Page 32 of The Cruel Dawn
“No,hedoesn’t understandyou,” Sybel says, softer. “He doesn’t understand your nature. The push-and-pull of steward and destroyer causes him great irritation.”
“Zephar and I are getting along great right now,” I say. “We’re not perfect, but we’ve spent a season apart. We’re just getting used to each other, that’s all.”
“I’m not talking about right now,” she says. “I’m talking about all the time you’ve been together. You aren’t like him, Kai. You, as Lyra and Izariel’s child, embody different missions while Zephar only knows how to—”
“Anything else, Lady?” I turn away from her.
She doesn’t know how I feel—the daughter of a high lord of the Council who caused the death of her mother. It didn’t matter that I had no clue she’d been on Ithlon that day. The Aetherium looked upon me with horror and revulsion. Gods from the 67,000 known realms judged me—does Sybel know how that feels? Greasy failure coats everything I touch. Only Zephar understands the depths of my sadness.
“The Council held fast and refused to grant you any more power, that is…” Sybel exhales, then says, “That is, until I agreed to sacrifice any grace I’ve earned as Grand Steward and the mother of the Adjudicator. I’ve assured them that you will ultimately be the power you were meant to be. I assured them that youwillwin. I worry, though, that Zephar Itikin will be an obstacle to your ascension.”
“Wait. You said…What?” I rub my temples, pushing against the pressure building there. “‘Sacrifice any grace’… What does that mean?”
“My fate is now tied to yours, Kai,” she says. “Now more than ever before. One more chance, for the both of us. You fail and I am banished to Anathema.”
Anathema: Mortals call it the underworld and the wastes. The Realm of Nowhere with only dust to eat, and water to drink that never quenches your thirst. You aren’t alone there, but you can only hear the cry of others whom you will never see. When you’ve given up on the hope that Supreme will offer you relief, you are supposed to speak the word and pass through a final gate. At least, that’s all we know. No one has reported back from that realm beyond that final gate.
Despite this, humans continue to think of life and death as a beginning and an end. They are scared of the end—death—more than anything. That’s because mortals crave the finite, starts and stops with few liminal spaces in between. So Anathema, the wastes, the underworld, became that final place where you’re tortured forever.
The idea, though, that Supreme is filled with so much malice… Torturing a creation forever? Unthinkable. Being thrown in the Nowhere, eating dust and drinking water that won’t quench hunger or thirst… That may be true if you refuse to speak the word. If you speak the word immediately, you wouldn’t wander or lose hope. If you’re there, in Anathema, no hope exists. What are you clinging to?
And now, Sybel has basically volunteered to be sent there if I fuck up saving Vallendor.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper to her, tears burning in my throat. “You shouldn’t have made such a promise, especially on behalf of someone like…” I bite my tongue and hold my breath.
“Someone like you?” she asks.
“I’ve failed this realm.”
Sybel takes my hand and squeezes. “That remains to be determined.”
I chuckle and push my hand through my hair. “You’ve known me since my birth. You know me better than my own father. I’m…”Not the god I was meant to be.
High above us, atop that sheer wall, three windwolves with blood-stained snouts glare down at us, their sharp teeth bared and filthy with old meat. Six eyes glint like new knives, and their stink makes my stomach wobble.
I draw my sword and step in front of Sybel.
“This isn’t necessary,” the Grand Steward says.
“This isverynecessary,” I murmur, eyes on the predators above us.
“Kai,” she says, “ignore the distractions. Now is not the time to fight everything and everyone. You have important—”
Another growl and a roar cut her off.
Sybel spins to look up at the wolves and shouts, “Silence!”
The air around us booms. Enormous rocks fall from high places and strike the ground. The wolves whine their apologies as the cliff crumbles beneath their paws, and they back away from the bluff’s edge.
Okay, then.
I stow my blade.
Sybel lays her hand on my shoulder. Such a heavy touch. Such a loving touch.
“You shouldn’t have made that promise,” I say, placing my hand atop hers. “Sacrificing yourself like that… It’s not a good idea.” My gaze skips up to the ledge abandoned by the windwolves. “What if I fail?”
“Do you plan to fail?” she asks.
