Page 112 of Ashes of Honor

I smirked, recalling the semantics of our relationship being the reverse. “Other way around, Princess.”

“Anyway,” she said, moving with such grace—floating through the convoluted maze of bullshit happening around us. “I think it would be best. Having someone who knowsme. Who can act as me when I am not around. Give the commands, make the suggestions that I would make.”

“Ah. But said person is not here and this ain’t the crowd to like a new face.”

Amaia’s lips pulled into a tight line as she stopped us—turning to watch as a scout returned, searching desperately through the disarray for the highest in command. He found a Sergeant, not exactly the better option considering the Captain directly behind him. The Captain who snarled his lip in lieu of simply correcting the mistake.

I took note of Amaia storing the interaction away. No doubt she was considering if this was a proper match up for when reality had a lot more on the line than guns that simply burned you or blades that only swung to grant flesh wounds.

“Riley is not a new face to any of them.”

Her words held a bite, like she did not trust what could happen to her brother if left with any of these settlements alone. And they would be right for whatever wrongs they committed—for Riley possessed information. Details of their settlements, trade connections, research efforts. Riley knew it all. That made him a threat.

A unitspread out, heading the scout’s warning. We did not have to be within hearing range to know what was said. It was time for the next phase of this simulation: a threat to supply lines. If they remembered their training, they’d redeploy forcesto intercept the interruption without weakening our main line of defense. Which is exactly what it appeared they were doing. I heard Amaia take an easy sigh of relief. Of this at least, she knew she could relax. They had learned.

Because they had, she would now push them one step further, see what would happen if faced with yet another challenge. Something we had yet had time to train them on. That was a realistic outcome of this war. There had not been enough time. If they had trained under our command for months, the day would never have enough hours in it to address the unexpected variables of conflict.

We walked in unison. Left foot, then our right. She led, and I followed. It was casual, the way we passed through soldiers holding steady in their positions, how she meddled and created a new mess withoutreallybeing seen. They thought she was observing—she was not. Amaia was orchestrating an opera.

“Park,” she stopped short, right at a scouts rear.

He froze at the sound of her voice. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Cut all communications on Route Hemingway and …” She made a show of considering her next words. “Route Golding.”

“Right away, ma’am.”

Park took off without another word or glance back. I peered down at her, silently questioning her next command. Her gaze flickered around us and she walked toward the overpass.

It would only be a matter of time before all hell broke loose. With communications cut, units and scouts would no longer be able to coordinate and adapt ahead of time. No. Instead, they’d be forced to rely on pre-established plans, and, fuck, did I hate this the most … their instincts.

The closer we got to the crumbling underpass, the louder the cries of suffering got. Then gunfire rang out. I had no idea how she’d pulled this off. Using the already injured soldiers fromeach of the settlements to play trapped civilians was diabolical. I loved her for it.

And so did they. Reluctantly, but the admiration was clear as she offered subtle advice and suggested corrections these last few weeks. Amaia was more than a leader. She was the kind of person who could turn soldiers into believers, fear into courage, and chaos into calculated precision.

With the break in communication she’d put into play, reinforcements that were originally planned to be diverted here to help would no longer be coming. With these ‘civilians’ in harm’s way, the cavalry and unit working at their side, would be tested in their ability to make ethical decisions under fire. The scene quickly fell into disarray.

Their ‘instincts’ were almost as bad as their memory when it came to sticking to the plan. All it took was one rider being tossed off their horse after a controlled explosion. The riderless horse took off down the main road, barreling through the unit assisting the injured.

Then the mix up of orders began. A captain gave strict, nonnegotiable commands while the commander of the cavalry, currently auditioning for the role against Millie, gave conflicting ones. Instead of working together while under fire, they were effectively working against each other.Idiots.

“What are you going to do, Commander?” Amaia asked as we approached him, still under the protection of our shield. “Time is of the essence.”

Reina rode up to the commander’s side, waiting on the response, eyes flickering over to Amaia and she held her head up an inch higher. The commander considered his options, then turned, taking off toward the captain to coordinate their plan of attack. Reina followed close behind, the model of focus and competence, as always. She was good at this, I had to admit. Her heart would allow her to be good at anything she cared about.The perfectionist attitude only served to benefit her end result, achievement alone a good enough prize.

I snorted. “The commander and captain don’t work well together. Swap him for Millie. He’ll work better with the captain out from Beta Unit. Otherwise these two idiots will be halfway through an argument when Ronan cuts them in two.”

Amaia stare was a weapon that could’ve frozen molten steel. “I don’t course correct mid-fuckup. They’ll figure it out … or they won’t and they’ll see their egos will get them killed.”

For a minute, it seemed as if they might—figure it out that is. Orders flowed back down the line. Almost.

Then, the air changed.

It wasn’t subtle. One second, the ruins of Royal Oaks were full of shouting and weapon fire. Next, the world itself had decided to hold its breath. An unholy scream ripped through the silence. It was not the sound of pain. I knew that macabre of beautiful symphony better than the back of my hand. This scream was full of terror.

The battlefield froze.

“What the fuck was that?” someone yelled, their voice shaking.

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