Page 15 of The Cruel Dawn
No mortals can move beyond this point without dying.
This is the Sanctum of the Dusky Hills.
Polished alabaster walls and mosaic tiles of crimson and gold. Sigils of moths, and runes of protection: diamonds, bears, wolves, paddles, and knots.
Up above, the nightstar, goddess Selenova, slowly treks across the dark canvas as her children, called “stars” by humans, dash across their sky-playground just like Gashoan children chasing fireflies across the marshland. Zephar and I walk the mist-covered trail lit by pearly light, and we approach the sounds of flutes, drums, and voices singing a song about stars and glows and…
The dawn will find you as my love draws near,
Blades of desire cut my heart, unaware.
I lose sight and sound in open spaces.
I lose sight and sound behind closed doors.
Your beauty has me bound in quiet place,
My heart you’ve lain and belongs to you.
I gasp and spin to face Zephar. “This song… You remembered that this song…” My throat tightens with emotion, and I whisper, “Zee, I love this song. The words…”
“I know.” He brushes my cheek with his finger. “I always asked them to play it during those times I missed you the most, which meant every dawn, every dusk.”
Zephar had this song written and performed for me. On the night the cantor first sang these lyrics, I cried.
Red, black, and gold moth sigils line the Sanctum’s footpath. This haven is nestled in a valley surrounded by acacia trees that have never been touched by drought or disease. That stream down in the misty garden flows from the water here, running over smooth stones speckled with green moss.
A pavilion sits in the center of this valley and is encircled by carved wooden columns entwined with vines and topped by interwoven branches and leaves. All of it glows with runes. The pavilion’s floor is polished stone inscribed with moths and swords and covered with plush rugs, cushions, and low-slung chairs.
“Look who’s back,” Zephar shouts.
The music stops, and thirty warriors stand at attention. Some smile. Others scowl. I am the prodigal Grand Defender returning to stir up shit and change their lives.Again.
There’s the best scout in the group: Jarini, a Mera beauty with braided, coffee-brown hair and a resting bitch face. Her eyes dance even though the rest of her cannot. She shouts, “Welcome back!”
Carana, his bronze skin almost free of markings, grins at me only because I’ve shown him patience in the past. I know he will turn on me the moment his little chest wears three worlds, and he knows I know it, too.
But where’s Dyotila? She swung a battle-ax as big as an oak tree.
And where’s Avish? He wrote the song that brought me to tears.
Some faces I don’t recognize—it’s not that I don’t remember them. No, I don’t know them. Where did they come from and why are they here?
My mouth goes dry, and I run my tongue along my lips to moisten them. A flicker starts behind my eyes and grows into a twinge across the back of my neck. I feel strange.
Jarini shouts, “Av’ve!” and the others shout, “Av’ve!” and everyone whoops and claps, and the music starts up again.
A fire burns in a circular hearth, and it doesn’t smell like burning trees and trapped wildlife. No, I smell cinnamon and chamomile, lavender and thyme.
Zephar holds out a chair and bows as I sit. “My love.”
I grin despite my misgivings. “You’re new and improved.”
“And you’re the same star that lights my sky.” He drops into the chair beside me and bends to kiss me, a kiss that turns from sweet to sultry. He tastes of mint and dates, and all of it makes me breathless and tingly.
But that tingling across the back of my neck? The heaviness pressing against my shoulders? Feels like someone’s watching me—and not the Mera and Eserime in this pavilion.
He pulls away and nudges his nose against mine. “Hungry?”
