Page 151 of A Reign of Embers

My legs wobble—and a blaze of ruddy light streaks across the sky.

Not one of Sabrelle’s omens. It’s a red dove, the symbol our illusionists promised they’d show us when they were approaching.

My pulse hitches.

“Fight on!” I holler to our soldiers. “Don’t let them gain one inch of ground. Show them the might of those loyal to the empire!”

I doubt my army has any idea why I’m suddenly energized. Valerisse glances toward the oncoming troops and turns back with a smile I can make out between the cheek guards of her helm even across the distance. Whatever other soldiers have noticed the new arrivals, they must also assume it’s allies joining the fray late. No sentries have warned them.

Our trickery is working as planned.

The arriving troops must be exhausted from the pace they’ll have set, but at the sight of the battle underway, they surge forward even faster. They sweep across the field from both sides, rushing toward our enemy’s flanks.

At the last moment, just as the forerunners raise their blades, the illusionary teams drop their magic. Uniforms flicker to pale Cotean green, Lavirian red, Gorician brown—and the familiar dark green of my home country.

Even Accasy made it in time.

As more clashes of blades ring out across the landscape, I thrust my sword toward the sky once more. “Our allies are here! All of the empire unites against the traitors!”

The conquered countries weren’t able to pull together enough troops to overwhelm Valerisse’s force, but our numbers look nearly equal now—and the newcomers have taken her people by surprise. Dozens of soldiers topple in the first onslaught from behind.

My supporters on the hillside rally all over again. Determined shouts resonate all around me.

For the first time, victory is truly in reach.

We aren’t the only ones to realize that. I catch flickers of fear crossing the faces of the nearest enemy soldiers. Those on the far edges of the battle wheel around, shifting and scrambling as they attempt to defend themselves from the other side.

Valerisse’s horse rears. She glares straight at me with narrowed eyes, claps her hand against her blessed armband, and leans low as if to speak to someone beyond my view.

I’m already bracing myself when a roar of power reverberates through the soldiers.

The unseen force knocks aside even Valerisse’s people, opening up a passage through their ranks, framed by invisible walls. As her horse springs forward along the narrow path, the effect veers up the hillside.

My soldiers dodge the swath of magic and swing swords and spears only to have them bounce off the protective surface. Arrows patter off the top.

A few of my guards leap in front of the surge of magic only to be knocked to the side. Their own gifts crackle and sizzle off the racing force.

One of them manages to hurl up a barrier right in front of me with a hum of magic that trembles into my flesh. Sparks flare between the opposing walls.

But I don’t think Valerisse intended this effort to fell me on its own. She’s galloping toward me, looking absolutely intent on delivering the killing blow herself.

I hold my sword out defensively, my legs shifting into the stance Captain Evando has coached me in for months. The weapon feels heavier than usual in my hands—maybe because the godlen who blessed it is much more invested in the woman closing on me.

A ruddy glow lights all around Valerisse’s form. She slows her horse as it climbs the slope and dismounts about ten paces away from me.

The path behind her contracts and vanishes, encasing us in a smaller but still impenetrable bubble. I’m not sure how much my guards’ efforts are protecting me anymore. Marc bangs against an invisible surface a few feet away while Raul and Lorenzo ram it with a mass of condensed shadow from the other side.

The magical barrier doesn’t so much as creak. I suppose the dedicats who’ve conjured it dispersed the rest to concentrate on solidifying the shield around the tribune and me.

Valerisse stalks toward me, violet feathers bobbing in her helm, her mouth set in a grimace, her eyes gleaming with triumph. The athletic grace of her strides speaks of total arrogance.

She assumes I’ll be easy pickings. That she can make a spectacle of cutting me down, and nothing else in this battle will matter.

She might not be wrong.

When she stops, only five paces away now, and lifts her voice, I realize she has an amplification charm by her throat. It projects her words far and wide.

“So-called empress, did you think you could win by begging for favors from all the countries beneath us? Don’t you know that real strength can’t come from shaky alliances, only from whatyoucan do for yourself?”

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