I preferred to refer to them as lessons in cruelty.
A shiver ran down my spine as I recalled one of them.
We stood on a high mountain, and a human contingent from Ipotha, the Western Kingdom, was spread before us. There were fifty, maybe even a hundred, human warriors gathered on the other side of the valley. The sun beat down on us, its rays particularly hot this summer day. Dozens of Winged Soldiers were at our backs, waiting for their king’s command.
Father had brought me with him to teach me a lesson. I did not recall what I had done to deserve such hands-on instruction, but it did not matter. It never mattered when it came to the king’s wishes.
“Do you see them all, Ryllae?” Father’s black wings beat as he flew in the air behind me, his blond hair blowing in a gust of wind.
“Yes, Father,” I said, whimpering.
“Kill them all,” he ordered.
I stared at them. They seemed so… mortal. Scared. I didn’t want to do this. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t even a soldier. “Why?”
Father moved so fast; I barely saw the flash of skin before he slapped me across my cheek. It stung and tears came to my eyes as I pressed a hand to my stinging flesh. “You don’t ask questions, child. You are a Death Elf. This is who you are. Death is your legacy.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts’,” he growled. “Practice makes perfect, Ryllae. A Death Elf is nothing if not a brutal, merciless killer. Now, do it.”
That day, I had gathered my magic and wiped out the humans. They were nothing compared to the power that pulsed in my veins. None of them stood a chance. They screamed when my power swept through them, decimating their mortal bodies as though they were nothing more than blades of grass in a field.
Their cries had haunted me for years.
But this was different.Iwas different. Although I had since Matured and I was stronger than ever, I was no longer the same female who had grown up in my father’s halls. Nightstone Prison might not have made me bleed, but I still carried its scars on my soul. Death was my calling and my birthright, but I would never be the same elf I had been before Father threw me into the dungeons.
How could one suffer as I had and not be scarred?
The high king was dead—and thank the gods for that small mercy—but the scars he left on my soul remained. Fighting a pack of wolves in the forest and aberrations beneath Shadowfell Mountain was one thing, but this was another entirely. I had witnessed the cruelty that was bred into Winged Soldiers. I had watched them being pushed to their absolute limits and beyond to forge them into the best soldier possible. Once Winged Soldiers had a goal, they would stop at nothing to accomplish it.
And perhaps most importantly, I knew how to count.
There were six of us. Seven, if you counted the enormous deer made of bark. Seven against hundreds of soldiers were dreadful odds.
Not to mention the fierce blue dragon.
So yes. I would stay back and use my magic, preparing to do whatever it took to help my friends.
The ground trembled as the blue dragon swooped down. She landed with a thud, far too close for comfort. Daegal moved toward me, the others following suit as the dragon prowled towards us.
Blood dripped from her wings, and her eyes were dark voids—like her soul.
I glared at her. This bitch was the queen who stole my throne. The anger helped dissolve some of the icy fear in my veins. Red tendrils of magic slipped from my palms as I stood beside Kysha and Maiela.
“I love you, Mai,” the halfling whispered, her voice trembling.
“It’s been an honor being your wife,” Maiela murmured.
Their declarations sent a shiver down my spine. Cold anticipation filled me, getting worse as a Winged Soldier landed a few feet from the dragon.
There was a flash of light, then a beautiful, naked female appeared where the beast had been. The guard handed her a gown, and she pulled it on. There were still a hundred feet between us and them, but it felt like nothing. The air was thick with violence, and my heart hammered in my chest as I waited.
Moving my gaze from the Winged Soldier, I stared at Daegal. He was beautiful, this bonded mate of mine. The lines of his muscles were visible through his tunic, and he stood with his back straight, his sword ready at his side. Next to him, green ribbons twinned around Aileana’s hands as she leaned against the dragon shifter.
The air was so tense as an eerie silence fell upon us. In my—albeit limited—experience, I knew that the calm before the battle could last for minutes or hours. Already, every second felt like far too long. My skin felt too tight as I stared at the scene unfolding before me.
The silence only made things worse.