When he opened them again, his wounds were cleaned and dressed. He sent a slave to fetch him fresh clothes and then ordered her to help him change. When he stood, she offered him a crutch, but he waved it away.

  “I have wings.” Of course, he couldn’t spread them inside the busy tent, so he hopped ungracefully on his good leg outside. Thankfully, it only took a few flaps of his exhausted wings to get him to the door of the command tent. By the time he entered, his fresh clothes were soaking wet. Water beaded off his feathers when he shook them dry.

  At the head seat, Chief Laconius received treatment for the weeping chest wound he’d torn open during battle. Captain Mina sat at his right. Thirro deserved a seat with the dozen unit commanders on the right, but since he still didn’t have the title, he took his seat on the left with the other soldiers brought here to report. He couldn’t sit properly with the arrow wound in his butt. He slid to the side of his stool, letting his injured cheek hang off. He hated humans. They would pay for this.

  “Report,” Laconius said to Captain Mina.

  “Numbers are still rough. The storm has affected our eyes on the field. We estimate five hundred and twenty Draco dead and close to thirty-five hundred human dead.”

  “The Lion?”

  “We do not have a confirmed kill, and Thirro’s kidnapping attempts were unsuccessful.”

  Thirro bit his tongue, hating that Mina had said his name. He had failed in his mission.

  The disappointed flick of Laconius’s gaze on him was a punch to the throat. “And the traitor?”

  Captain Mina shifted uncomfortably. “It’s believed he still lives.”

  Laconius’s horns trembled. “Queen Mavras deserves better of her army. We bring dishonor and shame.” Spit gleamed on his lips. “Who gave the center strike call?” The fuming chief’s black gaze scanned the room. “Who gave the call?” The slave at his side flinched. A dozen callers stood in a line against the wall of the tent. Laconius pinned them with a glare. “Well?”

  After another ten heartbeats, a frog Draco spoke in a croaking voice, “I echoed the call after hearing the master tone, chief. As directed.” The boy’s hands shook on his pipes.

  The remaining callers nodded their agreement.

  “And the retreat call?” Laconius asked. “Who started that?”

  Silence.

  “So,” Laconius said. “No one knows who gave the center strike attack, and no one knows who gave the retreat call?” The chief’s voice hardened into an ice pick. “And yet, they cost us—Mavras—her swift victory.” He scanned the room. “Someone tell me how!”

  Thirro flinched as Laconius’s gaze passed over him. Cold blew in from the open door as Jade sauntered in. Thirro ground his teeth at the bounce in her uninjured step.

  “I can tell you.” She threw a set of call pipes down on the table in front of Laconius. They were green, though, instead of brown. “The humans started the calls. I took this set of fake pipes off a girl after I killed her.” She said that last part with a smile.

  A horrible silence stretched over long moments.

  “Well done, Jade,” Laconius finally said, his voice barely containing his rage. “Such promise for one so young. Join us. Captain Mina will assign you a unit to command.”

  Thirro bit on his tongue so hard he tasted blood. That was supposed to be his promotion. If that stupid slave hadn’t gotten in the way, he would have been the one to bring Titus in. He would have received his just reward. Instead, Jade was a unit commander instead of him. He seethed, his teeth complaining at the tension in his jaw.

  Jade bowed deeply. “An honor, chief, thank you.”

  Laconius’s focus returned to the pipes on the table. His fist came down, splintering the reeds and startling them all.

  Nineteen - Helpless

  FERTH

  Relief warmed Ferth when he entered the medical unit. Shale was alive. She sat in a chair cradling a bundle. Rain drummed on the roof.

  She looked up, and Ferth’s step faltered. Red rimmed her sparkling green irises. Tears streaked her filthy face.

  “Shale.” He rushed to her side and dropped to his knees.

  Did she flinch when he said her name? He pulled back, giving her space.

  Xandra lay inert in Shale’s lap. The hawk’s wings hung limp, and her tiny head rested on her feathered breast.

  “What happened?” Ferth hated his helplessness. Dozens of his unit lay in the dirt with empty gazes.

