Page 169 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“Just tired.” And unable to dislodge those screams from my mind’s ear. I fear I will hear them in my sleep for years to come. I begin walking down the stone path.

She falls into step beside me. A group of Saur’goths grunt at us and she flinches.

“Ignore them. I do.” There seem to be more of them and fewer of the Islorian guards each day.

Wendeline hesitates. “I heard there was an event in the arena tonight.”

“Yes. An event.” More like a massacre. “Did you not attend?”

She shakes her head, her eyes downcast. “The last time I stood in that arena was … not a good night.”

“Yes, you began marking the mortals with the double crescent moon. Where have you seen such a thing, anyway?”

“In Mordain. The seers were known to draw it but without explanation. It was the first thing that came to mind. I had no idea what it meant. I certainly did not expect its ties to this secret kingdom in Stonekeep, which I am sure you are aware of by now.”

“I am. But let us tend to the plants, and I will tell you about the people who wear that same symbol in my old world.”

Her eyes light up.

“So, these People’s Sentinel … they hunt casters?” Wendeline pauses to smooth a finger over a vine. All hints of her fear for me have faded as we stroll deeper into the garden and I tell her about the old world, how different it is from this one.

“And burn them. They also hunt those who feed off mortal veins, though there are few of us left. They consider themselves disciples for the human race, rooting out evil.”

“And they are permitted to do so? No one questions this? The guild does nothing?”

“The mortal population, which greatly outnumbers our kind, does not know. It is all very clandestine. The Sentinel does not discuss it with nonbelievers, which is most of society. If they did, they would be labeled delusional and medicated to scare their demons away. We are mythical creatures. Fictional villains. The guild is happy to maintain this illusion, for our safety.” I pause. “Romeria’s mother is a disciple of their order.”

Wendeline gasps.

“Yes. Ironic, isn’t it, given what her daughter is? Not that she had any idea. But she tried to recruit Romeria. Brought the girl to a burning. That’s the night Romeria ran and never returned. She lived on the streets of a busy city for years.” I watched from afar, struggling not to intervene, my anger flowing. I knew Malachi had an interest in this family, but I didn’t know for what purpose until much later.

“And her father is, or was, a seer.”

“Is. Eddie is still alive. Though, I hazard, not for much longer. Not only did Romeria’s mother have no idea what she bore, she had no idea what she married. Him, I feel sorry for. As difficult as a life for a seer is in this world, you are far better off dead in that one. But Romeria’s mother? She reaps what she sows.” I could have killed that mortal a hundred times over and not lost sleep. Malachi forbade it. “But it is interesting, is it not? That the same symbol can mean two entirely different things in two realms? Though, I suppose in both cases, it hinges on protecting the mortals. Or seemingly so, given how many I heard were executed here because that very symbol uncovered their secret.”

Wendeline flinches at the reminder of her part in Cirilea’s demise. “I had hoped Atticus would approach things differently. But he is not his brother.”

“You are loyal to this Zander.” I hear the distaste of his name on my tongue. That smug Islorian, taunting my misfortune with such relish. If he had not had that beast there to whisk him away, he would be dead. But then I would have no leverage with Romeria, so perhaps I am the fortunate one for failing to kill him.

“I have always been loyal to him and his family, but mostly to his cause.” She smiles softly. “I’ve heard him speak often about a realm where all people live equally. Mortals and immortal alike.”

I guffaw. “That will never happen, in this realm or any other. There will always be those with power who wish to keep it, those with wealth who refuse to relinquish it. Tonight’s disaster in the arena was sparked by a noblewoman’s table-side complaint that her servants were abandoning them. Now, with the king’s demonstrated support, those with influence will take matters into their own hands, believing they have license to. They will use the fear of the arena as a tactic, and it will work.”

“Perhaps it was too idealistic,” she agrees. “Still … a noble cause for a noble king.”

Our path through the garden is quiet for a long moment.

“Where did these People’s Sentinel first see such a symbol and decide to claim it for their own?” Wendeline wonders out loud.

“Likely from one of the seers they burned.”

A soft chuckle escapes her, even as her face pinches with consternation. “Yes, you are right. It is all quite ironic.”

It feels oddly therapeutic to have someone to speak to so freely about our kind. I have not had anyone in my life to do that with for far too long.

But I have a purpose here, and it is not friendship. “Do you have any information for me about my earlier query?”

“I do, Your Highness, for what it’s worth. More than one person saw the princess boarding a ship that left before all the others on the day of the rebellion.”

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