He gestured to the fields. Sometime during my standoff with the mage, the drums and horns had been silenced. There were still cries of agony rising and falling with the wind, but the anxiety of battle had diminished. The roar, gone. Penumbra Glades was a wasteland of blood and bone. We’d held the line and protected the town of Moeras, but not without casualty. As the last bit of adrenaline fled my body, fatigue settled deep in my bones, and I let out a quiet sigh.
Slowly, I turned back to the man. “So it seems.”
He nodded once, a curt jut of his chin, and stepped back. “I must be going. Stay vigilant, Prince Aleksander.”
My gaze dropped as he stepped back into something dark as an oil slick. Rhyne must have been in a rush to douse their arrows. Taking a few quick strides, I closed the distance between us. “Wait. I insist you return to camp so I can properly thank you.”
Something flickered through his ice-green gaze. “As I said, that’s not necessary. I am a member of Cruor. The mage was a job. I can procure proof if necessary.”
Cruor?
My father had once mentioned a guild of elite assassins living on the fringe of our country, but I’d never paid him much mind. The rumors surrounding their abilities were exactly that—rumors. No one could move with the shadows. No one could form weapons out of night.
And yet…
I stared at the dark patch beneath his feet. Shiny like ink and yet wispy as mist, it curled up in small billows. And the blade, had that been one of their famed weapons? Something truly crafted from death itself? Curiosity burned deep in my chest, and I removed my helmet. Shock-white hair spilled over my eyes, and I brushed it to the side. “Proof won’t be necessary. But I’d still like you to return to camp with us. Both as thanks, and so I can learn more about you and your work.” I waited for a beat to see if he’d answer, but he only stared at me with a look of disbelief. “What’s your name?”
The man’s gaze faltered. “Kostya, my prince.”
I grinned, extending my hand. “Call me Aleksander. There are enough people around to call me prince.”
He pressed his lips together in a fine line, as if contemplating the request. Finally, he shook my hand. “I couldn’t possibly deny a request from the royal family. Shall we?”
“No, you couldn’t,” I joked. I gripped his shoulder, and he stiffened beneath me. I instantly let my hand fall away, but stayed by his side as we strode across the marsh, casting him the occasional curious glance. A man born of shadows. A man born of death. The gods only knew what kind of life he led—but I was eager to discover that for myself.
* * *
As we hit camp, evidence of our battle was everywhere. People hurried about while commanders barked orders to establish a night patrol. Others still carried armor and weapons to the temporary blacksmith for repair. More were heading toward a line of campfires where pigs roasted on spits, the scent of ale and smoke already thick in the air. A smile tugged at my lips. I’d have to introduce Kostya to Thaleus.
Turning to the assassin, I was about to offer him a place by the fire when a foot soldier from Thaleus’s unit rushed toward me. He came to a screeching halt and offered a haphazard bow before righting himself.
“Sir, Thaleus has been injured.”
All thoughts of ale and good conversation fled in a breath. “What happened?”
The man fumbled for words. “I… I don’t know. I didn’t see. He just collapsed.”
My world narrowed, and I barely tossed Kostya a glance before pushing past the soldier and sprinting toward the medical tent. The white canopy dominated my vision. “Where is he?” I burst through the open flaps, only to find rows and rows of bodies strewn on cots. Some were covered head to toe in sheets, a ghastly declaration of death. Others were propped up on pillows, bandaged and bleeding, with frantic attendants rushing from bed to bed. I snared the first one who hurried by and forced her to meet my gaze. “Where. Is. He?”
She paled but nodded toward the far end of the tent. I released her the moment I spotted Thaleus’s scraggly beard. He laid quietly between two cots. The man on his left screamed wordlessly as healers attempted to set his broken leg. The cot on his right