But it would not be enough.

She could see how her own Shake were looking on, no different from Yan Tovis herself. Yedan was not about to expend the Letherii ranks as if they were useless skirmishers, not with what he’d now made of them. He would pull them back, holding them in reserve during the next battle.

They probed to test our mettle. Next time, we will see their true fury. And if that beachhead is established, then the first dragon will come through .

Her Shake watched, yes, and thought about their own time to come, their own stand against the Liosan. Few of the Letherii were trained as soldiers, and that was no different from the Shake. But Yedan’s Watch would be there, solid as standing stones. Until they start falling. They can only do so much. They’re Yedan’s most precious resource, but he must risk them each time. And, as they begin to fall, why, he’ll have a new crop of veterans to draw upon. These very Letherii here, and then from among our own Shake .

It’s so very … logical. But, dear brother, it’s what you do best, isn’t it?

How can I kneel to this? By doing so, do I not make it all … inevitable? No. That I will not do. But I will take my place among my people, on that berm. I know how to fight. I might not be Yedan’s equal in that, but I’m damned close .

It’s carved into the souls of the royal line. To stand here, upon the First Shore. To stand here, and to die .

They were stacking Liosan corpses, making a wall across the breach. The contempt of that gesture was as calculated as everything else Yedan did. Rage is the enemy. Beware that, Liosan. He will make your rage your downfall, if he can .

You cannot make my brother angry. He’s not like you. He’s not like any of us. And his army will follow his lead. They will look to him and take inside what he gives. It’s cold. Lifeless. They’ll take it in and it will change them all .

Your army, brother. My people. I can’t win this, but neither can you .

She collected her sword belt from the stump of a felled tree, strapped it on. Settled the helm on her head and fastened the clasp. Tugged on her gauntlets.

Her people took note. They faced her now, and watched as their queen prepared to fight.

But what are they thinking?

Why do they even look to us? My brother? Me? See where our love for them has taken them. See all those limp, lifeless bodies tumbling into the pit .

They watched this calm, silent woman readying for battle.

They didn’t know, of course, about all the howling going on in her head, the anguished screams and the poisoned helplessness eating at every hidden edge. No, they knew nothing about any of that.

She saw her brother. Gesturing, giving orders.

He turned then, and across the distance he faced her.

Should she lift a hand? Acknowledge his achievement? This first triumph? Should she draw her sword, perhaps, and lift it high? Would he respond in kind?

Not a chance. But then, look at me. We see each other, yes, and neither of us does a thing to reach across. How can we? We are co-conspirators in the slaughter of all these people . Yan Tovis turned, found one of her messengers. ‘Aras, deliver the news to Queen Drukorlat. The breach was repelled. Acceptable losses. We await their next attack.’

The young girl bowed and then hurried off, into the forest.

When Twilight looked back down to the strand, her brother was nowhere in sight.

It was now a road, of sorts. The white dust soaked in blood, churned into reddish-brown mud, straight as a spear shaft between Saranas’ Wedding Gate and the Breach. Shivering, Aparal Forge watched the wagons burdened with the wounded drawing closer. To either side of the narrow track the massed legions prepared for the real assault. Heads turned to watch the broken remnants of the Forlorn Hope file past.

Well, that was proof enough, was it not? Kharkanas was occupied once more. The infernal Shake had returned, or someone much like them, and were determined to contest the breach. Madness, all of it. Glancing up, he saw four of the Thirteen still veered, their vast wings flashing gold in the ceaseless light. The Draconean blood had finally taken them, he knew. They had surrendered for ever to the chaos. Among them was Iparth Erule, who had once been a friend. ‘Son of Light,’ he whispered, ‘beware your chosen, now that the blood of the Eleint rises, to drown all that we once were.’

The door behind him swung open, cracking against the stone wall. Aparal flinched, but did not turn round.

‘If you had followed, brother—’

‘But I did, Son of Light.’

Kadagar Fant swore, was suddenly beside Aparal, hands settling on the alabaster merlon. ‘That last pass – we were almost through! See my children still on the wing? Where are the others?’