Page 70 of The Cruel Dawn
“Praise his holy name!”
Praisewhoseholy name?
Philia and I run down the hallway and down the stairs.
Separi, dressed in a full set of rose-gold luclite armor, stands at the inn’s entryway. She holds out her hands and tries to appeal to the mob for peace.
Her brother, Vinasa, stands beside her. “Please,” he says, the strain evident even in his calm, deep voice, “this is not the way.” He’s twisted his many braids into one thick ponytail; if he’s the same stealthy fighter he was during the Great War, a stiletto hides in that braid, ready to slash.
Back in the sitting room, Ridget and the other Renrians adjust their white robes. Woven with luclite, these garments look like the rays of a daystar at dawn. The Renrians’ staffs hum and crackle with violet energy.
I fell asleep. Tears sting my eyes at the thought of what they’ve faced without me.
Separi looks back over her shoulder. She sees me, and her face relaxes, relieved.
Ridget hurries over to me, her eyes narrowed.
“They knocked long enough to find a way,” I say to her. “I should’ve stopped them instead of…” There are too many gruesome possibilities, so I merely say, “I’m sorry.”
Ridget shakes her head. “You and I both know that Separi would’ve talked you out of fighting. I did, too, but not out of any mercy. I just didn’t think these people were smart enough to find a way past our enchantments. Separi, though, relies on mercy like it’s air.
“I want all of this hatred to stop, but I think they’ll only stop once heads roll through the streets and their blood soaks the ground.” She hands me a wrapped bundle of food. “For your trip. Remember to eat.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I turn to Philia and say, “If we are separated, meet me at that flat rock outside of town, where we saw that bloody spy.”
Philia nods. “Yes, I remember it.”
On our last trek to Caburh, a traveler had passed us wearing a helmet too small for his head and a leather tunic caked in dried blood. Later, we learned that he was one of Gileon Wake’s spies.
I breathe a heavy sigh and march over to the doorway. The town stinks of fire, tar, and the musk of the frightened and the rage-filled.
I touch the small of Separi’s back—I’m here—and nod to Vinasa. I stand between them as the crowd roars.
“False god!”
“Kill Maelstrom!”
“Rip her apart!”
“Hear me now!” I shout to the amber-glowing crowd, the strength of my voice cracking the cobblestone streets beneath our feet. This Kai-quake causes the commotion to dim. “I’m leaving now. Thank you for your…enthusiastic farewells.” Then I step down off the porch, knowing that I’m exiting Caburh far from peacefully. I scan the crowds but don’t see Jamart and Lively. I don’t see the Dashmala, Sinth, either.
What I do see alarms me as much as the absence of those who have been killed.
Poisons cascade like waterfalls from the heads and hearts of the angry people calling for my death, and their diseased organs are moments from bursting. Their teeth cling to rotten gums like beads of water to a melting icicle. This is all Jadon’s handiwork.
“You will die this morning,” a man wearing a red wool cap shouts.
“You’re a perversion, a disgrace!” A woman spits at my feet.
I crinkle my nose at the phlegm on the toe of my boot.
Philia shrieks, “Kai!”
I look up in time to see a man lunging at me with his ax held high.
Shit! I kick him in the chest. He stumbles back, resets, and rages forward again.
I kick him a second time, knocking him off-balance, before yanking his ax from his hand. I slap his face so hard that he hits the ground. One of his rotted teeth comes loose. I straddle him and raise my fist to punch—
