Page 87 of Ashes of Honor

“Why the hell would he pull back?” I growled.

“Emissaries are gone too,” Abel added, quieter this time. “They left with the troops.”

That stopped me cold.How?All gates but one were sealed shut behind layers and layers of concrete. The only way out was through destruction or through the East Gate—easiest to control access through and heavily guarded. And during this battle, twenty-five soldiers had been stationed on both sides. Wired from base to the top, the only way that gate could open is after it’d been disarmed. I turned to him sharply, heart thudding in my chest. “All of them?”

Abel nodded. “Every single one.”

Something’s wrong. Covert had lost as many soldiers as we had in this battle. A small number in the grand scheme—despite the weight of having to tell their loved ones had on my soul. They were mysoldiers, my responsibility. The fire fields, the chained Pansies, the layered tunnels—they were all solid defenses. ButRonan would never retreat out of mercy. If he wasn’t attacking, it meant he was recalibrating.

We’d played our entire hand, and Covert Province had only just begun.

I glanced up toward the watchtowers. The snipers were silhouettes against the darkening sky, their scopes glinting faintly as they tracked the nothingness. Beyond them, Finley’s shields flickered—shimmering with the fragile sheen of glass. Good for its purpose. Worthless against what I suspected was coming.

“Send a rider out,” I said, my heart pounding with fear. “Get word to Amaia. I want her back here. Now.”

Abel kept his composure, but I saw his tell. The one the other soldiers would never recognize as anything more than the twitch of a hand that had fired far too many rounds in one given day. “You think they’re going after her?”

“I think Ronan doesn’t do anything without a reason.”

Abel nodded grimly and took off toward the comms tent, shouting for a runner.

I let my gaze drift across the perimeter as the aftermath of battle hummed around me. The nearest trench squad pushed themselves free, hands glowing faintly with magic as they reinforced the ground. A patrol in sleek black moved through the smoke—shadows of death scanning for heat signatures. Tech from our labs. Work of the bestTinkerersSalem could find. One of the few advantages we still had.

And yet it still didn’t feel like enough.

Turning toward the cliffside, my eyes closed as a wave of calm washed over me.Everything will work out. They’re going to be okay. My eyes readjusted to the streak of light peeking through a cloud. It was evening, and a storm was brewing. Had rolled in minutes after the battle ended, and the scene wasviolent. We needed to gather our injured and get back behind the relative safety of our walls.

The horizon darkened as jagged shadows emerged from the mist, drifting into the bay. Ships. Massive ones. Battleships from The Before—reinforced with Covert’s magic and tech. Their hulls gleamed in the dim light.

“Tell me I’m seeing shit,” Abel said as he reappeared at my side.

“You’re not.”

Abel swiped his thumb across his brow, removing a speck of dirt. “Can’t you please lie for two seconds?”

The crack of cannon fire echoed over the water, deep and rhythmic—tsunami waves breaking on the ground.

Our navy scrambled to intercept. Monterey’s Navy was equipped to take on pirates, guard the coastline—we were smaller, faster, but painfully outdated. Outside of the Coast Guard cutters we’d taken, or the previously decommissioned USS Monterey, we were powered entirely by civilian vessels; fishing trawlers, yachts, ferries, and tugboats. We pushed forward and returned fire in quick bursts of smoke and flame. They held the line as best they could, but it was as harrowing as watching sparrows dive at hawks.

“We don’t stand a chance against that,” Abel watched the carnage unfold before us, other soldiers falling in close behind us looking helplessly on.

He was right. Ronan’s ships weren’t simply bigger—they were powered with magic. The energy rolling off them was palpable from here. Blue fire churned along their decks. Waves bucked and surged unnaturally, propelling them forward with impossible speed. Running over our smaller vessels as though they were nothing but a buoy in their way.

“Watch the water,” I told them. “It’s not just ships.”

Streaks of white burst from below—jets of high-pressure water that cut through the air with harpoon-force precision. Helpless. We stared on helplessly, forced to watch as they sliced through our weaker vessels. A smaller ship split in half only to be swallowed by a churning wave in seconds.

“Land defense status?” I shouted to the captain sprinting up to us with a comms note in hand.

“Already firing but not slowing,” he said breathlessly. “Our rounds are getting redirected. It’s like they have shields too.”

Jesus.Ronan had planned for this—wore us down, then went for our weakest point while we recovered.

I turned back to The Compound. “Get everyone on the shoreline—rifle squads, fire-binders, whatever we’ve got. I want trenches reinforced, bunkers sealed, and snipers positioned. If they make land, they’ll enter through The Docks. We are not prepared for that scenario to become a reality, am I clear?”

The captain nodded and bolted, his boots pounding against the dirt.

Abel scanned the scene again, “We can’t hold this, Riley.”

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