Page 12 of Kept

I reached the mouth in half a dozen strides. My knights had done well. Given and Laurent were already across. Crimson cloaks swirled as knights swung onto their horses. With a grunt, I set the injured knight on his feet and gripped his shoulders. “Can you walk?” I demanded.

His face was blackened and steaming, part of his jawbone exposed where the sun had melted his skin. “Yes, General,” he gasped, blood bubbling from his wounds.

“Run.” I shoved him onto the Pass. A few more knights sprinted past me. I waited a beat, my gaze on the light-streaked ground. The thunder of the Sithistrans’ boots grew louder and shook the ground beneath my feet. When no other Nor Doruvian knights followed, I charged onto the Bleak Pass.

I’d never run from a fight. I ran now, anticipating the sting of an arrow in my back with every step. Radu held my charger steady on the far side of the Pass. The wooden bridge swayed with my footfalls. The Rift was a black, bottomless void on the edges of my vision. I reached the Nor Doruvian side, grabbed my horse’s mane, and vaulted into the saddle.

“Fall back!” I yelled, but it wasn’t necessary. This group of knights had trained under me for a decade, and they were already wheeling their horses around before the order left my lips. We raced to the safety of the Deepnight, and I called a halt and dared my first look back.

My breath caught. The Sithistran soldiers lined the southern side of the Rift. They held the mirrored shields at their sides, their chests heaving from the sprint from the pyre. They wore no armor, just heavy woolen jackets soaked with water. Their head and faces were wrapped with wet cloths.

They had lain in wait under the pyre, likely roasting as Rolund’s body began to burn above them. Despite their wet clothes, several men were badly burned.

“Make way for the king,” a knight said quietly behind me, and then Laurent appeared on horseback beside me. Before I could bark at him to fall back, Given showed up on his other side.

“Laurent, this isn’t safe,” I said under my breath. We stood just behind the Deepnight, its twilight bleeding into brutal, bleached sunlight steps past our horses’ noses. The humans’ mirrors were unlikely to penetrate the canopy, but I couldn’t be certain.

Laurent ignored me, his face a mask of cold fury as he stared at the Sithistrans.

The southern soldiers parted, and Elissa, Lord Rellan, and Crasor stepped into view.

Laurent bared his fangs at the trio. “This is an act of war,” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls of the Rift. “You are covered in dishonor.”

Crasor pointed a long finger at Given. “Whore of the North! You declared war the moment you killed our king.”

Given gasped. Around me, several of my knights hissed.

“Steady,” I growled.

Elissa spoke, her voice carrying over the Rift. “We will not wage war over my husband’s body. But make no mistake, Sithistra will have vengeance.” She looked at Given. “You will pay for what you’ve done. Before this is finished, you will lose everything you hold dear. Just as I have.” She turned and walked toward the flaming pyre, her black veil fluttering behind her.

Silence reigned. Behind the Sithistrans, the flames of the pyre engulfed the entire structure, black smoke billowing into the sky.

Lord Rellan stepped forward. “Let it be known that Sithistra acted honorably this day. Unlike our neighbors to the north, we don’t attack under a flag of truce.”

Black tendrils rolled off Laurent and twisted into the air. “You murdered the High Priest of the Sanctum. A man of the gods.”

“False gods. We did well to rid the world of his evil.” Rellan signaled to a nearby soldier. The man drew an arrow and nocked it.

Laurent didn’t move. Sweat trickled down my spine. I tightened my thighs around my charger’s flanks, prepared to seize Laurent and remove him from danger.

“Return to your palace of sin and debauchery,” Rellan said. “We shall meet again on the field of battle.” Even from a distance, his sneer was visible as he glanced at me before refocusing on Laurent. “Assuming you’re man enough to wield a sword.”

The soldier loosed the arrow. It whistled through the air, arcing cleanly over the Rift and thunking into the ground a foot or so in front of Laurent’s horse.

A warning shot.

Rellan motioned to his men. Now, dozens nocked arrows.

“Your Grace,” I said, seconds from pulling Laurent off his horse and forcibly returning him to Lar Katerin. I didn’t fear the humans. But I was fucking terrified of those mirrors.

Once again, Laurent ignored me. Gaze on Rellan, he spoke in a quiet voice that lifted every hair on my body. “Before this is done, I am going to kill Rellan Blackmun of the Meadowlands.”

The arrows flew.

With a final hiss, Laurent spun his horse. He didn’t shout. He didn’t have to. My knights spurred their horses into a full gallop, closing ranks around their king and queen as we sped toward Lar Katerin.

I leaned over my horse and let the wind chase away the sweat from the sun and the Rift. And I tried not to think about how, for the first time in the recorded histories of Ter Isir, vampires had backed down from a fight.

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