Page 127 of Commanding Flame and Shield
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I like you. Your fire. Your adept blade. Because The Great Commander can bring this dream of mine to pass, if all souls unite behind it. And because he needs you, Alvara. The Great Commander cannot do his job without you by his side—a great Queen for a great King.”
“And that’s why I’m alive? That’s why you convinced your brother to spare me?”
“For now. Should you choose to reject our alliance, Agamemnon, I’m afraid takes poorly to such things. And as for me,” he shrugged with a nonchalance I wasn’t sure he felt. “Perhaps the horsemen will need hands to burn the humans to the ground, should it seem I won’t get my chance to create a better world.”
“So, I become your lackey, or you help bring about the apocalypse? That’s seriously your bargain?”
“Be it what it may.”
“You’re delusional.”
A smile that would have brought lesser women to their knees. “And you have more Faith than they deserve. They’re coming for you, with or without me. And it will be a hell of a lot easier to glue this world back together if we work as allies. Would it not?”
I stared down those earthy eyes. He meant it, what he said. Believed all of it. It was right there at the surface of those too-human pools of brown.
“Aren will never bow to another man.”
“But he will kneel before The Great Commander.” It wasn’t a question, but a knowing. I knew it too. Should August ascend to that depth of power, the ability to wield all hierarchies together under one banner. He was here to stop the damned apocalypse. Revelations come to life. Goosebumps danced down my spine as I realized Aren was already preparing himself to step aside and make way for a prophesied leader. A flaw in Adrastos’ plan popped into my mind.
“The Great Commander, would, in fact, also have command ofyou.”
“August Porter is young. I believe he will agree with my thoughts. My plans.”
“August Porter is twice what you will ever be. And he believes in freedom.”
Those shadows danced across his features again, seemed to emanate from him. “Then he is a foolish child. And will fall as an infant.”
“So, you’ll kill him? Be rid of him should he not comply?”
“Should it come to that. Though it would pain me to waste such a tool.”
“You're not a leader Adrastos. You’re a dictator.”
“Perhaps. But I will dictate what is right for my people.”
“And who, exactly, does that entail? It certainly doesn’t include me, or Aren, or August.”
“I’m growing bored of this. Perhaps Agamemnon was right. Think on it, Alvara, my sweet. Think on it, and watch. Watch as the world begins to fall before the first horseman has even arrived. I will expect you all to give me an answer by the time a warm snap melts the snow. Should you refuse our proposed alliance, we will see who the better soul is that day.” A flash of that bloody field with August walking across it burned in my eyes. His mouth curled, “Ahh, that. Ugly, ugly day should you wish it on yourselves. So easily avoided.” He clicked his tongue.
“You were to use me to get to him.”
“I wish to ally with The Great Commander. Not destroy him.”
“And killing me would destroy him?”
His face went solemn. “Yes. It would. One in the same, evidently.”
“So, you spare me to get to him instead?”
“Tonight, dear cousin, I do.”
“So, what do you have up your sleeve, Adrastos? What else to barter him out? To make him let you use his power?”
“That is something I hope you choose not to find out.” He pinched the bridge of his nose again and sighed dramatically. “Our time is out, I’m afraid. Your companions are quite persistent beings, aren’t they? They’ve already scried for your location and will come to get you if I don’t return you promptly. It will be a shit show.” He sighed dramatically, feigning fatigue. “Take my word for it.” My mind whirled at the idea of Aren stooping to such a thing—witchcraft, they had taken to witchcraft to track me down. He raised his right hand, setting his left on his heart. “I solemnly swear, your power shall return to you by midnight tomorrow. On my life.” Adrastos stretched out his hand. I raised my own, thanking God that it was steady, as he clasped my forearm. I nearly recoiled as it burned, but he grinned, and tightened his grip. Tiny letters and numbers burned against my pale flesh in a tight cursive scrawl.
AA21.25
