We landed at the center of camp, just outside the Magician's tent.
Captain Barrett stepped away as soon as he could, brushing himself off and eyeing the monstrous soldiers all around us.
They did nothing more than stare, stunned by our sudden appearance.
The guard nearest the tent flap, a hulking brute with the smashed nose of a pig and bat-wing ears, poked his head inside to announce us.
After a moment, my lord appeared.
“Z'el,” he said magnanimously. “And Captain Barrett. What an honor. Welcome to the winning side.” A tense second passed between us as the heads of each serpent sized the other up. The lynchpins of two armies, face to face, watching each other as equals. The Magician's gaze slid back to me. “Well done,” he said. “Now kill him.”
I didn't move, thinking I'd misheard. My muscles locked up, my throat went dry. Not me, don't ask me.
Harmon glanced at me, then drew a dagger from a hidden sheath along his forearm and charged my lord with the blade upraised. He shouted something unintelligible.
The guards to either side advanced, but my lord raised a hand to halt their progress. With the other hand, the Magician sketched a figure in the air, then shot his palm forward, into that space described.
Harmon flew backward, the dagger thudding to the earth. He landed at my feet, red-faced and breathless.
“You said he would be unharmed,” I accused.
“Those words never passed my lips. I said I would meet with him, and discuss a surrender.”
Harmon seemed unable to move.
I crouched over him, checking for pulse and breath.
My lord gestured to the stricken man. “I accept his surrender, and intend to make sure it cannot be rescinded.” He waved to a cluster of soldiers off to the right.
They trotted toward us, and, as they scattered, I glimpsed the stake they'd huddled around. They grabbed Harmon, shoving me back.
“Frankly, Z'el, I'm disappointed.” The Magician clucked his tongue. “Disobeying a direct order. How unlike you.”
“I'm sorry,” I muttered. To neither. To both.
They dragged Harmon away.
I followed halfway to the stake, then spun back. “Don't kill him,” I pleaded with my lord. “Surely he's worth more alive. Use him as a barter. Shame them with his easy capture...” I danced from foot to foot as if standing on hot sand.
The Magician gave me a hard look. “You've been among them too long. They've softened you, like a pumpkin left to rot in the sun.” He took my arm and pulled me along to the pyre. “You've become like them,” he continued. “Poisoned on false morals. Unwilling to make the hard decisions.”
By the time we arrived, the soldiers were already lashing Harmon to the stake.
He twisted beneath the ropes, swearing at his captors as he regained use of his faculties.
The Magician stroked my feathers. “Well done, my pet.”
A soldier beside him lit a torch, and he took it, pressing it into my grasp. “Prove your loyalty,” he said. “Prove your love for me.” He closed my numb fingers around the torch and pushed me toward the bound man. “Earn your place back by my side.”
I stumbled toward Harmon without my normal grace, my fingers tight and painful around the torch. I stopped, and looked up at him on the stake, looked into his mad eyes, so full of fear and pain and betrayal. “What you do here,” I told him, “is the finest thing you’ve ever done.”
He looked down on me as if my words were gibberish.
“For your men, for your army-”
“Light it,” the Magician said.
“For peace,” I pressed on. “History will tell of your sacrifice, and your men will carry your tale on their tongues as they return home to their wives, their children…to their safe and boring lives.”
“Light it!” He barked.
Harmon's eyes shone with the power of my words. “Do it then,” he said. “For my men. Do it, angel. Light me.”
I thrust the torch into the piled kindling at Harmon’s feet. I stepped back, but continued my song, telling him of the glory to come as the flames devoured his feet and licked up his thighs.
He screamed, just once, when his skin began to blister.
I commanded him to look upon me as I continued my song, telling him he'd soon see Cella again, and their child, a rosy baby girl he could name after his poor mother.
Harmon quieted. His eyes rolled up to the column of smoke climbing into the black sky, and he smiled.