It was all the answer the Demon Lord would get tonight. But Stolas was left feeling slightly untethered.
Peace. The word ricocheted through his skull like a curse.
Peace.
Peace was dangerous. Treasonous. A death sentence. Peace meant no more battles. No more prisoners to trade to the Demon Lords. If they discovered his mother’s longing for an end to the Shadow War . . . if Odin suspected . . .
Or his favorite pet, Morgryth—
Snarling, Stolas took to the sky, unable to shake the heavy feeling of fate locking into place like a chain slowly, slowly sliding around his neck.
1
By the time the booming ring of the giant bells atop the guard towers reached Haven Ashwood, she was already out of bed and clad in her knee-high boots, wool-lined pants, and long-sleeved tunic. Demelza said nothing as she helped Haven outfit her weapons, which had been conveniently laid out last night on her bedside table.
Demelza’s rare silence was almost as unnerving as the peal of the bells. It was a macabre ritual, unfortunately. One that Haven prayed every night never came. So far, her prayers had gone mostly unanswered.
But tonight was the first night there were screams. Which meant the intruders had broken past the tower wards . . .
“Faster,” Haven hissed as Demelza plunged the final weapon—a short sword—into the leather sheath at her thigh.
Haven spun around to face Demelza. The woman’s tight curls haloed a face weary from nights such as this. The deep grooves marching across her craggy forehead and spiderwebbing the corners of her eyes were noticeably deeper, her thin lips bracketed by worried lines.
“Must you go out again?” her lady’s maid asked.
“I must. But you’ll be safe here.” Haven nodded to the shadows flickering outside the windows.
The Seraphian guards who protected this tower were under strict orders to keep Haven safe at all costs. And they wouldn’t know she had left until the attack was over.
“And you?” Demelza clucked her tongue. “Who will keep you safe?”
Haven winked, forcing her dry lips into a smile as she patted the iron pommel sticking from her waist sheath. “The Gods. Haven’t you heard? They kind of like me.”
Clucking louder, the poor woman just barely had time to slip a fur-lined cloak over Haven’s shoulders before she was heading for the door.
“Be careful,” Demelza called, and when Haven glanced over her shoulder and saw the worry inside the woman’s dark eyes, an ache opened inside her chest that left her momentarily dizzy.
“I’ll be fine, Demelza.” Haven turned before the woman could see the emotion welling in her eyes.
The moment they’d landed on the high-cliffed shores of this mist-shrouded island, the attacks started. Every mercenary and cutthroat assassin for hire from the Ruinlands to the Selkie Sea had taken up Archeron’s bounty on her head.
But it wasn’t just Haven. Archeron promised thousands of runestones for the death of each member of her entourage. Her people. The very souls in the rambling city below who needed her help right now.
Stolas had worked tirelessly to restore a few of the guard tower wards to functioning level, but that still left a large part of the shoreline unprotected.
Pulling her emerald-green cloak tightly around her body, Haven slid into the shadowy corridor—and startled to see two glowing pairs of lavender eyes appraising her.
Her sister-in-arms, Surai, shifted impatiently from foot to foot, ready for action.
She’d already dispatched the sentinels guarding Haven’s chamber, thank the Goddess. One less thing Haven had to worry about. It would have taken precious time to convince them to let her leave her room.
“Figured you would refuse to stay locked inside your gilded cage,” Surai purred.
“Bell’s going to be furious.” Haven grinned at that.
Bell was in charge of her protection—an irony that didn’t escape her. She was supposed to stay hidden inside her chamber during these attacks. Protected high in the night sky inside a nearly unscalable tower.
It’s as if he didn’t know her at all.
In the distance, another scream carried on the breeze. A shared fury passed between them. Haven’s lips bared in a tamped down snarl as they raced down the hallway on silent feet, serenaded by the clink of their weapons. Windows shaped like stars were carved into the onyx stone walls. Between each opening was a torch held between the fangs of an iron wolf’s head. A shimmering topaz blue, the flames flickered as Haven passed.
Haven took the winding stairwell five steps at a time, her boots hardly making a sound as she landed. Jumped. Landed.
Beside her, Surai had already shifted into her raven form.
At the bottom landing, the stairwell walls fell away to an open bridge that connected the tower to the main palace.
“Go!” Haven ordered, jerking her chin toward the dark expanse below. “Help Ember.”
Surai hesitated, swooping around Haven’s head in circles.
“I’ll find a way down,” Haven promised.
Satisfied, Surai cawed twice before diving into the swirling mist toward the western tower.
Normally, Stolas would have already found her and flown her to the fight, but the Seraphian Prince had taken a handful of his sentinels earlier in the evening to confront the armada outside Shadoria’s coastline. The blockade was a gift from Archeron, meant to starve their fledging kingdom. Not a hard feat when spies had already infiltrated the island’s porous defenses and destroyed the few rare strips of fertile land.
Bastard.
And the Seraphians were just as likely to force her back to her tower than take her to the battle. Every single member of Shadoria had sworn an oath to protect her, which didn’t always work in her favor.
A winged rune? No, the last one she tried had ended with her nearly plummeting to an ignominious death on the courtyard below. Every darkcaster resident here fed off her light magick, making certain spells unpredictable.
She was going to have to get down the old fashioned way. Haven narrowed her eyes, refocusing her frustration at the thin, rail-less bridge.
Runes, she hated bridges.
Castle Starpiercer had been built for the Seraphians. And winged creatures had very little need for railings or easy access to the ground. Which is why the castle was a series of interconnecting towers and structures that stretched to the clouds, an indomitable relic of the time Seraphians ruled the skies.
After the Shadow War and fall of Odin, when Morgryth and her kingdom had been sent back to the Netherworld and the first true King of the Nine claimed the palace, builders added stairs to many of the looming towers—but not all.
There was, however, a small servant’s portal she’d discovered, a remnant of when mortal slaves served here, that would take her to the main market in the city. From there, the coastline was a hard sprint away.
The only sound as she crossed the bridge and then leapt onto the closest ledge was the whipping of her cloak behind her. She leapt from balcony to balcony until the slender towers gave way to parapets and crumbling stone.
Dark shapes stirred the murky air as the Seraphian sentinels patrolled the sky, sifting through the clouds for the intruders.
So they were winged, this time.
Shadowlings? Morgryth’s Golemites? Gremwyrs? The list of possible enemy intruders was as vast as the city spread out below. A city full of innocent civilians who had followed her here with the blind faith that she could protect them.