Page 230 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

I shake my head. “Leave it to you, Kaz, to bed the first caster who touches you.”

“What?” He shrugs. “She wanted to make sure everything was working as it should.”

“Right.” I chuckle, my heart brimming with relief and joy that at least I have my best friend.

Our line of soldiers moves in slowly, King Cheral observing the sea of tents and campfires dotting the woods with interest from atop his horse.

“This is an unexpected twist.” Kazimir regards them coolly, his attention stalling on Tuella for a beat.

I throw an arm around his shoulders. “Come, we both have much to tell.”

The sunset behind us bathes the expanse of land to the west, its last rays showering Lyndel in hazy golden light. From the top of the rampart, I can make out the great walled city that has served as Islor’s first defense against Ybaris for centuries, feeding the rift army and guarding the bridge between our two realms.

And now our enemies of the past are here, allied with us for the future.

It’s all because of Romeria.

“One of those carried me here.” Kazimir nods to the great winged beasts that circle above Lyndel as if restless. “The orange one, I was told, though I don’t remember any of it. I was all but dead.”

“I should have died from that ax on the battlefield.”

He leans over the edge, spying on the Kierish soldiers who set up camp and prepare their blades. “And the ax’s wielder?”

“He’s a delight.”

“That his head is still attached to his shoulders is a shock. Are you sure you are the Atticus who fell in the Plains of Aminadav?”

I chuckle. “King Cheral has been oddly forgiving of many things, but slaughtering his soldier in front of the others would not be wise. As for who I am, that is a fair question as of late, given princesses are dying and returning as key casters. But I promise, I am the same version who has bested you at every sparring session since you grew fangs.”

“And then lost them.” He runs his tongue along his teeth. “Sometimes they feel like a missing appendage.”

“And yet their absence has saved both us and the mortals. It was the only way.”

“Romeria to the rescue yet again.” His tone is unreadable.

King Cheral moves along the rampart toward us, escorted by a line of Kierish guards.

“It’s the one behind him,” I murmur, leaning against the wall.

“The brute with the stupid haircut. I remember him now.” Kazimir’s jaw tenses. “And I will not forget him tomorrow on the battlefield, in your honor.”

“I have to say, I am impressed with what these shadow wielders have accomplished from dirt and rock,” King Cheral says by way of greeting.

Kazimir’s eyebrow arches. “Shadow wielders?”

“Long story, don’t ask.” I dismiss his question before responding to King Cheral. “And that is what you can see. There is much that you can’t. Kienen, down there”—I point to Romeria’s Ybarisan commander—“has walked me through everything, which I can relay to you. There are plenty of surprises for our enemy.”

“I cannot wait to learn of them.” He snaps his fingers and his guards step forward, carrying golden armor that gleams from polish, the flame crest on the breast plate familiar. “I believe this is yours.”

I falter. “This is … unexpected.” They cleaned and repaired it, and hauled it back to Islor.

“The commander of Islor’s army should be recognized on the battlefield, no?”

Something tells me this alliance has been his plan since the moment I arrived in Ostros. A new level of respect blooms for this mortal and his scheming.

“They will bring it to your tent.” He nods to my nemesis, who steps forward. In his grip is a sword.

My sword.

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