Page 156 of When Sisters Collide
If the cohort’s goal was to capture the Omega’s attention, they had succeeded.
Amid the destruction, Alena let every heart-wrenching cry pierce her to the core, carving into her very bones, chipping away at the softness inside her. Each scream tore pieces from her heart, leaving behind something colder. Harder.
She knew what had to come next.
She was ready for it.
And just in time, distant howls echoed from the north.
The pack of wolves had arrived.
Soldiers milled along the riverbank,dipping their hands into the icy water to wash grime and soot from their faces. Nearby, healers crouched over the wounded, their hands glowing with the Archer’s magic, casting flickering gold in the dim morning haze.
Alena pushed through the throng with one thought in mind: finding Theo. With his Gift, he was their best chance of trackingthe cohort. The pack of wolves padded silently at her heels, their fur matted with blood and ash. The sight of them sent an involuntary shiver through the soldiers, who gave her a wide berth as if she were as wild and dangerous as the beasts she commanded.
Theo stood with a pair of scouts, their heads bent over a map spread on a makeshift table—a broken, charred plank salvaged from one of the burned barns. His bloodshot eyes flicked up at her approach.
“Did you find them?” she demanded. Her gaze darted to the map, but she didn’t recognise the landmarks.
“Not yet.” Theo’s calm demeanour was a sharp contrast to the storm inside her. “It would help to know which direction they went.”
“They went northeast,” Alena said, impatience threading her tone as her finger traced the route on the map. “They crossed the river at its shallowest point and headed towards the hill.” The wolves had tracked the Rasennans’ scent with precision, their keen senses far sharper than any scout.
“And the wolves told you this?” Danaos asked, his tone clipped. His shoulders were rigid, armour still dusted with soot. Fatigue shadowed his face, but beneath it, his eyes glimmered with disbelief.
Alena clenched her teeth, but Theo cut in smoothly. “The Omega is Gifted by the Huntress. I’ve no doubt the wolves can track the Twelfth’s cohort.”
“Not the Twelfth,” Danaos said grimly. “The survivors swore it was the First.”
Theo’s features darkened. That was worse.
“The First?” Phoebe appeared behind Alena, her eye flashing with fury. “I heard that prick Tarxi is their legate now. I remember him from Kendrisia—back then he was just a praefect, but he used his Gift to throw us into chaos. Dozens ofAmazons died.” Her fists clenched. “He laughed the whole time.” She cast a glance at the ruin around them. “I’m not surprised his soldiers did this.”
Danaos studied her, a flicker of respect softening his features before he hardened again. “If it’s truly a cohort from the First Legion, we may need to reconsider our plan.”
“Our plan is to find where they went,” Alena pressed. “Once you’ve ferried the survivors to the palace, bring reinforcements if you must.”
Danaos’ gaze narrowed, arms folding across his chest. “So what if we know where the cohort went? Are you suggesting we go after them?” His voice carried challenge and doubt, as if daring her to commit in front of them all.
“Yes.” Alena didn’t flinch.
The soldiers nearby stilled, the scrape of armour and shifting boots betraying their unease. Doubt clung to the air as thickly as the stench of smoke, but she refused to let it find a foothold.
“If we don’t stop them now,” she said, her voice carrying over the gathering, “you said it yourself—they’ll slaughter every village from here to Argos.” She let the words hang, her eyes sweeping the circle of soot-streaked faces, searching for courage beneath the weariness.
“I know it seems impossible,” Alena continued. “A handful of us against five hundred men? It sounds like madness. But these are our lands, our people. It’s time we fight back—because no one else will. Wewillfind a way to stop them.”
“You speak of ‘our lands, our people,’” Danaos shot back, “but you were the Rebel Queen’s daughter. A Westerner.”
“Perhaps,” Phoebe cut in before Alena could respond, her voice rising over the crowd. “But her father was Kallinos.”
The name rippled through the gathered soldiers, a murmur passing from one soot-streaked face to another. Even Danaos’stern gaze faltered, a flicker of something—recognition, maybe respect—breaking through.
“And if memory serves,” Phoebe went on, her words crisp and deliberate, “he was born in the mountains north of Tiryns—thesemountains. This land.”
That was the spark the soldiers needed. Faint murmurs of agreement stirred, low but gathering strength. After the carnage they’d just witnessed, grief was sharpening into something else—hunger for retribution.
Among the crowd, one figure held Alena’s attention: Leukos. His tall frame was impossible to miss, smoke and ash streaking his skin, his dark eyes fixed on her.
