Page 130 of Until the End of Ever
"We can't leave Lucian and Kleos!" the annoying chick screamed, punching my back again. "Let me go, you great brute!"
We'd put enough distance between us and the Hall of Truce, so I finally lowered her to the floor."Look, brat, I know Kleos and Lucian: both would murder me for letting you return out there."
She immediately started to run to the Hall anyway.
"Lucky, the likelihood of you making it back there without falling on your face ten times is close to nil," Ronan reasoned. "Plus, if you did? You'd just be in the way. Lucian can take care of himself. So can Kleos. They werefatedto be there."
I turned to him, frowning. "Fated?"
He shrugged. "The prophecy. It was always about this, wasn't it? From the very start, it said gods would rise and the walls would fall. It said a new goddess will emerge. They're fine."
Lucky blinked. "Wait. I read it last week. What it said wasn't that gods would destroy the walls," she said slowly. "It said seven would rise as the wall fell. Very different."
I allowed myself to look around, to the various people running, the explosions in the distance, the dust and stench of fire and iron.
No one was rising.
"When Kleos stopped fighting the prophecy, when she just followed it as instructions—she managed to save Lucian. He'd be dead otherwise," Lucky insisted. "We need to step up. We need to do something. Get off our asses."
I winced, never having been accused of anything close to laziness or cowardice. I was always off my ass. But what, exactly, were we supposed to do against gods?
"We aren't seven," Ronan said reasonably. "The prophecy likely doesn't apply to?—"
Us. He likely was going to sayus. Except, just then, a volley of arrows flew right at us. He moved quickly, shield up, but not quickly enough: two arrows blasted past the shield, one hitting my flank, the other, aimed right at Lucky's head.
I pushed her out of the way, so it pierced my wrist instead. "Dammit!" I pulled them both out, turning toward the direction of the shots, to find two people, either side of the street, shooting from balconies.
Not gods, regular mortals, city folk. Except their eyes were sky blue.
"We need to move," I called. "We're boxed in."
Their second volley came, but we already were on the go, Ronan's shield solid, so that one didn't hit anyone. The moment we'd reached the end of the street though, there were three more blue-eyed assholes, two with bows, one holding a sword up.
I stepped in front of Lucky, bracing to handle the projectile weapons before I could attack the three.
"Sleep."
The man came out of nowhere, dressed in a sharp, black suit, long blond hair in a ponytail.
Everyone knew him, of course: the magister of the underside, Damian Regis.
All three warriors were on the floor, and the four up on balconies crashed all at once.
The magister winced, black blood running down his nose. "Fuck, I'm getting tired."
"Damian," Ronan said. "Look at you, not being a waste of space."
The newcomer rolled his eyes. "Unlike you. If you'd like to make yourself useful, I've been given instructions."
"Instructions?" I repeated.
"Lucian says we're to cover the foundations, ensure the shields aren't accessible. Stay away from any section currently attacked—those completely destroyed, we can rebuild. I've done one and was on my way towards the next when I spotted you."
Lucky didn't hesitate to follow him, visibly desperate for something to do.
I glanced at Ronan and he shrugged. "If the kid's going, we probably should tag along. And I guess we do owe the dick."
The dick presumably being Damian.
