scrap the mission?
“You cannot save them all, Darsal.”
Indignation filled her. The Horde was as worth saving as the Circle, and save them she would. Or die trying.
“I only want to save three. Why do you want me to run to safety? If I leave, I condemn them. I condemn the Circle.”
“That is true.”
Darsal didn’t answer. Gabil isn’t telling me to leave them. He’s showing me why I have to stay.
“Love him for Elyon, Darsal. For Johnis.”
She balked. The hair on the back of her neck rose. It was a thread of hope, but it hinged on her ability to love a Scab general.
And on his returning that love.
“Darsal!” Marak’s voice bellowed from the clearing, through the grove of trees. They were ready to leave.
Gabil flapped off.
“Darsal?” Marak came through the trees, sighted her. Stopped.
She raised her chin. Stood in front of him just as she had that day in the dungeon. Looking at him, the fight left her. In its place was deep sorrow and love.
“I’m here.”
Marak looked at her gravely with an expression she’d never seen. And she knew: he’d expected her to leave.
For a moment they stared at each other. And then it was over.
Marak turned back into the stoic warrior and started back for the others. “It’s time to leave.”
NIGHT FELL OVER THE EXPEDITION PARTY. SERVANTS CARRYING long torches surrounded their masters, creating a ring of fire against the starlit night. The desert cooled with the rising moon. Johnis rode ahead, Sucrow and Marak behind and to either side of him. Out on the wings, two commanders. He’d noticed some strange activity between Cassak and Sucrow but thought little of it. Cassak was a mediating figure—it was likely all usual. Marak either didn’t notice or wasn’t disturbed by his captain’s movements.
Behind them all, servants . . . followed by the Throaters. They cut south through the canyons, past Natalga Gap, and into the endless sand.
Silvie should be riding next to him, not held captive by an evil priest and caged at the tail of the procession. He had to think of a way to free Silvie. He had to . . .
The siren song swelled, overpowered his vision so he could no longer think of Silvie. Johnis felt his senses sharpen and his focus narrow. He could think only of the mission.
Shaeda.
You are beautiful, he thought. Tell me more. You are a queen, with a mate, yet the Leedhan were not born until after the Desecration.
She gave a low, seductive laugh. “You are correct, my fair one, I am the eldest of our kind, at eighteen. Does such please you, that one so young might wield such power?”
He didn’t have time to answer.
“I see nothing,” Sucrow growled. He clutched his staff. A strange, heady sensation fell over them.
The moon rose high
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