Page 99 of The Cruel Dawn
Behind us, Jadon makes a gagging sound and collapses between the guards.
Elyn whispers, “Shit,” and retreats to tend to her prisoner.
Agon and I remain standing at the table, watching the powder that was once Celedan Docci dissolve… We wait there until there’s nothing left. Only then do we both release our breaths and sag against the worktable. Exhausted, Agon smiles and nods at me. “Well done.” He glances down at Jadon, but I can’t look away from my uncle yet. His smile and his approval make my eyes cloud with tears.Well done.
Jadon, the Weapon, still sits on the floor. His skin, now flushed from his ears to his neck, turns from pale gray to healthy bronze. He lifts his head, his eyes swirling with color and slowly settling to become lavender. He peers down at his right hand, and the marking there—the elements, each in their own circle—fades. He dares to smile as his connection to his traitor-father becomes a mere memory.
With the guards’ help, Jadon rises to his feet like a man coming out of a drunken stupor.
I walk over to him and stand closer than I have since our night together at the Broken Hammer. I experience no rolling nausea, no buckling knees, not even a headache.
“Do I make you sick?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
“Because you’re annoying or because you’re the son of the traitor?” I ask.
“Both.”
I laugh. “It’s almost the end of the world, but I feel fine.”
We’ve overcome so many obstacles. Stepped over so many bodies. Said goodbye to too many friends. But now…
I’m glad that Supreme didn’t just end me with one grand punishment.
Jadon is mine, this time for good.
…
Elyn and I retreat into our separate bedrooms.
I shudder as I strip out of my pewter armor, trying to avoid my reflection in the mirror. Even with just a quick glimpse, I see that my body is a quilt of different skin tones and textures. If I dared to look any longer, I’d never leave this chamber again. But I have work to do—work that doesn’t require smooth, even-toned skin.
Fuck that—I miss my smooth, even-toned skin.
The warm bathwater melts my tension and aches, and soon, I can’t tell dirty water from flakes of my skin. After gently toweling off and applying that aloe-vera-like gel and kastat rose–scented oil to stave off further deterioration, I pull on a simple black tunic and black suede breeches. The soft fabrics soothe my skin…and my ego.
Elyn meets me in the corridor, flawless and graceful as ever in her dove-gray tunic and breeches. “How are you feeling?” she asks.
“I’m not hurting as much as before but…” I motion to my face and hold out my peeling hands. “The diminishing continues.” I let out a shaky breath and add, “I have something for you.” I grab my scabbard from the trunk and pull Justice from her place beside Fury. “You’ve earned her back.”
Elyn gapes at me, then at the perfect silver sword. Her eyes fill with tears that match the glistening of that silvery-blue blade. “But you won her from me.”
“I did win her,” I say. “Did I say that I’d never remind you that I won her?” I pause, then add, “Iwillremind you. So take it. Please.”
She swallows, her chin trembling as she takes Justice from my hands. She whispers, “Thank you,” and studies the engravings on the blade.Arbiter. Judge. Truth. Mediator. Justice. Life. Death.
Elyn and I take our time walking back to the aerie, relishing the comfort and calm we haven’t experienced together over the last several seasons. Laughter—about nothing at all—bubbles up between us, and we’re again moments away from linking arms.
The Raqiel guards had taken Jadon to bathe, and he now stands in the aerie, clean and unsure of his station here. His long, disheveled hair has been cut and combed, and his face is grime- and whisker-free. He wears a simple blue tunic, breeches, and boots. Despite the unremarkable clothing, his stance has also softened. His eyes are hooded, and he shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks…relaxednow, like he rules the realm but doesn’t allow it to consume him.
Agon tells us that he’ll search theLibrum Esoterica, now stationed upon a wooden block in the Abbey, for the words that will kill those resurrectors.
“I was planning to read it myself,” Elyn says, starting to flip through those thick pages.
“You have greater tasks to complete,” Agon says. “Time hasn’t stopped for us.”
Though he stands in this aerie, relaxed and open, Jadon Wake Rrivae is still the enemy, the Weapon, the son who’d worked—forced or not—beside his father, the traitor, to destroy Vallendor—and to kill me.
“He must remain imprisoned,” Agon declares, dousing our early celebration with this sobering truth.
