Page 167 of Commanding Flame and Shield
A panicked glance back to Ansel was met with pained silver eyes, waiting for me. Another tiny nod. I bowed my head and closed my eyes in gratitude for whatever message he had sent me. In centuries together in this life, Ansel had never invited me to read his history. I began to pray, pray this would work. Prayed whatever he was desperate to tell me was going to work.
Fingers trembling, I brought my hand to my mouth, willing my swollen lips to part enough to drag the blood across my teeth and tongue.
The world spun into darkness as millions of visions enveloped my mind, and I fully submitted to them. My legs tried to quit, but Aren held me upright, still pinned against his chest, the warmth from his blood seeping deeper into the clothes on my back. He was my anchor as not one, not two, but all of Ansel’s long lives swirled through my mind. The overwhelm was immense, and I slammed my head back into Aren’s chest as though I could silence the pounding pain there.
Ansel had always been a formidable warrior, every life lived on the hilt of a blade and back of a mount. His intuitive knowing that Lana was in the world was parallel to none, and he would stop at nothing to find her. And God, Lana, she was everywhere, her rare smile, her rarer laugh, the way she moved so elegantly behind her blades. Her body. I did my best to turn from those memories—the ones he no doubt had kept guarded all this time.
Ansel’s loyalty for us was more than I could even imagine. His love for me, for Aren and even for August was shockingly palpable. His wounds only a small token of his affection for his coven. His family.
And then…
The edges began to fade into something nebulous, as the vision turned blinding, like staring into the sun. I brought my hand to my mouth again, and sucked the blood clean off, ignoring the metallic tang in my mouth, not allowing myself to register what I had done, as the vision slammed against me like a tsunami.
Lana and Ansel had adaughterin one of their cycles. A real daughter, in both biology and soul. A brash, brazen girl, fierce as a lion. Her energy was unmistakably warrior, unrelenting, like a black flag always hung at her door.
She was skilled beyond even my abilities in combat. And she had died a martyr in her last life with her parents…died for…her King. Her country. Her kingdom. She’d made a vow to her best friend, the Queen, as the unnervingly familiar soul bled out against her lap. The Queen had called the young assassin "The Wraith”, for her ability to infiltrate enemy lines unnoticed, and unleash her deadly fury. Some thread to reality pulled and pulled, but I slammed it out. Focused on this piece of Ansel he had shared.
The Wraith had loved her Queen, and the Queen loved her. In the Queen's dying breaths, the Wraith made a vow to protect the King at all costs. A King she served to the last fatal slash of her nearly invincible blade, and desperate breath on her lips.
Tears poured from my eyes as I gasped for air, the vision fading into stardust. The energy was unmistakable. The soul impossible tonotrecognize. Lana’s sobs grew more desperate, and I didn’t need her thoughts to know that their warrior daughter had finished her urgent ascension. It had been her rise that handicapped Ansel into his injury.
…The weapon we had been praying for. The weapon neither the Renown, nor August, could know sat right under their noses.
The vision brought victory into my bones. A fool’s chance, perhaps, but it’s all we needed. All I could ask for.
I eyed Ansel and realized his silver eyes were pouring tears. While he would have been justified to cry in pain, in fear as death beckoned, the man was no mere mortal, and his pain would only fuel him. Those tears were odes to his long-lost daughter.
A daughter he was telling me touse. A Hail-Mary pass to a second in command he loved like a sister.
I nodded my assent. It could work.
It had to work.
Agamemnon and August were within swinging distance of each other, Adrastos still glued to August’s side, when I returned my eyes. Both were screaming epithets through bared teeth, and the sight of August, feral, and menacing, sent a jolt of electricity down my spine. We could do this. Had to be able to. Because I could not lose him. Not to those monsters. It would kill me in a far more gruesome way than the Renown would.
“Aren,” I whispered. “You have to let me go.”
“Ally—” the growl was a warning.
“I cannot show you, under their shield. But you have to trust me. Ansel has a plan.”
I felt the energy as Alec and Aren exchanged a silent approval.
“Don’t let me go. Not yet. You’ll know when. Make it look real, and then you’ll know the sign to attack.”
He exhaled a pointed sigh, but I felt his body rock forward, just slightly, so that my feet were more firmly planted against the ground.
“August!!” I screamed, letting all the pain of the battle consume me. Embracing every inch of agony and ire, letting the scent and energy consume the clearing, as fire within my chest grew to a precarious inferno. Perhaps it was magic, after all—that ferocious energy slamming its fists against my ribs, like a prison. Like it could break out if it hit hard enough.
August’s panicked eyes met mine for a moment, and then Agamemnon’s colossal fist slammed into his face. I roared at him and thrashed against Aren. August staggered back, but he steadied himself and bared his teeth. Hisses and growls erupted from our warriors, and the metallic clang of blades filled the air.
I cried out for him, as the monster’s evil smile turned to me to devour my suffering. He would enjoy every sadistic moment of tearing us apart. We wouldn’t let him.
August spat blood into Agamemnon’s face.
“Do we have a deal? Or are you a coward behind all that muscle?”
“The deal stands!” He kicked Sam in the back and laughed as he fell. The noise shrill and icy across the air. Adrastos snarled something to his brother. His General.
