Azmar.
Qequan kept his word. He put him on the front lines.
Tears pock my vision. I wrench the glass away to keep them from smudging it and blink quickly to hide them.
But my father notices. “What?”
I swallow a lump in my throat and pull up the easiest lies I have. “I don’t want our people hurt. I don’t want the trolls to take me again.”
Lythanis raises a brow. He doesn’t know about my stay in Cagmar, then.
My father straightens, but his arm, and the knife, remain. “The midline, Calia.”
The only other men on horses are the two who were speaking to Lythanis earlier. I see them ride out front and yell something—encouragement, maybe. They haven’t yet finished their speeches when a horn, higher pitched than the monster horn, rips through the morning air. The line of trollis charges.
Azmar, Unach, Perg. Stars, please protect them.
I’ve never seen real war before. I’ve read about it, heard stories of it, but never witnessed it. When the armies collide, it’s loud and bloody and haunting. I turn away, but my father squeezes my shoulder and forces my face back. Forces me to see trollis and humans beat one another, scream at one another, run from each other. Paint the dust with blue and red and purple.
I hate this. I hate him.
“They’re trying to flank us,” Lythanis growls.
The moment my father steps forward to get a better look, I lift my bound hands and shove his knife away. Duck under his arm. Bolt out of the tent and twist northeast, away from the battle. He immediately screams after me, his bellows fading into the clamor of war.
Bruises on my thighs, as well as the cut I made with my fingernail, screech and pound with every step. My ribs sing their earlier torture. My pulse echoes in my collarbone. I pull up the rope between my hands.
I just have to outrun them and wait for the fighting to end. I just need to get away and hide—
Horse hooves sound behind me.
I sprint for the basin and its steep, sandy slopes. Only a little farther.
The pursuit grows louder. I dare to glance over my shoulder. My father is gaining quickly. A handful of men trail behind him on foot.
Digging in my heels, I spin toward him. I don’t aim for my father, but his horse, when I push fear out of me. The animal rears. I don’t wait to see if my father falls off. I run with everything I have. If I die running, I will die well.
I skirt a snake hole and a lone boulder. Sweat builds quickly on my skin. Weariness seeps into my limbs, reminding me I’ve not eaten in a day and a half. My pains become a single, unified pounding, an uncomfortable aura encasing my body.
I reach the basin. Barreling over its steep wall, I slide down, nearly losing my footing in the soft rust-tinted earth. Dust clouds burst around me. Dirt fills my shoes and coats my clothes. I cough, trying to expel it from my lungs. Take a few steps, cough. Dust clouds my vision. Rubbing it from my eyes, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
My father and his men descend just as quickly. He shouts something indiscernible. Even without horses, they’re faster than I am and pierce through the cloud like phantoms.
Wheeling, I gather my fear like arrows and shoot.
One man gasps and falls. Another stops and draws his sword with a quaking hand, uncertain. Rage pools in my father’s countenance. He continues on, slower, that knife clutched in his hand. Six men in total. Two of them charge me.
I dart south, trying to evade them. Both wield swords and chase me like I’m a prized boar. Changing directions, I come back around, pulsing fear into the other four again, trying to push them back. I’m so focused on driving them away that I don’t notice one of my pursuers come around me.
His thick forearm clamps across my shoulders and yanks me back. My father shouts something. They all start shouting. I can’t piece the words together. The blade levels at my chin. My pursuer’s companion tries to help him, but I will die before I let them take me. Ignoring the blade, I push my fear into him, screaming as it chills my own blood in response.
My wail thins as my father and the other three men turn their backs to me, their focus drawn to the thick shadow emerging from the dust cloud.
My entire body goes limp.
Azmar.
Azmar.
Azmar came.
He was on the front lines. He must have seen me. Must have seen the cloud I stirred up.
He is a goliath compared to the others, well over a foot taller and twice as thick. His heavy, curved sword slices upward at one of the soldiers, sending him flying in a flash of red.
The man restraining me releases his hold. He and his companion run to intervene.
No. They will not have Azmar.
I limp after them. My skin cools as terror washes through me, spilling into them. They cower, leaving Azmar an opening to stab into another assailant, just as he notices the two others coming for him.
One, two on the ground. One cowering. Two approaching. Where is—
Pop! My neck makes a horrible sound as my head lurches backward, following the tug of my hair. I lose my footing and fall, tailbone slamming against the ground. The sun burns my eyes. A weight presses into my stomach. A hand tightens on my throat, cutting off my air.
My father’s face hovers above me, red, with bulging veins. His knife glimmers silver.
“You bitch.” He raises his blade. “I’ll kill you, just like I killed your mother.”
Fear floods every inch of me, so intense I cannot orient myself. I cannot find myself. There is only terror.
The knife comes down—
A shadow engulfs us. My father flies upward, five thick green fingers wrapped around his neck. His feet dangle above the ground. The utter rage on Azmar’s face makes him nearly unrecognizable.
But before Azmar can crush my father’s windpipe, before I can pick myself off the ground, I see him. The soldier who restrained me, bleeding from his arm. Coming up from behind.
I don’t even have a chance to scream.
The soldier’s sword comes up, then down, slashing across Azmar’s back. Azmar wears only a tunic. He wasn’t given armor. Qequan wanted him dead.
Blue blood rains over the ground.
“No!” I scream, launching to my feet. “No!”
The soldier stumbles with his own injuries.
Azmar releases my father and drops to his knees.
I don’t know if it’s my ability or their own fear that seizes them, but they run. My father and the soldier. They flee for their lives.
Azmar’s palms hit the ground. His breaths come hard. Sweat drips from his nose.
Tears blur my vision as I rush to him. Indigo soaks his shirt. The cut is bad. Very bad. Bandages alone will do nothing to help him.
“Oh stars, oh gods.” My hands shake. What do I do?
Azmar’s elbow buckles and he falls onto his side. Falls, just like the star did last night.
Tears rush down my cheeks. I move in front of him, cradling his face. “Azmar? Azmar.”