Page 132 of Ashes of Honor
A murmur rippled through the room. Millie shifted uneasily, her gaze flicking to the river on the map. Harper, ever the thorn in my side, opened his mouth, but I cut him off with a raised hand.
“The ice won’t hold under the weight of their arrogance,” I continued, lacing my voice with steel. “They’ll think they’ve cornered us.”
“Ma’am?” A younger officer from Fargo—Kellan, if my memory wasn’t shit—raised his hand tentatively, his face pale.“What about our soldiers? If we’re that close to the river, won’t they?—”
“Then stay off the ice, soldier,” I snapped, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Hold the ridges, just far enough to lure ‘em forward?—”
“But safe enough from the trap,” Hunter added from his position near the entrance, Abel on the other side.
I jabbed the map again. “Once they’re fully committed, we shell the ice.”
Kellan swallowed hard, but nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Releasing a slow, much needed exhale, I let my gaze sweep the room. It was tense, as to be expected. More shoulders sat rigid near their ears than I’d hoped for, but after the gamble I’d laid out—who could blame them?
It was a calculation that required a certain level of brutality—the fierceness in their eyes showed they understood. Still, I hadn’t said the best—or worst—part, because when magic was involved in war, humans would always give way to cruelty, no matter your morals.
Our honor had to fall to ashes in order to survive.
“When it’s done,” I said, forcing my voice to relay a deadly calm, “we extract any of our people who fell in, then freeze any Covert sympathizers. Fall back and regrouphere. Fast and clean.”
No one moved. No one spoke.
“Brief your units and prepare to move out in fifteen,” I barked, the crack of my voice jolting every last one of them into action. Chairs scraped, orders were shouted, and the air buzzed with the frenetic energy of doom.
Alexiares stayed by my side as the others spilled out into the frozen wasteland beyond the tent, Riley the last to leave, his weakening demeanor portraying the words he would not burden me with. Not now. I turned to follow when Alexiares’s fingersbrushed mine. A fleeting touch that sent a flicker of comfort through me—damn the rest of the world. He didn’t speak. He stared down at me, dark eyes saying enough.
We were fighting for many things—our people, our survival, our future—but at that moment, I knew we were fighting for each other more than anything else.
And that was enough to remind me why I was willing to risk all that I did—why I would win in the end.
Only the deadhave seen the end of war.Plato.
The air reeked of blood and burning magic. Screams intertwined with the thunder of cannon fire, the sharp hiss of arrows, and the sickening, unforgettable crunch of bodies meeting steel. This shit belonged in a museum. The way the snow fell in a lazy, hyperbolic drift. A shroud settling over the chaos.
From the trenches on the high ground, I could see everything. The frozen, snow-covered Mississippi—now a battleground of desperation and death.
A cannon roared beside me. The blast punched through my ears and sent me tumbling toward the ground. It put me in the perfect position to watch as shrapnel ripped through a soldier’s leg down below. He collapsed, blood pouring into the snow like ink in water, sparing him no time to react. His last seconds on this earth, not understood until he was on the other side. Maybe.
“Focus!” I barked, forcing myself upright as another soldier’s body fell lifeless at my feet. My voice was hoarse, raw. “Keep firing! Don’t let them regroup!”
We had them where we wanted them. It was almost time. If we could keep the pressure for a few more minutes, our losses would remain minimal.
Riley surged forward on my left, his ax cleaving through a Kansas soldier who had somehow made it past the trenches. Blood sprayed across his face. He didn’t blink as he turned, the earth rippling at his feet as he threw up a wall of rock to shield our gunners as they reloaded.
Right at the edge of my view, Alexiares shifted, a presence as elusive as smoke. His knives flashed as he weaved through the trenches, carving down attackers. A blade found its mark in our enemy’s chest. Alexiares spun before the body hit the ground, firing off a headshot that dropped another from his quick draw. Flames erupted in his free palm from his quick decision to ditch the metal. Three more Covert sympathizers smoldered in an inferno that lit up the trench around him.
His control was terrifying—and beautiful. Alexiares had mastered his mage, his fire slivering in snake-like fashion in order to avoid our troops.
“Where the hell are Serenity and Hunter?” I shouted over the fray, searching the battlefield for any sign of them.
“Hopefully not dead.” Riley ducked an arrow, driving his ax into the neck of the attacker.
Shit. We were losing our footing. Gaps had formed out on the battlefield, leaving more vulnerabilities than I cared to admit.
“Not funny,” I snapped, scanning the chaos below.
The cavalry was in trouble. Reina weaved through the enemy lines, her black mare moving with the wind over the ice-crusted river. She leaned to the side, her body lifting off at a near 90-degree angle to avoid a volley of arrows, her medkit bouncing against her back.
