Page 149 of The Cruel Dawn
I let my head fall, and a sob escapes from the deepest place in my gut.
Father embraces me, and his arms are solid and grounding, anchoring me in a way that I didn’t know I needed.
“You did more than love the mortals of Vallendor at a distance,” he says, his voice a balm against that sting and burn. “There were times you went too far in punishing them, and you’ve acknowledged your brutality, and you’ll be tormented by your actions. Before that time in your life—and these last several days—you’ve brought these mortals into your life like a mother reaching back for her children. And because of that love, generosity, and commitment, I offer you one more gift.”
I dry my face against my gown and try to steady myself by taking deep breaths. Once I feel as calm as I’m going to be, I nod.
“Some gifts can be taken back and never given again,” Father says, “while other gifts can be taken but then returned, stronger than ever.” He holds up my amulet—no, I realize,this isn’t the amulet that Jadon stole from me. This pendant burns bright, and the rubies and onyx vibrate as though they are living gods. The jeweled moth looks as though she’s slowly fluttering her wings, ready to break free from this smoky golden chain…
“Linionium,” Father says.
I stare at him in disbelief.
“The entirety of your powers, Daughter, have been restored. Your sword and dagger have their whole power again. You are, once again, who you were always meant to be.”
The amulet no longer dangles from his hand but now hangs around my neck.
Ice and flame crackle across my shoulder blades and down my chest to my arms, legs, and feet, and I take big gulps of all the air on Vallendor. My scalp flushes and spreads down to my forehead and across my cheeks. My body goes rigid as it fills with power and then in the next moment becomes smoke.
That’s when—like a god—I seeeverything.
I peer past the veil to glimpse Jadon Wake Rrivae still growing in power even as he sleeps beneath the hedges at still-burning Beaminster.
I see Separi and Ridget and the Renrians in Caburh, fighting the stragglers pounding the red doors of the Broken Hammer.
I see the faint glimmer of armor worn by Devourers gathering in the canyons outside of Gasho.
“What will you name her?” My father taps the dagger in my hand.
I turn the blade this way and that, then say, “Victory.” I pause before asking, “Are you certain that I will win?”
“I can’t assure certainty.” He holds my cheeks between his hands and peers deep into my eyes. “Your fate, Kai, is in your hands. It’s up to you to prove once and for all, and to all the orders here and throughout the Aetherium, that you are mighty and wise enough to maintain the balance of this realm. That you can control and pacify all those factions that dissent—”
A horn blows.
I know that call.
Father points to the tablelands surrounding the Sea of Devour. “Starting withhim.”
37
An army of living-dead Diminished marches ever closer to Mount Devour, a blight upon already-blighted land.
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Elyn says, shaking her head. “They forced the Eserime to do…this?”
I furrow my brows as I look out at the forty living-dead Diminished Mera making their way toward the base of the mountain. “How did they get here so quickly?”
“They must have had help from someone with enough power to Spryte many people at once.” Elyn eyes the sky—it’s darkened to match the sick-green tinge of the Sea of Devour. The land beneath her feet has been drained of life. “And—”
Her words catch in her throat. She swallows them, clenching her jaw. Silently, she marches beside me wearing new platinum armor and a blue cloak, her gaze locked on the path that leads to war.
Ten Raqiel sentinels dressed in red mail march behind us. No one speaks—the steady rhythm of boots against the earth and the distant rumble of thunder are the only sounds we hear.
The wind picks up, carrying with it the scent of mold and death.
The new armor I wear is the armor of my dreams: bloodred-and-gold catherite, with a breastplate adorned with vines and moths, and shoulder plates embossed with bursts of light. My crimson cloak has also been embroidered with protective runes: arrows and crossed spears, deer and dragonflies. And I own new boots that fit, too, conveying power and poise with every step.
My clean hair smells of lavender and peppermint, my braids threaded again with thin strands of luclite. A supple brown leather scabbard accommodates the weight of Cruel Dawn. An ankle scabbard worthy of Victory matches the larger sheath.
