Page 126 of The Cruel Dawn
Elyn shrugs. “Couldn’t see where the ink’s stopped—but it’s spread above the cuff of his tunic.”
“Did you talk to the Eserime who weren’t healing?”
“That was sadness,” she says. “Shock and grief. They’re overwhelmed and they don’t want to disappoint you. They’ve come out of their trance, though.”
“Without threats from you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, I had to threaten,” she says. “Gently, though.”
Nothing fits together in this town, not anymore. Lone sandals sink into the mud, their owners unknown. Ears severed from heads are sprinkled like rose petals on slick cobblestones that have been gouged by blades and spiraled horns. The slain, already bloating from the heat, lie discarded beneath tables and beside altars.
What happened here? Will tomorrow be worse? Should we even try to right Gasho after the battle yet again, just five dawns away from this realm’s possible end?
If Danar Rrivae doesn’t take Vallendor from me, Jadon will—unless his strings are cut like the puppet he is. But Danar Rrivae will only cut those strings if he thinks I’m weak enough to defeat.
Am I?
Was Jadon captured by the Devourers to be returned to his father? Or did he leave Gasho on his own? And if hedidleave Gasho on his own, what is he going to do? Where is he trying to go? Will he return to his mortal father, Syrus Wake?
And if hewasn’tcaptured, if he willingly left, then he’s betrayed me, again.
“We have five dawns left,” I say.
“And we’ll find Jadon,” Elyn says. “We must. Meanwhile, you have to convince Zephar to join our cause. If he does, I will reduce his sentence and restore his rights to travel freely—here and throughout the Aetherium. I may even approach the Council of High Orders and suggest a promotion for him.” Her words are measured, like all deals brokered during wartime.
But then I study the twisted wreckage of the town square, the broken bodies littered across the cobblestones. The flickering shadows of Mera and Eserime moving like smoke across this destroyed town. I’d pay almost any price to end this destruction.
Elyn and I try not to flinch, try to stand tall for the sake of the townspeople looking to us. But our eyes can’t stop searching for something in this carnage that will restore order here and across my dying realm. The day is ending, and the daystar does not bring the light it once did. Instead, it casts a sickly glow over Gasho and the surrounding desert. Red light bleeds across the horizon and seeps into the cracks of the broken city. The buildings, once proud and grand, are now ragged silhouettes against the burning sky. Everything has been burned and torn apart.
Finally, the Adjudicator nods. “I’ll bring as many Raqiel as your uncle will allow, because…this is the end. Meet me in Agon’s aerie after you talk to Zephar.”
She places her hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for protecting me. Maybe, after we’ve won this fight, we’ll laugh together about me needing your help.” She flicks her wings. “I’ll look one last time for Jadon. He’s here. He must be.” She takes to the sky.
I watch her glide away until she’s swallowed by smoke and light.
Once this war ends, I will write a strongly worded letter to the manager about how my experience here in this realm left me wanting, how by the end of every day, my armor was covered in blood. The food tastes rank now, and given what happened to this realm, I want my time and money back, or even a trip to one of the nicer realms. I’d also appreciate a new sword.
I stare at Fury’s black blade. No nicks. I tap the edge, still sharp even though it bounces off these new otherworldly. Yet my dagger, Tempest, has had no difficulty tearing through muscle and bone.
Why?
A contingent of my Eserime healers—recently chastised by the Adjudicator—moves between the casualties. They place their hands over the hearts of the injured and offer prayers for the dead. I also touch hearts and heads as I make my way toward the Temple of Celestial, growing weaker with each one. Elyn isn’t here to heal me, but I offer myself to my people—it’s in my nature.
Zephar and the Diminished don’t help restore Gasho like they did just days ago. They’ve already left for the Sanctum, leaving the Eserime to clean up the fallen town alone.
Why?Where is Prince Idus?
His body hangs from a date palm, still clutching his curved sword. The pool of blood beneath him looks darker than the others. He was the last in his bloodline and never became king, because I waited. These poor people relied on me for protection, and the enemy breached our defensesagain.
Rage swells through me like an ocean on fire—rage at Danar Rrivae for destroying Gasho but also rage at Zephar, who prides himself on being a warrior with a big brain and bigger swords. How did he allow this massacre to happen? Where were the Mera guard who’d been charged with the protection of this sacred city?
I don’t want to argue with him, but the longer I wait here, the angrier I become.
Because a cruel dawn draws closer to Vallendor.
…
The Sanctum no longer smells of sweet chamomile or soothing lavender but instead reeks of rot. The once-beautiful gardens have been trampled. The soil is tinged green and black with the fetid blood of dead Devourers.