  “Thirro came after Titus.” Shale’s voice was a rasp. “He knocked Xandra out. I keep expecting her to wake up.” The words came out warbled. “It’s been hours.”

  Uriah appeared in the door, his eyes snapping to Shale. With a voice full of relief, he whispered the name, “Suza.”

  Who?

  Shale’s eyes flicked to Ferth, but he couldn’t read the expression there. She turned back to Uriah, her own joy at seeing the soldier evident on her face.

  Ferth took another step back.

  Uriah swept forward. He grabbed Shale’s hand and leaned down to kiss her brow.

  That’s not where Ferth would have kissed her if she were his. Especially not after today’s dance with death.

  “Well fought, Ferth,” Uriah said, turning.

  Ferth’s eyes widened at the unexpected compliment. “You as well.” He rubbed blood-stained hands together, failing to clean them. “And thank you.” His thoughts flashed back to Uriah beheading the hyena that was about to deliver a fatal blow.

  Uriah gave a short nod. He motioned Shale to stand. “I have someone to help Xandra.” With an arm securely around Shale’s shoulders, he led her away. Her head tilted to rest against him as they retreated.

  Ferth let out a hard sigh. “There’s a line for healers,” he said to Rom. “I can sew that ear, or we can wait.”

  Lyko licked furiously at Rom’s wound, pausing only to take a turn cleaning his brother’s face and then back to the wound. Lyko’s own fur hung dirty and neglected.

  Ferth’s chest pinched, right above his heart, grateful they had Lyko, but mindful of the cost. If only Cal were here. If only Cal were here.

  “I’d rather you do it,” Rom said.

  “You’d probably scare the healer into poking your eye out,” Lyko said.

  Ferth helped himself to a needle and thread.

  Dara had sliced half of Rom’s right ear off, leaving an uneven triangle of skin to be repaired.

  After cleaning the wound, Ferth braced Rom’s narrow head on his thigh. Rom held still as stone, but a mist of pain crossed the threshold of their connection and into Ferth’s thoughts as he stitched his wolf. Pride filled Ferth’s chest and oozed back across the link. Rom closed his eyes and settled more comfortably against his master’s lap.

  When Ferth finished, exhaustion clouded his vision. When had he last slept? Before he’d sparred with Uriah at the training grounds? A lifetime ago. Ferth staggered to his feet and padded out into the rain with his wolves.

  “Food or sleep?”

  “Both,” Lyko said.

  “Sleep.” Rom’s head drooped below his shoulders.

  “Go,” Ferth ordered. “I’ll bring food.”

  They looked as if they might protest, but then Lyko turned, leading Rom to their tent.

  Ferth stepped up to the door of the dining hall.

  “Whoa there, soldier.” The pot-bellied man at the door held up a hand. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m here for food.” Ferth looked around in confusion.

  “Not with Draco blood on your shirt.” The man looked him up and down.

  Ferth had battle juice from his brown hair to his black boots. His stained sword hung limp in his hand. He hadn’t had time to clean it so he hadn’t put it back in its sheath. “Why not?”

  The man snorted in disbelief. “Where did you grow up, lad? Skotar?”

  Ferth’s eyes narrowed.

  The man stopped laughing mid-burst. “I’ll have someone bring you a plate. By the look of you, it’s the least I can do. What’s your tent?”

  His tone was flat when he said, “I live in H3. I’ll want meat for my wolves.”

  The man’s face blanched, and his mouth fell in an “O” shape as he realized exactly whom he addressed.

  Ferth whirled on a heel, a satisfied grin on his face.

  The walk in the rain revived him somewhat, and he realized he might not be ready to receive the dreams that would repaint Keal’s death and the abominations of this day.

  He climbed up a watchtower and looked over the river, now swelling and frothing. He cleaned his sword as he watched the dead and wounded being carried toward camp. The clouds wept, washing away the horrors of the killing field. Ferth tilted his face to the sky.

  Wash away my crimes.

