Page 44 of An Empress of Earth & Darkness

“He’s what?” Breighly’s mouth fell open, her eyes clouding.

“And I am fighting the sickness in my stomach at the thought of it because this is all because of his affections for me.” Emara grabbed the damp material around her stomach and clutched hard, almost tearing the material. “It’s my fault.” She took another breath that didn’t quite reach her lungs. “I wanted him to fight for me, but not to the death. I thought we would have found another way.”

Artem ran a hand over his face. “Torin was never going to be diplomatic, Emara. It was a matter of time,” he said lowly, a huff of air coming from his chest. “It was a matter of time before this happened. It is not your fault. Torin Blacksteel wasn’t born into this world to be second-in-command to anyone.” Artem ran an inked hand over his head and cursed.

Emara turned to him, acknowledging that Artem knew Torin better than anyone. “I asked him to speak to the prime; I said that we could plead our case. All we need is a little more time.” Emara’s breath caught in her throat. “When I asked him to fight for us, I didn’t mean literally. I didn’t mean his father. This is all my fault—oh my Gods.” She found her legs betraying her, and she almost ended up on the ground.

Artem caught her. “Look at me,” he said in the way a commander would. “This isn’t just because of you. Yes, he is using your relationship as a catalyst for the event, but that’s not the only reason he wants to fight for commandership. He wants to fight for you, for him, his brothers, freedom, and for Naya.” Artem made sure Emara was listening by moving into her eyeline again. “Torin has been keeping notes on Viktir for a long time. He doesn’t agree with how some things have been handled. He doesn’t trust him.” His grip on Emara’s arms grew lighter, and her leg muscles locked in strong. “This has been coming since Torin was born. You don’t name your son after the God of War and not expect him to rise to the challenge.”

Emara let out a breath.

“But that doesn’t mean you should just challenge your commander. You of all people should know that,” Breighly pointed out, and Emara noted the concern in her eyes. She had grown up with the Blacksteels, she knew what it meant to challenge the commander.

“Oh, I know more ins and outs of commandership than you both can imagine. My father is the chief. There was no pissing about when it came to commandership in my home.” He looked back at Emara. “What I mean to say is when a good hunter sees something wrong in his clan, he has every right to voice his opinion. Call it out.”

“Voicing his opinion and challenging his commander are two different things,” Breighly batted back.

“And challenging your alpha isn’t the same?” He folded his arms over his chest in a way that indicated he knew he had the winning blow. “Are you not now shaping different paths for female wolves because you went against your alpha at one point?”

Breighly’s lips shut tight, the first time Emara had ever seen Breighly lose in an argument. It was kind of staggering.

She jumped in before it got hostile. “I fear that I have pushed him to this,” Emara announced, placing a hand on her forehead. “I just know what my heart wants, and it’s him.”

“Push Torin Blacksteel to do anything?” Artem let out a loud laugh. “There is no such thing. It’s a miracle of Thorin that the guy made it this long without challenging any of the commanders in rank. He has come close to it before, I know that for certain. And I think you forget that I spent years with him in the Selection; I have seen his hatred for obedience on a different scale. I have seen how much he has challenged the system before and how much they had to break him into who he is. Blacksteel is a natural-born leader. He may make a few mistakes from time to time, but he’s a man. That doesn’t make him unworthy.” He turned his gaze to Breighly, who was now looking at the embers in the fireplace. “What can you do when you are born to be at the front of the pack?”

Breighly glanced towards the inked warrior.

Artem stepped forward again and reached out for Emara’s hand. “If he was going to challenge Viktir on any of the stupid calls he has made before, why shouldn’t it be the one that means most? Why wouldn’t it be the one thing that actually means something to him? Why shouldn’t he fight for this?”

Emara looked up into the golden gaze of the guard she now called a friend. “I am so terrified for him.”

Artem rolled his lips before he said, “Don’t be. Torin Blacksteel doesn’t lose.”

Emara couldn’t help it when she wrapped her arms around her guard’s neck. “Who knew you could be the voice of reason?”

Artem let out a snigger. “I have many talents, witchy. Just call me Artem of all trades. Man of the Gods. Voice of the people.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Emara pulled back, and Artem offered her a boyish grin.

Artem looked to Breighly and then back to Emara as he crossed his arms over his huge chest. “We’ve got you, Empress of Unfortunate Luck. Now go and get your battle paint on. We have a summit to attend.”

Something was wrong; Gideon could feel it in the air.

Just a few moments ago, he had taken a seat beside Sybil, who seemed to be the only one acting normally, as she sat making a chain out of daisies. She had already looped a few through braids in her hair, but apparently this one was for her wrist.

Artem Stryker was unusually quiet, his head down and his hands clasped together. Emara looked ghostly pale and not her usually primed self. Gideon noticed that she was holding Sybil’s arm like she was in some sort of pain, squeezing it. He had tried to smile at her, like he always did, but she had rejected his gesture. Her wonderful eyes alert and sharp as she stared at a blank space on the floor.

Breighly Baxgroll sat behind her. Her leg jumped nervously, like she had received bad news or was fighting sick trailing from her stomach up her throat. If she hadn’t passed the tests with Aerrick, then she wouldn’t be sitting here, so it wasn’t that.

And then there was Torin, who was not dramatically late like he always was. He sat beside the wolf, behind Emara, geared up in fighting attire instead of his uniform.

And as Gideon looked back at his brother, he could see in the plains of his face that something was well and truly off. There was no exaggerated hunter mask or cocky smirk. Something tortured his eyes, and his hands looked a little shaky.

Gideon couldn’t help but feel like he’d missed something over the last twenty-four hours, and he needed to get to the bottom of it. Torin Blacksteel was never shaky.

He looked around to find his father and Marcus, who all seemed to be making normal conversation and speaking with the elder hunters around them. Naya was reading a book, The Herb of Helmsbrook, and she seemed to be passing time before the meeting began. Kellen was trying to smooth out his hair, and Arlo was talking to a witch in the earth coven.

Normal.

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