But worst of all was that the woman knew all that. He was nothing to her. When night fell, he’d be one face among a roster of dead. Another victim of a moon-sent witch.

Weeping with anger and fear, Sark ripped back his sword and swung anew.

Fire rushed to greet him.

The last hoof-beats faded, and the gorge shook with song. Not the madrigal whose unfamiliar verses had sprung full-formed from Melanna’s lips as she’d ridden to battle. This was the cruder bombast of a warrior’s victory. Hammers rang out a pulsing rhythm as they broke apart paralysed constructs and banished the crackling magic within.

Melanna stood apart from the menfolk. Not one of their number had dared approach her. Her head still ringing from the sword-blow that had nearly ended her life, she drank in the cruel, merciless beauty she had wrought.

The gorge was choked with dead, both Hadari and Tressian. The former were already stacked for the midnight pyres. The latter would keep until later – and if the vermin ate their fill before then? Such were the fortunes of war. But these were not the bodies that grieved Melanna the most. Many lunassera would whisper no more prayers to Ashana. Nor could they usher the gravely wounded to her embrace, for they were now at her side themselves. Slain because they’d followed her into battle.

And that last man she’d killed. Less a man at the end, and more a frightened boy.

Was this how all warriors felt after a battle won? How did they stand it?

But if the sight was heart-wrenching, the smell was worse. The thick, rich tang of blood clung to her.

“Savim! You are wounded.”

Sera drew closer, the grace of her movements lent sharpness by her bloodstained robes. Melanna heard concern in her voice – her expression, as ever, lay hidden beneath a silvered mask.

She touched a hand to her brow. The fingers came away red. She’d come even closer to death than she’d believed. But the goddess had preserved her. Or had she? What if the goddess had forsaken her for marching to war in her name? What if it was just good fortune? What if it ran out?

“I’ll live. I’m sorry about your sisters.”

Sera’s lips twitched. “They died for the goddess, savim. We will pray for them. We will weep. And we will be the stronger for their sacrifice.”

Melanna’s stomach churned. But they hadn’t died in the goddess’s service, had they? They’d died for her. The thought shook her to her core. What made it worse was that she knew she’d let it be so again, and without hesitation. After all, that was an emperor’s burden.