Page 121 of The Cruel Dawn
Jadon’s choice will be to either obey Danar Rrivae and live, or disobey Danar Rrivae and die. If Jadon chooses to live, both of his fathers will use him to conquer Vallendor…and other realms known and to be discovered.
In each of these cases, the man chooses himself.
Walking this trail beside me, Elyn Fynal looks golden, strong, and worthy of an alabaster statue. The Adjudicator is not of Vallendor, not with those gold eyes and barely there wings only visible in this dying light—but she, too, has a stake in this fight. Her mother is Grand Steward of Vallendor. If we can’t stop Danar Rrivae—and find Jadon—no one will ever beofVallendor again, including Sybel Fynal.
“And I’m not letting that asshole destroy my mom,” Elyn says, her enunciation slurred.
“You drank a little too much wine, huh?” I ask, also a little unsteady.
She snorts.
I squint at her. “You’re talented, you know that? You draw like a real artist. You draw better than you fight.”
She holds out her arms. “I fight pretty damned good for a judge.”
“You know what would helpmefight better?” I say. “Wings. And I’ve proven myself, haven’t I by now? Don’t I deserve to fly again?”
“Talk to the manager,” she says, pointing to the sky. She narrows her eyes and looks back at the Temple of Malik Sindire.
“What’s wrong now?” I ask.
“That guy back there. Who is he and why is my picture in his creepy book?”
“He’s a visitor to Vallendor,” I say. “A Dindt who travels––like Dindts do—and he collects shit from across the realms—like Yeadens do. Why does it matter?”
“How do we know that he’s telling us the truth?” she asks. “About catherite and linionium, about Celedan Docci transferring his power? About the ink on Jadon’s hand?”
“How do we knowanyone’stelling the truth aboutanyof this?” I say. “We all know that catherite isn’t as strong as fucking linionium. As for Docci?” I shrug. “We saw thatsomethinghappened, which is why we’re here and why dead gods now litter the abbey.” I point to her. “You’re starting to sound like me, questioning everything.”
She widens her eyes. “No!” We both laugh.
Her smile fades, and now she looks small, too young for all this chaos, for certain death. It’s her job to decide who lives and who dies across nine realms. But she also decides the fate of immortals on these nine realms who’ve made the wrong decisions. So much power too young.
Maybe I am, too.
“He worries me,” Elyn says. “And I don’t like my likeness everywhere.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s in abook. And if I had to count how many times my likeness—”
“Well, I’m not you,” she says. “I’m nobody’s lady or guiding light.And!I know of no arms-trading Dindt named Malik Sindire,” Elyn says, her voice tight. “And he didn’t wear any amulets worn by the Dindt.”
Bees, spiders, beavers, hammer, angles…
“And you know every Dindt throughout the sixty-seven thousand realms?” I ask, eyebrow cocked.
“Yes,” she says. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
“You need to worry about one pendant,” I say, “the one that we need to snatch off the traitor. Then we need to destroy him and then destroy Jadon before the freed linionium findshimand makeshimunstoppable.”
“One last thing,” she says, holding up a finger. Her eyes are clear, sober now. “That name, Orewid Rolse. I’d heard it said before.”
I nod, also suddenly sober. “And?”
Her face darkens. “He’s dangerous, Kai. He hasn’t swung a sword once to defend the Aetherium nor has he rebuilt any destroyed realms. Yet he goes around telling Mera that they are the master order, that Mera can’t be proper warriors if they love outside their order, that the Mera bloodline must be protected at all costs.
“And he finds Mera men like Zephar, who are already experiencing some kind of…” She flicks her hand. “…identity crisisabout who they are and who gets to lead and…Orewid Rolse riles them up so much that they’ll kill whoever they think threatens them.”
My heart jolts. “And what happened to those Mera who killed for his cause in other realms?”
