Page 216 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

We both must be thinking the same thing. “The escort south from the rift to Cirilea, that truly was not you?” I ask gently.

“You mean, the nights you played draughts with the princess?” Her eyebrow arches in meaning. “No. I mean, it was this body.” She gestures at herself, drawing my attention downward over her curves, adorned with finery fit for a queen. I remember what it felt like beneath me. “But it wasn’t me. I’m not from around here. Maybe I’ll explain it to you one day.”

“I look forward to the enlightening tale.”

“Who says you deserve it? And for the record, you’re an asshole for what you did to your brother.”

“I do not disagree.” My gaze drifts to Zander’s back. “On many fronts.”

She follows my focus. “You’ve seen what’s coming. Do you think we stand a chance?”

“With all of Mordain and these dragons and a key caster behind us?” My chest tightens. “I do not know.”

She bites her lip, as if holding back her next words while she decides whether to say them. With a flittering search around us to see who is close, she admits, “We’re thinking of summoning the fates for help.”

My eyebrows pop. “Who is?”

“Zander and I.” Fear shines in her eyes. “We need to close the Nulling and we’re out of options.”

My attention falls to my brother again, strolling through the camp like the leader he naturally is. Zander despises the fates. He would likely be happy to follow the way of Udrel instead. So if he is considering this … it means he does not think we have any hope of winning otherwise, which is a scary reality. No wonder he’s been so quick to welcome me back, though with tepid arms. He’s desperate.

Romeria waits quietly, and I get the distinct feeling she’s looking for my opinion. “In war, I would use every weapon at my disposal. The fates are weapons.”

“But what about the consequences?”

“There are consequences to every choice. The blood curse was a consequence of a selfish request, and yet we have survived for two thousand years with it. We can live with consequences. Can we live with the alternative?”

“The alternative is death,” she says with grim certainty.

“Exactly.”

She nods, seemingly digesting my words.

We’ve reached the outskirts of the camp when shouts of alarm rise at the north end, the word “Grif!” escaping a moment before a stream of fire erupts. A two-headed creature appears in the glow of burning grass and trees.

It was only a matter of time before the beasts found us, but I suppose Romeria’s caster abilities could have drawn it in.

With a screech, the dragons launch into the air, reaching it in seconds.

A devastating stream of fire sails from Caindra’s maw, before the orange dragon swoops in to snatch the grif from the ground. Its body dangles from his mouth for a few seconds before he bites down, severing its two heads from its body. The pieces fall and scatter.

All is quiet again.

“You said that was Bexley’s mate, right?”

“Yes, which means you slept with his wife,” Romeria teases, stirring Jarek’s bark of laughter.

Many, many times. I rub my forehead. “A common theme for me these days, it seems.”

Satoria slips into my tent not long after I’ve settled, a lithe shadow moving through the dark as she struggles to see, her usual lantern absent.

I smile. “Good evening, terrible assassin. It’s been a while.”

She fumbles the air for my cot and when she finds it, she sheds her breeches.

I help her by lifting the blankets to allow her to slide in.

“I prefer your dungeon in Ostros. It was warmer, and you wore less.” She rests her head in the crook of my arm, her hands roaming my chest.

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