  When the dangerous cold of wet exhaustion started tightening its grip, Ferth climbed down. He stopped at Captain Titus’s tent. A hearty fire burned in the center of the large room. The smoke drifted up and out a hanging vent. He hesitated on the threshold, feeling like he’d interrupted a party he wasn’t invited to. They were all here without him. Pelussa and Shale sat hunched in the corner with Xandra. Uriah hovered over them. Eio, Opal, and a few other hewans tore at chunks of meat off to another side. Zemira conversed with several soldiers near the fire. Imanna and her dog sat near the bed, the only ones clean and dry, except for the irritated-looking soldier assigned as the veiled woman’s guard standing behind her. Raja Darius slumped in a chair, his battle armor dented and filthy. The man had fought despite his exhausted arrival here moments before the battle. Impressive. Captain Titus lay on the bed, a healer tending to his leg. He opened his eyes and lifted his head.

  “Ferth.” Titus’s voice rang through the tent. “You’re here. Thank the stars. Are you well?”

  Ferth inhaled the warm welcome. Even his father had never seemed that grateful to see him.

  Titus scanned him with a critical eye. “How is Rom’s ear?”

  “We are alive. Rom’s ear will heal. Your leg?”

  “It’s fine.”

  The healer looked up sharply. “It’s broken. He won’t be getting up for a week and then we’ll see how he does with crutches.”

  Titus ignored the comment. “Full battle reports are still forthcoming.” The chatter died as the tent focused on the captain’s words. “But we already know it was a massacre. The calls and the rain saved us.” He let out a heartbroken sigh. “Let us hope the rain continues until more troops arrive. Between the river’s sudden strength and Pelussa’s work we should have a bit of time before the next attack.”

  Pelussa’s work?

  Several heads, Ferth’s included, jerked toward the woman.

  As if on cue, the hawk shuddered to life in Pelussa’s hands.

  Shale cried out in joyful relief as her hawk flopped into her open arms.

  Pelussa dusted off her shirt and pants as if she could see the feathers that dotted them. “Ipsum and I have been busy these last few weeks.” The raven cawed in agreement. “While you all banged your swords together, we’ve been flying messages to a brave human in the Draco camp who knows the power of bacaroot and had been gathering it in secret.” A twisted grin split the woman’s face, revealing a missing tooth beneath her milky eyes. “When Ipsum took her my store of the poison, she had enough to make the entire Draco camp quite sick.”

  Ferth stepped back in surprise. This could buy them much needed time, but that brave slave was doomed.

  “Well done, Pelussa,” Titus said.

  “Who?” Shale’s voice came out high and pitched. “Who was it?” Fear brightened her eyes as she looked at Pelussa.

  Pelussa curled in on herself. “I didn’t get her name, to protect her.”

  Shale shook her head and dropped her face in her hand.

  “You cannot protect her,” Ferth whispered.

  The tent went quiet as a tomb.

  “Pearl.” The name pinched out of Shale. Uriah put his hand on her back as she hunched over and let out a sob that echoed through Ferth’s hollow chest.

  Pearl. Her face came to mind: sad eyes, pale hair, willowy frame. She’d cut his hair and treated him with kindness. He’d protected her when he could, but he should have done more. He remembered seeing her in that clearing with Kenji, finding love despite the cruelty around her. Ferth’s heart cracked, and he swallowed back nausea. The Dracos would find out who’d poisoned them.

  And Pearl would die.

  Titus’s face cinched in pain as a woman adjusted the braces on his leg. “I think it’s time we all get some rest. Sleep. Eat. Report here tomorrow after breakfast. We’ll send a delegation to Mitera tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Father,” Imanna said. “Let me tend to the wounded. I won’t leave the healers’ hall. I can help.”

  “Tomark?”

  The soldier straightened. “Yes, sir.”

  “Guard her well. She doesn’t leave your sight.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Imanna stood, her veil rippling.

  “Don’t uncover your face,” Titus said.

  “I know, Father.” Her voice was annoyed. She paused at Ferth’s side. “Glad you made it.” She swished past and was out the door before anyone had moved.

  Ferth felt Shale’s eyes. Her gaze held him with questions. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that she wished him to stay, to come to her. He wanted to hold her, cry together for Pearl and for Cal and for Keal and for all the rest. He wanted her to comfort his loneliness and kiss away his regret. He wanted to promise her a brighter future.

