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had yet to come.
The rush of battle hadn’t yet worn off any
of them—which was how Aedion wound up in
his war tent an hour after the last of the Valg
had fallen, standing around a map-covered
table with Ren Allsbrook and Ravi and Sol of
Suria.
Where Lysandra had gone, he didn’t know.
She’d survived, which he supposed was
enough.
They hadn’t washed away the gore or mud
coating them so thoroughly that it had caked
beneath their helmets, their armor. Their
weapons lay in a discarded pile near the tent
flaps. All would need to be cleaned. But later.
“Losses on your side?” Aedion asked Ravi
and Sol. The two blond brothers both ruled
over Suria, though Sol was technically its
lord. They’d never fought in the wars before
now, despite being around Aedion’s age, but