Page 145 of Echoes of War

“And how many of those options guarantee the least amount of people die? Which ones ensure the freedom of these people for longer than even you can see? Tell me, Tomoe, how many lives make sure evil stays down, stays dead?” She was so detached.

Anger was an emotion Amaia thrived on. Anger for the sake of peace. Anger for justice. Anger for revenge. Anger for the sense of normalcy that had been stripped from us all. Anger to bring a sliver of normalcy and hope back to our lives. Anger for a better world.

There was no longer any anger in her eyes. The only thing that remained was the same self-sacrificial grief that made me want to shake some common sense, some self-preservation, into her.

“How does any of that fall on your shoulders?” I snapped, “No one likes a martyr.”

The side of the board that housed Prescott’s pieces went empty. A sly smile teased the corners of Amaia’s mouth as she completed his turn, winning him the game. She closed the board, packing it back into its wooden case, the silence between us thick in the air.

I’d broken the number one rule—speaking on the path of death. It could change the entire future; there was also the possibility of my words being the binding motivator of them taking said path. This was worth the risk though; fate had already offered the worst hands.

I wouldn’t let it win this too.

I studied her demeanor, trying to figure out what she would say. No vision came to me of her decision, which meant deep down, she was still undecided. There was still time to take her off this path. My chances weren’t great, but there was still a chance, so I would take it.

Amaia pushed past me, placing the game back to where I assumed it belonged on Prescott’s bookcase shelf full of trinkets and history books. Her hand brushed along them, touching the broken compasses and other knickknacks he’d sworn to everyone he’d fix one day. She chuckled, eyes wondering back over me, taking me in.

“That’s the thing, Moe, everyone loves a martyr. Martyrs move armies, rally people. Martyrs win wars.”

Amaia

Vincere aut mori. Conquer or die.

That had been the way of the world since the dawn of civilization. I’m not sure why I thought this go-round could be different. Perhaps it was a stupid way to live. Maybe Transient Nation had it right.

It wouldn’t be long now before I would never see any of this again. I would be immortal. The girl who destroys armies and ends wars. Prescott’s dream.

When I first became General, I knew there was a chance of that, especially if we did things right. History that isn’t recorded was lost. If we failed, then maybe someone else would be able to learn from us and prevail. That had been the extent of my expectations, however. I mean, how many people remembered who George Washington wasbeforehisPresidency?

Poor example, but my point stands.

Now here I was, Commander-in-Chief of a third of what was once the continental United States. This much power in a twenty-eight-year-old woman’s hands was about one of the stupidest fucking plans I’d ever heard of. But I suppose most of the greats never wanted power—they just wanted to help. That’s what made them so great.

My revenge would be sweet, but the reward of getting it would be sweeter.

The windmill Riley had carved weighed heavy in my hand. I wanted to bring Jax something that would last. His family home in Ireland had one. As a kid he’d spent a lot of time hanging out there, playing in the grass with his dogs and friends. That was before his father went to jail and his mom lost the house. Then he lost his mom.

He’d told me one night that he still dreamed of getting our own house, with our own windmill … for the kids we both knew we would not have. That was Jax though, always the dreamer. For a while, most of his dreams had come true. And then they’d been cut short.

Alexiares grabbed my hand, intertwining our fingers. Rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb, he kept his focus forward, recognizing I needed a moment to collect myself but offering support anyway.

I’d been on my way to Riley’s handy little earth slide, Harley and Suckerpunch in tow when he’d stopped me, suspicious of where I was going. Riley had without a doubt snitched when I forbade him from coming with me. I swore he’d get a mouthful for it later, but I knew he had my best interest in mind.

Alexiares had asked if he could come with me, to pay his respects. To my surprise, a smaller windmill rested in his palm. Not as detailed, but still clearly Riley’s work on a rushed job. Hischeeks flushed as he caught me staring at his gift to the man I’d loved before him.

Impulsively, the wordnoformed on my lips, but when I thought about it—nothing in the world at that moment could have made me happier. Outside of Ronan Moore’s head on a fucking stick and my territory left alone. And some cornbread. Maybe a shot of tequila, but hey, maybe those were gluttonous given the times.

The sound of the waves soothed my nerves as I knelt down at Jax’s grave. Grinding it into the dirt, I gave it a spin with my finger, watching until it came to a halt. Harley let out a soft whimper, circling behind his tombstone three times before finding rest. I couldn’t even fight her on it, I wanted to stay too.

Huffing down next to her, I leaned against the back of the snake-shaped tombstone, the details of Riley’s work scraping against the skin on my lower back. Alexiares took a seat next to me, laying down to rest his head on my lap, gazing up at the clouds above us. Suckerpunch stayed on guard, too wary of our relaxed mindset to get comfortable. Harley had apparently taught him a few things while we were away, the two falling into a sort of pack.

I bit my lip, fighting the urge to glance to the other side. Come Wednesday, Prescott would be right there next to him. Then I’d have two graves to visit instead of just this one. Seth had been burned with the rest of Covert’s soldiers. We did not bury traitors. It wasn’t worth this effort. The windmill next to me went wild, spinning uncontrollably to the point of shaking.

The thing was, there was no wind.

“Is that you?” Alexiares asked, head lifting off my lap to scan the area.

It was just the two of us here. For as long as the eye could see by the looks of things.

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