Page 65 of The Rook

The ground bucked, and she stumbled as explosions filled the air. Where had those come from? She ducked, placing her hands over her ears. Screams from the hall echoed in the stone cavern. Nyx burst from the crowd, her lush, black, velvet dress trailing behind her as she ran onto the balcony.

“What’s happening?” Temp gasped.

“War, Tempest,” Nyx said, out of breath.

“Looks like you have to pick a side, Hound.” Pyre chuckled, the sound bitter. He smirked at her. “So, what will you do?”

War. The word rattled around in her head.

The time for plans was gone. She needed to get to the battle now. Tempest grabbed handfuls of her skirt and sprinted past Damien and Nyx. Sweat broke out across her forehead as she pressed through the crush of savage and fearful people. It was like swimming against the current. Someone stepped on the hem of her dress, and she cursed. Savagely, she ripped the skirt and continued toward her room.

By some miracle, she made it to her chamber, wasting no time in ripping off the beautiful dress that had cast a spell on her. She kicked off the dress-boots and yanked at the laces of her dress. They knotted. Tempest tore the dagger from her hip and sliced through what she could. The bodice gaped, and she wiggled it over her hips, left in just her corset and hose.

Hurry.

She kicked off the painted hose and yanked on her familiar, travel-stained trousers, linen shirt, sweater, and finally her cloak. She snatched her satchel, sword, bow, and quiver frombeside the bed before rushing out of her room, straight into the arms of—

“Damien,” she said, tilting her head up to lock eyes with him. “Please excuse me. I have to—”

He held a finger to her lips to shush her.

A wicked smile. “Need a ride?”

TWENTY-NINE

Tempest

Her teeth chattered as the night wind tugged at her hair. Damien soared through the darkened sky, his approach completely silent. Another flash of light appeared as a ball of fire rose toward the heavens. The center of the fighting.

Her stomach twisted painfully. This was not in the plan. She’d had it all worked out in a plan where war was obsolete. Her fingers tightened on the dragon’s harness, at least Damien had been prepared to carry a human rider this time. She wasn’t ready for war. But was anyone ever prepared for such a thing?

“Are we sure this is a real fight?” Tempest bellowed over the roar of whooshing, freezing air attempting to blast her from her position. She clung tighter to the dragon’s hulking shoulder blades.

He let out a rumble that rolled through Tempest and traveled deep into her bones. She knew he was laughing, which only made her feel sicker.

“What is arealfight, my lovely?” his deep, slithering voice asked.

“As in—is this really the beginning of a war? Or is just a skirmish… something that can be contained and controlled?” Maybe they could still avoid an all-out war. Even if Pyre was prepared, the Hounds would slaughter anyone who came across their paths.

“Almost all fights end in war, you know,” Damien eventually said. His gargantuan wings beat at the air, bringing them ever closer to the lights and explosions.

Screaming reached her ears, and she couldn’t tear her gaze from the fires below. All she could hear was her mother crying for her.

“Tempest?”

She shook her head, trying to focus on the dragon. “I’m sorry. What?”

“It might take a while—even years betweenskirmishes—but disagreements between two groups of people always end the same way. It is the way of things.”

It didn’t have to be the way of things. The notion that war was inevitable and that peace was only a result of somebody slaughtering the opposition wasn’t something she necessarily agreed with. What did it solve? If women were in charge, would things be different? Her mind drifted to Nyx. She was level-headed and reasonable compared to the rest of the rebels, yet, even with the power she wielded, she still allowed the Jester to torture the shifters. Maybe it didn’t matter. A person’s worth was determined by their heart, not their gender.

Damien descended and heavy smoke curled through the air. She coughed, and her eyes stung. The dragon circled above the battlefield—for itwasa battlefield, that much was clear—andhuffed out a cloud of air that broke through the smoke. The warriors below paid no attention.

“Brace yourself, my lady warrior. We are about to land.”

Tempest wiggled until she was perched on his back, fingers still clenching his harness. Damien swept low, and she inhaled. It was now or never. Her thighs tensed as she sprung from his back toward the battle. Her teeth rattled as she hit the ground, rolling through the snow. She popped to her feet and moved into the fray without a second thought. While she didn’t condone war, she’d been raised for it.

Her pulse pounded in her ears as she strode among the chaos.

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