Page 29 of The Cruel Dawn
And whereisthat traitor right now? And where is the Sea of Devour from here? I can’t just fly across the realm and land in front of Danar Rrivae, not anymore. We can no longer Spryte from one place to another. They are earthbound just as I am.
Zephar isn’t thinking about the details, though. He wants to fight and burn, destroy, and dissolve. He hasn’t truly battled the enemy since the War of Flames an age ago. The otherworldly that invaded Gasho yesterday and the Gorga that attacked the prince today are ants compared to the legion of otherworldly lurking around the sea.
But I need his sword, and I need his counsel. I need Destroyers.
…
Back at the Sanctum, Zephar and I pace in angry silence behind our tent until I say, “Fine. Show me a map.”
He bends and uses his finger to draw a square and a circle in the middle of the dirt-map. “We’re here. Doom Desert.”
Okay. Maford is southeast. Caburh is southwest. Sea of Devour and Mount Devour are farther southwest.
He taps the space between Doom Desert and the sea. “Eaponys.” He taps his finger northeast of us. “And Shelezadd is here.”
“And the problems in Eaponys?” I ask.
“Rape. Murder. The Dashmala have always trampled over the poor, but with your absence, the problem has worsened. They now burn women alive. Shall I continue?”
“Shit, no.” I chew my bottom lip as I think. “The traitor is at the Sea of Devour—at least he was when I saw him last.”
“As we make our way to the sea,” Zephar says, “we can stop by and handle Eaponys.”
“Helping,” I say, pointing at him, “not harming. What we did for Gasho yesterday. Understand?”
Zephar smiles. “I will do as you ask. No cleansing fire.”
“And set up those wards along the roads this time. Do we have weapons, armor, supplies?”
Zephar nods. “We will—and I’ll make sure the wards are up.”
Shari yips, and her dirt tail wags so fast the dirt-map is blown away.
But then Zephar kisses me and wraps me in his arms.
So I don’t get what I want—which is to go immediately to the Sea of Devour. Instead, I get what I need: Zephar’s support, which also means the absolute support of our battalion of Mera warriors.
8
Even while I sleep, I feel a strange white light beating against my face. I turn over in bed and let my eyes flutter open.
Shari’s come inside the tent, and her cold nose rests beneath my hand, pulling me from sleep, her emerald gaze steady.
Zephar slumbers beside me, at peace, his face soft even in its hardest places. The disappointment of our lack of coupling again last night has melted from his expression. I want to claim that I’m tired, that my head hurts, but the real reasons are more complicated than a sore back and being bone-weary.
Guilt.
Jadon.
Shari nudges me again.
Past the tent wall, a soft milky light too bright to be the nightstar pierces through the darkness.
My dream breaks apart like foam. I pull on my bandeau, sarong, and boots and grab my back scabbard heavy with Fury and Justice. I ease into my new armor—the plates are lighter than my luclite armor and offer the flexibility of leather and the certainty of steel. I follow Shari through the dark tent and out into the lighter world.
Dawn has not come yet, but a new day has already begun.
No one roams the valley. Down in Gasho, the newly restored acacia trees and date palms stand tall and still. A sweet, honey-scented breeze rustles the banners and kisses my neck. The source of that radiant milky light hangs just above the trees. Daxinea! Her feathers glimmer like white embers, a beauty like none other.
