Page 22 of The Cruel Dawn
We enter a room of vanishing glass walls that blur the outside from the inside. Standing there barefoot and bathed in amber morning light is a short, round man, draped in a yellow robe. “Lady Megidrail,” he says, his voice as smooth as the glass around us. “It’s been several springs since we’ve enjoyed each other’s company. It was an honor then, and it’s an honor now to be in the presence of the one who prophesies speak of.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Prophecies? Since when do gods listen to the fever dreams of mortals?”
“When they, too, say that you will change the course of this realm.” His eyes, a wild mix of Mera gold and Yeaden black, twinkle with amusement.
I glance back at Avish and Dyotila, and even her face shines with hope. I turn back to Malik Sindire, my mind dancing again.
Change the course of this realm…
Stopping Danar Rrivae before it’s too late: that’s more than changing the course of this realm.
Malik Sindire smiles as he takes my hand in both of his soft, small ones. “Do you remember me, Lady?” He nods back at Avish and Dyotila, and both leave the room.
I study my host, flipping the pages of my memory. Nothing presents itself. “I’m afraid not, sir.”
“I visit Vallendor every seventy-five seasons or so—you were just a youngling last time I came.” He flaps his hand. “Your father and I have been friends since Supreme formed us from nothing.” His feet make no noise as he pads down a corridor filled with light shining down through the glass ceiling. “I established this dwelling ages ago—myfollowersdid, since I do not lift hammers. There are no closed gates here because all are welcome. You know this, but I’ve been told that you may not remember the details of your many visitors nor your realm. Who can blame you? Most things and most people are forgettable.”
True.
Malik Sindire laughs, and his laughter sounds like bells. “Anyway.I’m back! To my followers’ great joy. Or disappointment. Both!”
“If you know my father,” I say, “does that mean, then, that you know—?”
“The traitor?” Malik Sindire asks, his lips twisted in disgust. “Yes, I know the traitor, and soon after your father joined the Council of High Orders, he helped make the decision to punish Danar Rrivae for his treason. No matter—Danar Rrivae still moves about the Aetherium wreaking havoc. I hear that he plans to take Vallendor just as he’s taken other realms.”
“But I won’t let him.”
“Because you’re Vallendor’s greatest defender.” We reach the end of the corridor and step into a sunroom.
The ceiling is made of walnut, and the glass walls open to a patio. There’s a pool with a vanishing edge, water extending to the horizon. Beyond the pool, there’s a sweeping view of Vallendor’s western lands, including Caerno Woods and a dwarven Mount of Devour.
Malik Sindire smiles at me, and his eyes disappear into slits. “This is my favorite place in the temple. I love how beautiful it is here.”
The dusky hills are bathed in golden light. Mist wreathes the tops of the trees.
My host settles on the couch and pats the cushion beside him. “When I first heard that Izariel punished you so severely, I voiced my disagreement. Your reasoning was sound, Kaivara. Syrus Wake calling himself ‘Supreme’—what god can ignore such blasphemy? You show that man your strength and ruthlessness by destroying his provinces one by one.
“Really!” he says. “It was a brilliant plan! But ultimately, the plan was not approved by the Council, so here we are, with one of us branded as Diminished, which…” He adjusts the cuffs of his robe. “Yes, you disobeyed them, but now the Council is glad that you defend this place even if your reasons are selfish and shortsighted.”
I bristle. “I’m neither.”
He laughs and places his hand over his heart. “But it’s true, Precious One. Youareselfish and shortsighted, and there are times when the realms require that type of leader.”
But I don’t want to be either of those things. My mother is no more because I was selfish and shortsighted and destroyed Ithlon Realm with her on it. My father has yet to visit me on Vallendor or even send me a simple note of encouragement after I was punished and sequestered here on Vallendor because, again, I was selfish and shortsighted and destroyed realms without authorization from the Council. All of Linione wants me dead—and they sent Elyn Fynal, the Adjudicator, to kill me.
Malik Sindire reaches for a carafe of wine on the table. He pours wine the color of my eyes into two glasses and offers me one. “Danar Rrivae is more complicated than many perceive him to be. I witnessed his downfall, as have others, but unlike them, I acknowledge that his motivations have been misunderstood.”
I frown after sipping this delicious wine. “I’m sorry, but… He is not a sympathetic character in the story of Vallendor.”
The old man holds up his left hand, heavy with rings encrusted in emeralds, topazes, rubies, and diamonds. “I didn’t saythat. He isn’t simply out to rule the realms. Danar seeks to reclaim his family. A futile act, unfortunately.”
I tilt my head. “He has a family?”
Malik Sindire laughs again. “Oh, dear.”
I bristle again. “Did I say something funny?”
“Every being comes from another, Precious One,” the man says. “We don’t simplybecome. Even a weed is birthed from a drifting dandelion seed. You see, Danar’s family—his forebears, his wife Indis and four children, what were their names?” He cocks his head, skims his fingers along his jaw, thinking. “Anyway, they all lived on Birius Realm.”
