Page 158 of The Cruel Dawn
But I know Syrus Wake, and this man won’t stop hurting this horse until Vapor obeys.
I don’t have time to play these power games. I hold up a hand and shout, “No need, Vapor.” I hop off of Fraffin and tromp toward the emperor. “This won’t take long.”
Because there is no time.
Syrus Wake climbs off the horse and heads toward me. He chuckles even though his green eyes remain flat.
Yes, I remember this man who’d fought his way across Vallendor to take Beaminster, Tumunzah, Bolduf, and other lesser provinces. The scar across the bridge of his nose—that came from the battle at Antleah. His missing left ring finger: from the fight at Aerie Fells. After being slit with a Dashmala dagger across his throat, the scar hidden now beneath his tunic, Wake stopped swinging a sword to conquer. And he lost that battle, and he lost Bacha as well as the southern regions of Vallendor, which went to the victor King Hamund Exley, ruler of Kingdom Vinevridth.
For a long time, Exley pushed back and won every attempt against Wake’s army, retaining Maford, Pethorp, and all territory east of Caburh and south of Doom Desert.
But then Wake achieved knowledge by opening that book I’d given him on his coronation—and then, he’d wanted to learn more, and a certain Keeper of Knowledge said, “Hey, I know a guy…”
And now, Syrus Wake stands before me, so arrogant and certain of everything that even his cocky and disrespectful fingers don’t tremble with fear. The mortal father of Jadon Wake doesn’t resemble his son at all. Gileon and Jadon share their mother’s lightning-blue eyes. Syrus Wake’s eyes, though, remind me of murky water filled with dead things. Sea of Devour green. And now, those eyes stare at my amulet, which thrums and glows with absolute power.
“I’m here to proffer,” Wake says, his voice sounding like clotted gravy.
I mock confusion, looking this way and that. “And who are you talking to? Surely you aren’t addressingme.”
The old man pauses, purses his lips, then dips his head. “Kaivara Megidrail, Grand Defender, Lady of the Verdant Realm, it’s been a long time since my last audience with the most beautiful and most powerful being in the realm.”
“Oh?” I say, wide-eyed. “NowI’m the most beautiful and the most powerful? The streets are saying that I’m not god enough for you. You listened, and look where it’s gotten you: standing before me anyway with a prayer on your tongue.”
“Not a prayer,” he says, wagging his index finger at me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Aproffer. That’s when—”
“I know what a ‘proffer’ is,” I say. “A proposal. A plan. A scheme. A fancier word, in my opinion, for ‘prayer’ because you, a mortal, can offer me nothing. You may have lived for a mighty long time, but to me, you’re only dust.”
The shadows on his face deepen. His jaw tightens, and the cords in his neck constrict—he’s holding back an explosion.
Time… I’m running out of time.
Wake’s top lip curls into a sneer that he tries to hide beneath a smile. “My…prayeris this: I will turn from Danar Rrivae and provide you my allegiance and belief. I will command my armies, including my very best captains and lieutenants”—his nostrils flare as he motions toward the men behind him—“to follow you. You, then, will rule beside me as empress—”
I laugh. “What?I will rulebesideyou?” I laugh and laugh and laugh some more.
Those shadows on his face now swirl like dark smoke. He’s not a man who is laughed at.
“You see,” I say, catching my breath, “I’m amused because your eldest son, Jadon? He made me that very same offer not too long ago. And your baby, Gileon? Had he lived long enough, he would’ve certainly asked for my hand and offered me a place beside him as well. The Wake men have one filthy habit in common: disrespect.”
I shake my head and peer at those very best captains and lieutenants still straddled upon their horses. “The princes didn’t get it.None of you get it,” I say, glaring now at Syrus Wake. “I’m here because I’m the highest mountain this realm willeversee, and I’ve yet to stop growing. I rulebesideno one.”
Syrus Wake smiles at me, that condescension thick as slimy spit across my face. “You must not understand, Kaivara. I’m offering you—”
“Kaivara?”I take one step forward and swing Cruel Dawn, and she moves so fast, she catches fire as she cuts off the head of Syrus Wake.
Oh, the insufferable arrogance of men.
Syrus Wake’s head lands at my feet, those dead, sea-green eyes still bright with surprise, that mouth still hiding its venomous sneer.
The gasps from those very best captains and lieutenants are as loud as the gasps from the soldiers standing in formation behind them.
“She killed him.”
“He can’t be dead.”
“How do you kill Supreme?”
Their thoughts buzz in my ears as loud as the corpse flies now buzzing over the dead.