  Uriah’s hand remained on Shale’s shoulder. Zemira joined them, blocking his view. Ferth slipped out into the rain. His wolves didn’t stir when he entered. He shoveled down bread and chicken, stripped naked, washed his hands and face, and climbed under the blankets.

  Twenty - Ill

  THIRRO

  Thirro groaned when Dara came into their tent. She looked as bad as he felt. “I’m not in the mood.” His laughter sounded like rocks scraping a grate. His skin burned and snakes swam in his guts.

  She sneered. “Shut up.”

  She fell on his bed next to him, knocking him into another round of pain. If he had more energy, he would have retaliated. As it was, he didn’t move.

  “What’s wrong with your own bed?”

  “Mine’s next to Keal’s, and I can’t stand to see his empty.”

  Thirro didn’t have an answer for that except to put an arrow through Ferth’s filthy heart.

  “He killed him. Keal loved Ferth, and that traitorous swine killed him without a thought.” Dara let out a bark of joyless laughter. “And to think, I’d actually felt bad for Ferth. Not anymore. He killed his own unit.”

  “Not his unit anymore.” Unfortunately, Jade was his unit commander now. She was worse than Ferth.

  “No. We’re not.” She growled. “And we take care of our own.”

  Thirro smiled at the promise of death on her words. It stirred desire in his belly, despite the fevers.

  A slave slipped into the tent.

  How was he not ill? The Dracos could barely move and the slaves seemed perkier. Humans were the ones prone to disease. Dracos never got sick.

  “Chief Laconius invites you to his tent for breakfast tomorrow,” the slave said.

  Such a polite, chipper slave.

  “Can I get you something to eat? More mead?”

  “Get out.”

  With a breath, the slave was gone.

  Thirro ignored the burning in his guts as he rolled on his side, curling against Dara’s warm body. “We’ll end him, slow and painful,” he said in a husky whisper.

  Twenty-one - Outsider

  FERTH

  The scene in Titus’s tent at breakfast was an improvement from the night before. The grief and shock of survival still hung heavy in the air, but with clean faces and bloodless clothes, a ray of hope pierced the gloom. The blessed rain continued to fall in protective sheets. The Draco Sang remained north of the border, repelled. For now.

  Again, Ferth felt late to the party. The Elysium leaders and Draco-blooded soldiers sat in a large circle, conversation buzzing in the air. Being in Titus’s tent instead of at command lent a friendlier tone to the gathering.

  The collapsible leather stools on either side of Imanna were vacant. Between the veiled face, Titus’s deference, and the large soldier standing bodyguard at her back, she had a moat of space around her. Ferth had noticed the empty seat by Shale the moment he’d arrived, but he slipped to Imanna’s side, his wolves following.

  “Good morning, your highness.”

  She jerked in her seat with a sudden intake of breath. Her gloved hand flew up to her veil.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “It was meant as a joke. You sitting here alone, with your guard.”

  “Of course.” She let out a false laugh. “Good morning, soldier.”

  He held out a hand to try out the human greeting. “Ferth.”

  Her grip was surprisingly strong for a hand so small. “Titus has told me about you.” He noted that she’d called Titus by his name, not father. “I look forward to knowing more about a Draco Sang captain who overcame his beast after an almost complete transformation. Very impressive.”

  Ferth stumbled over his surprise, failing to think of something to say. Unbidden and unwelcome heat rushed to his checks. His fingers twitched to rip away her covering, see the face that matched the strong sweet voice. See whom it was that Titus confided in. Instead, Ferth stared at the rippling black veil like a blushing idiot.

  Rom stuck his nose up.

  “This is Rom,” Ferth said. “And this is Lyko.” The wolves looked at her and Kira placidly. At least they weren’t trying to be extra intimidating this morning.

  “Two hewans. It must be incredible.”

  “Lyko is—”

  “Callidon’s. Yes. I heard. Fascinating how your twin’s bond connected with you.”

  Ferth didn’t like all his secrets handed out to strangers like holiday treats. “I see you already know all there is to know about me.”

 

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