Page 155 of The Cruel Dawn
How the fuck do I dothat?
…
High on the hillcrest that overlooks Doom Desert, Shari trots beside me as I ride Fraffin, the chestnut mare that I rode to Fihel. Behind me, all the horses’ hooves clop against the earth as we rise above the province, drawing closer to the rolling expanse of this sea of sand. Below, the wind churns, dark and brooding, a deep reddish-green that shifts and pulses to its own rhythm. Sand dunes crash violently against the rocks, sending up dusty plumes that obscure the horizon. The edges of the world disappear into nothingness as the sand and sky become one.
Fifty Renrians ride in a loose formation, their figures silhouetted against the dimming sky. Their robes, intricately embroidered with luclite thread, catch the fading light of the daystar. Their drawn-up hoods protect their noses and eyes. The soft neighs of their horses blend with the roar of the sandstorm.
Separi rides behind me, her robes of rose-gold flow around her, and Ascendance, her twisted gray metal staff topped with a forged ball of light, glows faintly in the dying day.
Though the Renrians aren’t a race known for brute force—they fill themselves with knowledge and wisdom—their staffs contain lavender current that can fry a mortal to their death.
Ridget, along with a smaller group of women and children, stayed behind in Caburh to continue tending to the work of a city at war—making tunics, crafting armor, and writing down the events of this day for all time. Their labor is as important as that of the warriors—their hands and words will shape the future in ways that steel can’t.
The pain in my gut does not come from any sickness—no, this twisting comes from anxiety. Even though I’m at my strongest, I’m still worried, and I can’t get the taste of worry-acid out of my mouth. I’m protected by the whole armor of my order and hold the mightiest sword in the realm and the dagger given to me in love. My amulet’s power pulses through me, healing me from within, strengthening my bones, and still…
I have bubble-guts.
Shit…
And my mind won’t let go of what just happened.
I killed Zephar.
I loved Zephar.
I killed Zee.
Our separation happened so fast—that’s what Iwantto think. But the fracture between Zephar and me had always been there.
A difference of opinion.
That’s how he is.
Our fights are legendary.
He makes me hot.
I was wrong.
Again.
The march down into the dusty bowl is a silent one. Elyn, beside me, rides Buttercup, the blond mare who’d also joined us in Fihel. Every horse in our service wears armor of luclite and has been shielded in a protective ward cast by the Adjudicator. The otherworldly creatures in this area—the smaller worupines, their quills bristling with strange poison, and the minulles, with their wide, glassy eyes, and their bodies a twist of owl and hare—scamper into their hedges, dens, and nests.
The long, sinuous bodies of snakes slide through the dead grasses and into dens. The few creatures of order—deer, rabbits, and ground squirrels—hide in their shelters of overgrown roots and hollowed-out logs. Their eyes are bright with fear, and they tremble as they wait for the storm to pass. Andthat! A scorpion the size of a crocodile rests in a bed of dying flowers. She doesn’t move—she’s too sick to move. Because she’s the only one of her kind, she must receive additional protection.
I wave my hand as I pass all of these creatures. My fingers glide through the space, a summons to restore what’s been broken and protect what has survived. The energy I use flows from my heart and spreads outward in waves as a soft, shimmering light that drapes across withered grasses.
The land slowly responds. The broken branches of trees straighten, and their leaves unfurl to reach for the gods of light once again. The flowers that have wilted begin to lift, their petals vibrant again.
The creatures around me stir, their trembling bodies slowly relaxing as the restoration spreads through them. Even the scorpion lifts her tail as blooms of pink, white, and orange untangle around her. The desert brightens, the sandstorm eases, the colors of the grasses deepen, and the air freshens now with the scent of renewal.
I feel the pulse of the land throughout my body. This fight is not just for those who walk upright but for all the beings that call Vallendor home. I must win this fight for them—if I don’t, the most awful power will win, though his victory will be short-lived. Short-lived because the Merawilldestroy him, but then they will destroy all within this realm—from the High Lord of the Mera all the way down to the smallest worupine, minulle, and scorpion.
“Please tell me,” I whisper to Elyn, “that you bedded Calyx before the abbey exploded with sickness and death.”
She tosses me a tiny smile.
My eyes bug. “Youdid!”
