The Warlord Gena Showalter (primary phonics TXT) 📖

dungeon, and she’d taken charge right away. So far, everyone had followed her orders, as promised. Even Mara. Roc and his guys were a little traumatized, though.

To everyone’s surprise, the two groups—Astra army versus harpies—got along well...mostly. There’d only been a few dozen losses on Roc’s side. So hardly any at all! She wanted her girls to know what they were up against, so she sent them to train and patrol during the day and battle as needed.

Yeah, Erebus kept sending new hordes of phantoms. A glance out of any window revealed a fight of some kind. To be honest, her father had proved more of an irritant than a threat. Because he didn’t want Taliyah to die—before the ceremony. No, he wanted Roc to be the one to kill her, forced to live with his guilt and regret for the rest of eternity. All along, she had been her father’s weapon of destruction.

Only eight days remained until the ceremony, and her nerves were...frayed. They were no closer to a solution. Doom loomed ever darker on the horizon.

Taliyah kicked a boot someone had dropped in the middle of the hall, punting it out of the way, and marched on, heading for the dungeon. She’d been practicing with her ring and studying like crazy.

She’d finally picked a major. Sacrifices. Forget everything else. The crux of every problem revolved around the sacrifice. The linchpin.

Roc’s sacrifice spurred his ascension to god, just as hers spurred an ascension to General. Motives mattered, the impact of the loss important.

His loss—his dream of family. The death of his gravita.

Hers—life. Willingly dying for her consort.

Yeah. She’d entertained the possibility a time or twelve, but had always backtracked, a dead General doing no one any good.

Never accept a picture of defeat.

If only she could sleep! When she tried, she dreamed of phantoms trapped in a tunnel or cave, pinned in by countless bodies and starving. The real-life harphantoms were well-fed, at least. Yesterday, Taliyah had convinced Roc to serve up his naughty soldiers.

Sweet Roc, who had refused to work on the altar.

His men had completed it for him. The murder stone currently resembled every altar she’d seen in his memories. Anytime she spotted the stupid thing, she imagined sacrificing Erebus and Chaos there. They deserved to die.

In the dungeon, she breathed deep. The place had been scrubbed clean. Harphantoms rushed to the bars of the cages as she passed. Like every time before, they reached through the barriers as much as possible, their mouths open and sucking.

Roux stood at the end of the corridor—nope, he sprawled today, his shoulder propped against a wall. Drag marks suggested he’d crawled there. Blood trickled from his nose.

Taliyah sprinted over, her wings flapping. She crouched beside the blond giant and lifted his head into the torchlight. His pupils were huge.

“Roux? Tell me what happened so I can help make it better.”

He blinked rapidly, doing his best to focus on her. Suddenly his pupils consumed his irises. “Aunt Tal? Aunt Tal!” Relief lit his features. “Help me! Please. I don’t know how much longer I can keep control. Mom’s trapped in him, and I’m trapped in her. We’re real hungry. Aunt Tal? He’s fighting me, and I don’t...” He shook his head and blinked again.

Taliyah fell, hitting the bars of the nearest cage. The harphantom inside it grabbed her hair, but she misted, solidifying a few feet from Roux. Roux, who carried her sister and niece. Shock flash-froze her veins, answers clicking. Isla had possessed Blythe, and Blythe had possessed Roux. Like Russian nesting dolls. If his block was as powerful as Roc’s, Blythe had been unable to break free. The longer they’d stayed, the deeper they’d gone, and the less Roux had sensed them. Because they’d become more a part of him.

How had Blythe entered him in the first place? He must have dropped his shield. But why would he do so? And how had seven-year-old Isla penetrated her mother’s shields and the Astra’s? No way he’d dropped it a second time.

Roux glowered up at her before coming up with a roar, getting in her face. “Why did I black out? What did you do to me?”

Rather than return-shout at the warlord, as part of her demanded, she held up her hands, palms out. “Let’s de-escalate a notch, soldier. I did nothing, but I now know what’s wrong with you. I even know how to fix you...kind of.” She had theories. She’d never had to do this before.

That got his attention. He rocked on his heels, easing off. “My...apologies.” He dipped his head in a show of respect. “You have answers, General?”

Okay. How to break this to him? “The woman you saw during the battle did, in fact, possess you. I can confirm that.” He tensed as she continued. “Here’s the thing. Her daughter possessed her first. Meaning, yes, you’re carrying both mom and child. Knowing Blythe, she hoped you’d whisk them to safety, where they could exit without your knowledge.”

“The little girl. Yes. I saw her. Then she disappeared, and she appeared. The woman. But I stopped. I was swinging, but I stopped. I would never hurt a child. By then, they were already gone. Then the darkness came.” Creases appeared in his brow. “If they remain inside me, why do I feel as if they’re gone?”

“They’re buried deeper. At least, that’s what my niece told me when she took over your body. No big deal. Nope!” When he opened his mouth to complain, she extended a finger. “Let your shields down, and I’ll draw them out.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Lower my shields for a phantom?”

“Yes. Do it willingly, or I’ll make you do it by force.” She infused her tone with steel. “One way or another, I’m getting my girls out. No, you know what? You don’t get to think about this, and you don’t get to fight it. Kneel.”

He laughed without humor. “I will not.”

“I wear your Commander’s stardust. I’m his wife and gravita. I’m Acting