Page 60 of Storm Front

A shout rose from the bonfire. High. Young. A girl’s voice.

Generals weren’t supposed to run. Leaders who showed fear instilled panic in their soldiers, but Nyx wasn’t a general in that moment. Kelta needed him, Kelta was in danger, and if he didn’t move fast enough, it would be her soul Azaiah took that evening.

He tore through the line of tents and raced into the open air, where a crowd of soldiers were converging near the bonfire. They scattered at his approach, their expressions wary, and Nyx pushed through them to find Kelta on the ground, on her knees, the gleam of a sharp blade flickering in the firelight.

Nyx dragged her into his arms before he even registered the dead soldier at her feet.

“I’m sorry.” Kelta’s voice was almost impossible to hear through the roaring in his ears. He clutched her close, his heart in his mouth, unable to believe she was alive. “I’m sorry. He drew a knife on me. I didn’t mean to kill him—I’m sorry.”

“You did the right thing. Did he hurt you?” Nyx looked up, meeting the gaze of one of his captains. “You. Gather the officers. Now. I need the squad this man belonged to lined up before the fire in five minutes and their tents searched.” Soldiers scattered to obey, but most remained, watching him. How many were more loyal to Lamont than to the empire itself?

He recognized the dead soldier. He was new, young, a recruit from the palace guard. Nyx had seen him sharing fruit with Kelta and the other pages, a night or two, and he’d liked to tell stories by the fire. He should go on the pyre, same as any son of Iperios, but Nyx wanted his body to rot, to bloat in the sun, for his bones to be picked clean by carrion-eaters as a sign of what happened to people who touched Nyx’s children.

That brought him up short, and he looked down at Kelta, who was shaking in his arms. She twisted round to look at the body, her eyes too bright.

“He taught us how to make bird sounds,” she whispered, and Nyx shoved his mounting rage aside enough to speak again.

“Prepare the pyre,” he said. It was more than the traitor deserved.

He brought Kelta with him when he spoke to his officers. He kept his orders brief, his voice clipped, and when he sent for his horse, no one so much as blinked. Only Estrid followed him and Kelta to the tent, where Nyx started throwing what little they needed into a bag.

“Nyx.” She knelt next to Kelta. “You know what you might find when you get to the palace.”

“Don’t say it.” Nyx didn’t look at Kelta. He couldn’t tell her what this meant—that someone could have already gotten through Nadia’s defenses, taking Andor’s life to prepare for the new heir.

“What does he know?” Kelta asked Estrid, then turned to Nyx. “Why did Jarren try to hurt me? What aren’t you telling me?”

“There might be danger at the palace,” Nyx said carefully. “We might need to take your brother and mother somewhere safe.”

Kelta leaned against Estrid, who wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “But… they were just after me, right? Andor said, when I came here. He said I might be in danger. He gave me the knife to keep in my belt just in case.” When Nyx shot her a look, she shrugged. “We talk. And I know I’m not as smart as Andor, but I can pick up on things. The emperor’s getting rid of us, isn’t he? Because he’s having a son.”

Nyx sighed. “He might be, yes.”

“So you’re going to kill him,” Kelta said, and Nyx froze. Of all the things he expected to hear her say, that hadn’t crossed his mind. “When we get to the palace, you’re going to kill him and take over.”

Estrid coughed. “Kid. Lower your voice.”

“Jarren tried to kill me tonight.” Kelta tilted her chin up, defiant, even though her hands were shaking. “I don’t care. You’d make a better emperor, Uncle.”

“You’d have allies in the army,” Estrid said, her voice considerably softer than Kelta’s.

“And how many allies does Lamont have?” Nyx tied up his bag and slung it over his shoulder, then took his bow and a quiver of arrows. “Kelta, wear my helmet. Put it on now, no fussing. Estrid, speak of what you heard to no one.”

Estrid nodded and slipped out the back of the tent while Nyx and Kelta took the front. The grass was already damp as the chill of night swept over the field, and Kelta was breathing shallowly, like she was trying not to cry.

“We’ll have time to talk on the way,” Nyx said. “It’s hard, your first kill. I would have spared you it, if I could.”

“You were my age when you killed someone for the first time, that’s what I’ve heard.” Kelta’s gaze was fixed on the horizon, her face drawn. “Did you keep… imagining how he looked, after?”

“I don’t remember. But I did throw up when it was over.”

“Glad I’m not the only one who feels like that, then,” she whispered, and Nyx reached out to stroke her hair. “I’ll be okay. We just… we need to get to Mom. And Andor.”

Nyx approached his horse, which one of his soldiers had prepared at the edge of camp, and checked the saddle. “You’re braver than a thousand empresses, Kel.”

“I don’t feel very brave.” Kelta climbed onto the horse first, clutching the saddle, and Nyx strung his bow before he followed. When she saw him bending the bow for the string, Kelta’s face went still. “You think we’ll be attacked.”

“I don’t trust your father not to plan for it.”

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