Page 37 of The Cruel Dawn
Onward.
Gritting my teeth, I take one step at a time. Soon, we pass an ornate door encrusted with every gem brought from the first realm. Two Raqiel sentinels—guards of both the Adjudicators and the abbeys of the realms and descendants of the Mera and Onama—watch over this door. Their startling pale faces shift from lion to hawk, bear to owl. Their bright red breastplates look dull compared to this door’s grandeur.
Up, up, up, Nimith and I go. I’m sweating, my wounds aching as I follow her up the stone steps of a spiraling staircase.
Nimith slows as we reach the landing, and a plain wooden door greets us. “Agon the Kindness is here,” she says, nodding.
“Wonderful.” I groan and swipe my blood-crusted hand across my sweaty forehead. “I really want to—”
She’s descended the stairs before I can say, “Thank you.”
10
The rectangular window in this aerie has no glass. It’s deep enough for someone to sit in and tall enough for someone to stand. The dark stone walls and ceiling are speckled with imprints left by long-dead creatures of the sea, pocked with bright green moss, golden mushrooms, and lush purple flowers. This aerie is solid, like an above-the-sea coral reef. A living thing.
My heartbeat slows the moment I step into this space and this thick silence. I’ve longed for this peace.
Tall bookcases lining most of the east wall are filled with thousands of books with both leather and wood spines. The ceiling is high enough to accommodate a giant bear standing on top of a whale. Parts of the fading mural are hard to see, but I do spot the bright light in the center of the drawing and the white, black, and orange rings vibrating away from that shining orb.
My eyes drift to the plain, wooden furniture placed around the room. No tapestries hang on these walls, and no rugs lie across the stone floor. Plants, glassware, vats of liquids, powders, and balls of fire floating over basins fill long tables. What is Uncle Agon cataloging? Which Renrian has brought him plants and gems, songs and spells?
Someone clears his throat. A man with butterscotch skin, long milky braids, and mutton chops whiter than new snow stands at the farthest, more crowded table. His scarlet robe and matching trousers are embroidered with flames and keys, and all of it shimmers. The top of the robe covers his arms and wraps around his torso as the rest trails behind him like a cloak.
I press my shaky hand to my lips, and I smile. “I remember you.”
“It was just a matter of time before you returned,” Agon the Kindness says, tucking his hands inside the sleeves of his thick robe. “Like a moth drawn to flames.” The air around his mouth ripples as though his words have shape. His voice crackles like fire—not wildfire or my own fire that sometimes lacks control, but fire found in a hearth that provides warmth for children and housecats. The heavy link chain around his neck ends with a heavier-looking owl amulet made of gray-lavender metal. A blue-gray-green stone sits between the owl’s brows.
My chest suddenly fills with warmth, and a sense of comfort washes over me. For the moment, I’ve forgotten my pain because his presence brings me joy. He is the connection to my past that I’ve longed for. I’m so close to falling at his feet, wrapping my arms around his legs, and never letting go.
“I’ve missed you,” I say, surprised that I sound like I’m about to cry. “And I’ve missed being a part of our family. I’ve been wandering this realm with no memories, surrounded by people, yes, but ultimately alone. I speak the truth when I say that seeing you, I finally feel as though I belong somewhere, like I belong to someone.”
A teardrop tumbles down my blood-crusted cheek and slips into my smile. “Thank you, Uncle, for asking the Council to restore my travel privileges. I’m truly grateful.” I limp toward him. “I’ve needed someone, and I’m happy to finally be with someone who loves me—”
Wait.
I cock my head. “What did you just say? Like a mothreturning?”
“This isn’t the first time you’ve come here to make demands,” he says, his eyes roving over my bloody face and stained armor.
I gape at the old man, then shake my head. “Demands? I don’t understand.”
He squeezes the bridge of his nose, then says, “I know Sybel has sent you here this time, but like I’ve said before: Iamstillthe seer and wisdom of this abbey.Imake the decisions here. No one else. And my response remains unchanged. As much as I care about you, as much as I love you—you remain my sweet sister’s baby girl—as much as I wanted to help you become more, you cannot stay here. I can’t allow it.”
And just like that…I’m still the enemy.
I stand as upright as I can and lift my chin. “This is Vallendor,my realm, and no one tells me where I can and cannot be.”
“This place isnotVallendor,” he spits. “It is the Abbey of Mount Devour, a seat of power for Supreme. And may I remind you: Vallendor and every realm will never belong to lesser beings like you,child.”
“For someone named Agon the Kindness,” I say, unshrinking, “for someone who is myuncle, you aren’t being very kind right now. Fine: I’m only a guest here, but as you said, Sybel told me to come. So, please, be kinder.”
He stares at me. “You have no idea how nice I’m being at this very moment.”
His jab makes my heart snap. His brusqueness hurts more than my injuries from the fight down at the sea and every fight I’ve had since finding myself sprawled in those woods outside of Maford.
“Well, thank you for your kindness and patience, Uncle.” I limp to the aerie’s only window and gaze out to those clouds. “Idoremember you, and I remember our once-upon-a-time. My favorite memory is that day we traveled to the seaside and…”
Clear waters tickled my toes. Starfish speckled the sand. Birds chased crabs across the shore. A large blanket had been spread on a beach, and a basket filled with honeycakes sat open. Back then, Uncle Agon’s braids were darker as he waded with me through foamy seawater. My mother, with her soft smile and hair like mine, held me in her arms.
