council."
She took flight, soaring as high as she could, until the air thinned, her lungs hurt, and her head spun. In the east, she saw them approach, a league away, a shadow falling over Requiem. Fear coiled in her belly. There were so many, a vast host like she had never seen. Countless nightshades and mimic dragons flew there. Fifty thousand mimics marched below, howling and banging war drums. Behind them moved endless skeletons, reptiles the size of dragons, herds of snowbeasts on gangly legs, and mobs of oozing Poisoned.
And one man I must kill. One man who has haunted my life. The man who raped me, murdered my husband, murdered my parents, murdered my people. One man I must face today. Lacrimosa tightened her jaw. Be strong, daughter of Requiem, she told herself. Now is your hour.
She looked below her, surveying her forces. Five thousand salvanae, the true dragons, creatures of fang and lightning. Five thousand griffins, their talons bright, their beaks sharp. Ten thousand soldiers, followers of the Earth god, protecting ten thousand women and children.
"And us," she whispered. "Six Vir Requis."
She saw the others below, huddling together by King's Column. Her daughters, the lights of her life. Kyrie Eleison, who was like a son to her. Terra and Memoria, new hope for their race.
That was all. A small force, she thought. A sparrow against the swooping vulture of Dies Irae's wrath. But we will meet them still.
She dived toward King's Column.
"Nehushtan!" she called. "Volucris!"
They flew to her, and landed with her in the shattered hall of Requiem's kings. Silva joined them, tall upon his horse, his sword in hand. King's Column rose above them into the rays of setting sun. Darkness was spreading fast, the stars emerging.
Lacrimosa shifted into human form. She placed a hand upon Stella Lumen, her father's sword.
"Daughters," she said, turning toward the twins. "Kyrie. Do you have the Beams?"
They nodded. Gloriae opened a sack and spilled out three golden skulls, each twice the size of a man's skull. Their orbits glowed and their jaws grinned.
"You have wielded Beams before," she told them. "Today you will wield them on griffinback. Choose your griffins and ride them against the nightshades. Burn them with the Beams and scatter them."
Gloriae nodded and lifted one skull. Snow filled her hair, scratches ran down her arms and cheek, and most of the gold had peeled from her breastplate. And yet her eyes were still strong, ice and fire. Once she had worn samite and jewels, Lacrimosa remembered. Once Gloriae the Gilded had hunted for Osanna, had killed and maimed for the glory of the Sun God. Today Lacrimosa saw a woman of justice, of honor, and of starlight.
"We will kill them," Gloriae said
Agnus Dei lifted the second skull. At first she held it awkwardly with one hand. Then she steadied it with her left arm, tightened her lips, and stared solemnly at Lacrimosa. Her leggings were tattered, her bodice was torn, and her cloak was shaggy. She wore only rusty pieces of armor: a pauldron on her left shoulder, vambraces on her forearms, dented greaves, no breastplate or helmet. Her sword hung on her hip. Lacrimosa remembered Agnus Dei not a year ago, full of rage and sadness, a beast trapped in a cage. Today she saw not an angry youth, but a strong woman.
"We will kill them all," Agnus Dei said, standing by her sister.
Kyrie lifted the third Beam. He too wore rags and dented armor, but his eyes were solemn, his face hard. Lacrimosa remembered meeting a boy in the summer, a boy who ran and hid from those who would kill him. Here in the winter snow, a man stood before her, a man who had fought and killed for those he loved.
"We will wield them for you, and for Requiem," he said.
Lacrimosa turned to face Nehushtan, ruler of the salvanae. The true dragon hovered several feet in the air, his serpentine body undulating. He blinked, his eyelashes fanning the snow. His moustache swayed in the breeze, and his crystal eyes glowed.
"Nehushtan," she said and placed a hand against his cheek. His scales were cold and smooth like mother-of-pearl. "I ask you to lead your salvanae against the flying mimic dragons. They are fast demons and do not die easily. Burn them with your bolts of lightning, and tear them apart with your fangs."
He nodded, his beard dipping into the snow. "They have woken the wrath of Salvandos. The Draco stars call us to war. We