Page 65 of The Cruel Dawn
I close my eyes against my internal flood of fire, and I wait…and I wait…and I wait until I no longer hear my bones crackling with flames. Then I take the deepest breath I’ve taken since waking up in the Rim of the Shadows high above Gasho.
“Please, Philia,” I say, leaning forward. “I need that book. You told me once, in that meadow near Duskmoor River, that your mother had always prayed to me, that I’d kept her family fed and healthy. Do as I ask, for her.” I hold out my hands. “You’re in danger. Maford, Olivia, therealm, is in danger—and this time, it’s not from me.”
Philia considers my threat, clenches her jaw, and shakes her head again.
I leap up from my seat, take two steps across the room, and yank the book from her arms.
She yelps and clutches her elbows.
The book is heavy and solid, a symbol of its knowledge and power. The book’s leather cover is adorned with dark blue, rich purple, and shimmering silver jewels. A dazzling gem embedded in the middle of the cover catches the light, its color shifting between blues, purples, and silvers. WISDOM.
I run my fingers over that center jewel and the rough, textured leather. My head pounds as I kneel before Philia and say, “I’m sorry.” When she doesn’t respond, I kiss her forehead, stroke her damp hair, and lift her chin. “This is serious, and I don’t expect you to understand that.”
Her face quivers, and a teardrop plops onto the back of my hand. Her shoulders shudder as a sob escapes from her chest.
“I promise to rescue Olivia,” I say with great intent.
The young woman looks up to me, her eyes shiny with hope. “You said the word. You said ‘promise.’”
“Yeah. I did.” I sit back on my haunches. “And once I rescue her, I’ll break her hands and wring her neck.” I wink at the redhead, then turn my attention to the book. The jewels around its edges glow, but the mysterious gem in its center shines brightest. Why does Gileon need this book? He and his brother have already tried to usurp their father’s rule. Could this gem help him succeed a second attempt? I pluck Tempest from my ankle sheath.Maelstrom. Tempest. Coincidence?and try to pry the silvery-blue gem from its setting.
No give.
“It’s locked in,” Separi says, now standing in the doorway. “It won’t reveal the truth behind the fairy tales.”
I shake my head. “I know, but I was hoping…” I drum my fingers against the book. “So if the truth remains locked… We need to take the ring from Syrus Wake, then?”
“No,” Separi says. “We must take the ring from Gileon Wake.” She lifts her right hand and waggles her ring finger. “He was wearing it on his last visit to the inn.”
Shit.
Guess I’m going to Brithellum after all.
17
I slip upstairs with theLibrum Esotericanow weighing down the satchel gifted to me by Separi—I can’t leave it unattended. I pass through the busy sitting room to reach the bustling kitchen. There, Ridget and her family shell peas and peel potatoes. Their thick black, brown, and red braids glint with glass beads and rose-gold luclite thread, the strongest metal made by mortals. Each woman bows her head to acknowledge me, but they don’t stop their work.
“I was hoping you’d come say ‘hello.’” Ridget’s voice crackles like a fireplace, sharp and smoky. She wears a saffron-yellow dress that complements her dark skin. On the day she married Separi, Ridget wore a similar dress with a corset of luclite and silk. Separi wore pale-green velvet breeches and a loose, blue-green tunic. In a clearing surrounded by towering trees, in light broken by leaves, I’d blessed their union and promised to watch over them.
Many seasons have passed since then, and I’ve broken my promise. I’ve broken many such promises to many humans who looked to me for protection. This realm they’ve helped to enrich is falling apart—and now there are people outside their home eager to slit their necks.
“I want to apologize,” I say to Ridget, my stomach twisting from guilt as much as the food’s aroma. “I’m so sorry that I’ve made you a target—”
“No,” Ridget snaps. “They’re simply using you as an excuse to perpetrate hate. Their rage has been building for a long time now, and it finally exploded the moment that first crate of wheat from the new god rolled up on the riverbank.”
I grimace. “Still: just so that you know. I didn’t come to Caburh for vengeance or to bring more chaos into this town.”
Ridget taps the young woman working beside her, then points at a slab of bacon on the other counter. “A few glasses broke moments ago. And then this happened”—she points to the ceiling and to a thick crack zigzagging from one wall to the next—“while you were talking downstairs with Philia.”
“I got a little angry,” I admit. “Won’t happen again.”
“Emotion is bad now?”
I shrug. “I should show better control. I’m supposed to be an example, right?”
Ridget says, “Hmm,” and stirs the shallots in the pan with a wooden spoon. “And who said gods were supposed to be perfect and free of emotion?”
My skin flushes as I remember what I did to those soldiers back in Caerno Woods after Veril’s death. How I’d hurled countless fireballs at them even after it was obvious those soldiers were dead. That fire still burns.
