Page 113 of The Cruel Dawn
The wolf hesitates before she slinks over to him.
“That depends on your definition of ‘okay.’” I nod at the stranger.
The stranger acknowledges me and eyes Elyn. “An Adjudicator wandering the prison. How bold of you.”
“A Mera visiting my realm without paying his respects first to me,” I say, voice tight. “How bold of you, and stupid, to sit in my settlement as though you belong and deserve to be here.” My fingertips burn hotter the more I consider this man’s blatant disrespect.
Zephar lowers his head. “Kai, that’s my fault—”
“Who are you?” I ask, staring hard at this man whostillhas not shown me any deference.
Standing this close, I glimpse more of his skin—but I can’t see a vine, a star, or a title. He’s not a young man, nor is he old. What has he been doing all these ages? His sword leans against his chair and was crafted by the great Yeaden who forge all Mera blades—it gleams cold, sharp, and unforgiving. But the hilt looks untouched, pristine, the leather pale and smooth, not darkened from use, never raised in anger or duty. The stranger’s breastplate sits beside his sword, and it looks just as sterile as the blade. There, in the breastplate’s center, is an “X” made of fiery crossed blades.
I don’t know this symbol.
“He’s just an old friend,” Zephar says now. “We haven’t seen each other in seasons.”
“How lovely,” I say. “Shall I reach out to this old friend’s mother and share that her son remained seated in my presence?”
Yes, something is out of tune. Shari growls, a confirmation.
There’s an unfriendly glint in the stranger’s gold eyes. He stands with great reluctance, as if paying his respects is an inconvenience. “I’m Orewid Rolse, Lady.”
“Orewid Rolse.” I shake my head. “Doesn’t sound familiar. You must be in theadministrativeoffices on Mera.” My eyes flick to his smooth hands and leather boots that have never stood in pools of blood nor in the cleansing fires of Mera devastation.
Shari barks at Orewid Rolse.
Zephar frowns down at her. “What’s your problem today?”
I consider the stranger some more. This time, Shari growls.
Zephar tosses his “old friend” an apology, then takes Shari’s collar. “I’ll put her up—”
“The Adjudicator and I will be leaving soon,” I say. “Goodbye.” The words are sharp and final, a dismissal. I turn and follow Zephar with Shari trotting silently at his side.
Elyn lingers behind for a moment, her steps hesitant. She senses something.
The wolf and Elyn remain outside the tent as I slip inside with Zephar. The flaps close behind me, and the atmosphere inside turns heavy, stifling warm and thick with the scents of leather and sweat.
Even my home feels strange.
Zephar stands by the bed, his face cast in shadow, his gold eyes gleaming.
“Who the fuck is Orewid Rolse?” I ask.
Zephar doesn’t flinch, unsurprised. He just stares at me, his expression unreadable.
I can feel that pull of a truth hanging just out of reach. Something isn’t right.
Zephar tries to chuckle. “You ask that question like he’s my lover.”
“The way he sneers at me is totally disrespectful,” I say. “Why is he here? We don’t need his help.”
“Will you calm down?” Zephar places his large hand on my shoulder. “He isn’t here to help us. Like I said, he’s an old friend that I grew up with back on Mera. You don’t know him because he’s… What did you say? In theadministrativeoffices of our order?” Zephar cocks an eyebrow. “You never liked those types. Guess you still don’t.”
I snort and shake my head. “You’re being a wiseass at the worst time.”
“Will you trust me, please?” Zephar asks. “All is well, my love. Enjoy the quiet while you can.”
