Page 114 of The Cruel Dawn
“I’m not here to enjoy the quiet or to make new friends. We have shit to discuss, and your pride is standing between us.”
Zephar crosses his arms and plants his feet apart. “What is it that you’d like to discuss, my love?”
“Don’t.”
He laughs, shrugs, and loosens his stance, placing his hands on his hips. “Better?”
My stomach becomes a tangled cord.
“Kai,” he says, smiling. “What’s on your mind? I wanna know what you’re thinking before you race up the mountain to embark on whatever secret mission—”
“It isn’t a secret mission,” I shout. “The realm is ending—”
“Right. You said that.” He points toward the hillside. “Where you’re headed, they think that, too. And they run to the mountains to worship the charlatan wearing white as though the end won’t find them there.”
I squint at him. “That charlatan wearing white may know shit that may keep us all from dying, and yet here you are, laughing—”
“Sincerely, what could he know that we don’t?” Zephar asks, arms out.
“How to kill those creatures that can resurrect the fallen, for one. What went wrong after Agon destroyed Celedan Docci at his bench? How did Danar Rrivae create those…Devourers? Zee, they’re massive. They’re nearly our true size. I would’ve been impressed if I wasn’t fighting for my life.” I pause, then narrow my eyes. “But I guess none of that really concerns you.”
He shrugs. “I’m Mera, my love. Your second-in-command. I’m no ordinary Destroyer.”
“True. But these are no ordinary otherworldly.” I march over to my trunk and throw it open. My clothes, neatly folded and tucked away, still smell of lavender and tuberoses. Some of the fabrics have softened from wear, but they’re all still rich in color. I push skirts and breeches and bandeaus aside.
“What are you looking for?” Zephar asks.
“Another pair of boots,” I say. “These hurt. They’re too small.”
No boots. I close the trunk with a soft thud and walk over to another trunk closest to the tent’s rear entrance. I catch a glimpse of the gardens beyond—and my breath catches when I see the tub that Zephar had built for me. The wood is splintered, and the once-perfect iron bands are now twisted and misshapen.
Shari nudges me.
“What happened to the tub?” I whisper to Zephar. “Who did this?”
His gaze follows mine to outside the tent. “I did that. I’m starting over.”
“Really?”
He shrugs. “To make it bigger.” He pauses. “Did I do something wrong again?”
I whisper, “I guess not.”
Will a new tub or new boots matter six nights from now?
I take a deep breath. Standing again, I say, “I also need to say—”
“I apologize for saying ‘my temple.’” He ruffles his hair. “You called it—I’m prideful, sometimes. When you’re gone, I’m responsible for everything in the province, and so I tend to think ‘my’ and ‘mine.’ But you’re here now, and even when you’re not… The Gashoans built the temple to honor you, and I…” He smirks. “I onlycarry your purse.”
I murmur, “I don’t think that.”
“She does.”
“Since when do you care what Elyn thinks of you?”
“She was your best friend once upon a time.”
“But that time has passed,” I say. “Today, we are…reluctant partners.”
