Page 119 of To Dance with Death

As for his men—surely some think they are merely taking revenge on the country that killed their king rather than fighting on behalf of his murderer. With my father’s death, I am hoping they will surrender.

All in all, the queen gathers twenty soldiers, all hooded and armored, strapped with weapons I don’t recognize. But to see her steels my resolve, even more so as the queen herself is fitted into more armor, including a chain-mail hood draped with a thick black fabric overtop, her crown a simple gold circlet that arcs over her brows.

And for once, with her leading the charge, I allow myself a little more hope.

Thousands are locked in battle, the tide trailing blood into the sea. The sheer number my father brought is on a scale I never imagined, and worse still are the ships on the horizon. Another fleet—incoming fast. My stomach drops when I see just how many.

Multitudes of corpses litter the sand. Even without holding the mirror directly, I can almost feel every hovering soul as I pass—and more so as we make our way through the outskirts of the fighting, with Sadira’s soldiers fending off anyone who turns our way.

It isn’t long before we draw attention. A surge of soldiers pushes into us, slamming their swords against the Razami shields. They are no match for the princes, at least, and yet I still see blades drag across flesh, blood welling from sliced skin. Mantrin shoves me back with the queen, who has her own shield.

It’s the first time I see the faces of my father’s men.

Or boys, rather. Because the one fighting Mantrin can’t be older than fifteen, his eyes wide. I watch in horror as a stray arrow plunges into his chest, and the fear and shock on his face, the blood that escapes his lips…I vomit onto my feet.

The clash carries on for several minutes. Meanwhile, the queen expertly dodges anyone who makes it past Mantrin. The sound of cannon fire blasting from the beach launches my pulse into an erratic beat.

I watch as solider after soldier is killed, their lives cut short.

I feel their souls hovering, uncollected.

Then the sound of a horn wrenches my attention away. My gaze latches on to a figure high on a black horse, there across the beach on a raised ridge before the Brisendali camp, where a small, rocky cliff juts toward the sea. He wears a silver helm that peaks toward the back, a talon branching down across his brow and nose. Gapsallow his gaze to spear across the field, and his armored hand clutches what looks like a pole arm. I realize, upon squinting, that it’s a battle standard with the new Brisendali flag near the top—altered now to include his crest.

My father thrusts the standard high, then waves it eastward. Hordes of men rush over the sands and batter into the Razami line from the north—reinforcements that must have just arrived. Fear swirls in my stomach.

At least he doesn’t knowwhois coming for him.

The strategy, Sadira had told me, was for her to send the majority of her men toward his many ships docked along the beach—launching cannons, setting them aflame—to force Maksim’s troops to defend his supplies. Meanwhile, Anton has taken a select group behind the cliffs with him to attack Maksim directly from the rear.

His goal is the same as mine: rid the world of such a demon in the hopes of halting the fight. Except if anyone notices their approach and signals an alarm, Anton will fail.

I have to reach my father before they do.

A projectile sings through the air, arcing down to the battlefield. Ten—no twenty—Razami soldiers hit the ground, even more following. My heart leaps into my throat, my gaze following the direction they are being shot from.

At first, I see nothing. Across the beach to the west is a forest that creeps overtop the jagged rocks overlooking the waves. The forest is providing coverage for the giant ballistae within. I pale. It must be a trap my father set, perhaps overnight.

There is no one to combat them.

When Crowns divide, and nations collide,

Blood will run, high as tides.

Again and again the Brisendali archers shoot, arrows lodging themselves into the thick of the fight, some lit with flames. Mantrin breaks from our group and snatches one that still blazes, firing it back into the trees. A body falls from a bough. Even so, more streaks of fire tear across the beach. I watch in horror as soldier aftersoldier falls, Razami and Brisendali alike. The arrows have no preference. Their only goal is to slaughter as many men as quickly as possible. So much pointless death. Screams rip through my ears.

I grasp for the mirror wrapped within my satchel. I had vowed not to use it like this, but I can’t—won’t—let this happen. Can’t witness endless death. I have to do something—

Queen Sadira stays my hand.

“Not yet,” she says, then orders two of her men to gather a troop to attack the archers, but they won’t make it into the forest without being shot.

“It’s going to be a massacre,” I rasp. But then she directs my gaze toward the beach.

“Look, Vasalie.”

The ships I saw on the horizon have now arrived onshore. Except…the soldiers that emerge aren’t wearing the same armor. They fly the Brisendali flag, yes, but not the new one, altered with my father’s seal.

This is the old flag.