Page 16 of The Cruel Dawn
“Starving.”
Platters of my favorite foods appear before me. Roasted carrots and sweet onions. Glazed bananas and thin, crispy slices of apples. Pistachios and almonds roasted and salted or roasted and candied. Greens and golds and ruby-reds, there are so many colors on my plate. And honeycakes, so many honeycakes.
The faces of my destroyers are bright, and even the scowlers are now smiling. I stare at the Eserime and turn back to Zephar. “The Eserime never camped with us before. Why now?”
He catches a grape in his mouth before saying, “We’re building bridges between the hardline Mera and the other half. The stewards believe in our cause, and there are enough challenges with Danar running around, so why not accept their partnership? Why should immortals fight immortals? That’s a waste of time and effort. That was your reasoning before you went away, and you were right. The Eserime believe inyou, and they add value to our interactions with the mortals, humans especially, as you saw in Gasho.”
An Eserime healer stands at the edge of the pavilion. Her platinum-colored eyes are flecked with worry. She holds her fist beneath her chin and flicks her pinkie finger at me. Like she’s beckoning me to come over but doesn’t want anyone else to know.
Or maybe I’m imagining it. Zephar doesn’t appear to notice.
At the Sea of Devour, Elyn didn’t mention that Eserime had joined me in the wanton destruction of Vallendor, one town at a time. I mention it now to Zephar. “She and her mother said that my way was nottheway.”
Zephar scoffs. “What do they know? Elyn is a big brain who’s never led anything. She doesn’t know what happens in a dying realm because she’s never been in charge of one. She’s a fucking librarian who keeps her hands clean.”
He’s right—Elyn Fynal has never managed one damned street corner, but she’s telling me how I should rule a realm?
But she was right about one thing, so I say, “There are innocent people that will be caught up in—”
“First of all:what?” Zephar gapes at me like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or shake me. “Second, every destroyed realm contains innocent people, even those realms approved for destruction by Supreme and the Council. You gave them a chance, Kai, and frankly, the Grand Stewards in those realms failed. Sybel, Vallendor’s Grand Steward, also failed. They failed, and so we destroy them.”
He chomps down on a few black olives and adds, “Gasho finally started acting right today, but only out of desperation and fear. Those fucking cowslews and urts broke their spine. Today, we saved them, and they dusted off the altar, presented you with gifts, and now they expect us to forgive and forget everything they did or didn’t do.”
I swallow the acid burning up my throat, and I look over to where that healer stood, the one I imagined motioning to me.
But she’s now gone.
“Do I want the Gashoans and all of Vallendor to serve me out of fear?” I ask Zephar distractedly. “Can you really punish people and expect them to love you in return?”
“I don’t make the rules, sweetness,” Zephar says, shrugging. “I just bring the fire.”
…
Rows of luxurious tents line one side of the settlement, each tent grand in size, crafted from silk and linen, and embroidered with protective runes. Mera don’t build permanent dwellings, since we move from realm to realm, destroying and restoring.
“And my tent?” I ask, nodding as I pass warriors bedding down for the night.
“You mean,ourtent?” Zephar says. “We share.” He stops walking. “Oh. Is that okay?”
I chuckle. “Of course.” I tap my temple. “I forgot, remember?”
“That’s right,” he says, nodding. “And I must remember that you forgot.”
We laugh.
I must tell Zephar about Jadon and me…
Right?
Of course.
“Welcome home again,” Zephar says, approaching a gazebo three times the size of the others.
This tent is divided inside like a cottage and includes a sitting room with chairs, cushions, and a table. A wall separates the sleeping quarters from the rest, and our large, elevated bed is covered with quilts made of soft cottons and silks.
I’m sweaty and tired, and before I say, “I need a bath,” Zephar pulls two cauldrons from the fire burning in a hearth behind the tent. “I know what you need,” he says, pouring hot water into a large, wooden tub. “A hot bath and some of this…” He holds up a glass vial and pours its contents into the water.
The surface is soon covered by lavender-scented bubbles.
