Page 130 of Red Demon
Chapter 52
Mar
Asher placed his arm on my shoulder, his touch firm as I caught my breath. “Jesse.”
Faruhar hunched on the far side of the cell, her gaze locked on mine.
A cold weight settled in my chest that I was too weak to carry. There’d be no moving from this room for me, not really, even when my feet crossed the threshold. Years later, I still find myself there, with Asher’s disappointment, and something in Faruhar I still can’t understand.
“Come on, Brother,” Asher said, his voice tight. “It’s over. Let’s go.”
I looked between the mangled flesh that had once been Mahakal, then Kane’s corpse by the door.
Faruhar stared at me still, a tear tracing a path down her cheek in the lantern light.
“Jesse.” Asher shivered when I met his gaze. “There’s a healer still alive outside.”
“Are you sure Far left her alive? I saw what she did.” I gestured vaguely to the broken tablet on the floor. My eyes flicked up to Faruhar, who looked away.
I turned back to Asher. “I thought she killed you.” For a moment, words failed me. “I saw Faruhar turn to you and—” I closed my eyes tight as Asher gripped my head to his shoulder, holding me tight as I forced my breaths to slow.
“Hey,” he said, his voice weak. “She remembers those she trusts.” But there was no conviction in that, and neither was there absolution.
“Far…” I said, when I felt strong enough. My words echoed in the small room. I wasn’t sure what else to say. She seemed to shrink further into herself.
“Bria just told me the woman with the white braid was going to perform your marriage ceremony,” she told Ash, then looked back to the ground. “I’m sorry, Asher.”
I bit my fist to choke off a sob. “The rest of the rebels are going to kill her, aren’t they?”
Asher looked at Faruhar, his jaw clenched tight. “Nothing they tried worked so far…” His voice trailed off.
With a flash of motion, Faruhar dove to pick up the blood-soaked ax, still dripping with flecks of bone and guts.
Asher reacted quickly, drawing Istaran.
Faruhar didn’t even look at us, just the floor, at Mahakal. “Asher, where’s my journal? Do you have it?”
Fear drained out of Asher’s face before he let out a sigh, sheathing his blade. “My bag is at the treeline. Should I fetch it?”
Faruhar shook, her knuckles white on the ax grip. “I’ll find my swords first. Mahakal has them somewhere. Just … tell them all to leave me alone. I will defend myself if they attack.” A ragged, hollow sound tore from her shuddering body.
Asher nodded to Istaran. “They heard you through the blade.”
Tears mingled with the grime and bruises on her face. One quick salute to mind and heart, then she burst past us for the door.
Asher gripped my arm as I tried to follow. It took all my strength to break away from him, lurching after her as she disappeared down the dark prison corridor.
“Far!” Her name tore from my lips—all I had left. I didn’t even know what I wanted to say. I released her name once more into the shadowed hall, letting my voice burn through the pain in my chest.
Outside the cell, heavy snowflakes drifted down over the carnage, blanketing the dead in an icy hush. Dozens lay in the field below the prison, many allies in their Asri cloaks, more in Mahakal’s uniforms, all sprawled lifeless in the snow. My head throbbed, fogging, and if I didn’t focus on pushing the pain away, it threatened to overwhelm me. Every breath felt like a knife scraping against raw flesh, and I suspected Mahakal had broken a few ribs in that last round of beatings.
I could push all that pain away though, if I concentrated. That was new.
Three figures, staff and Asri swords drawn, huddled near the prison gate next to a cluster of survivors, their faces obscured by their hoods. As we approached, most stepped back in fear. Three rebels took a crunching step forward, lowering their weapons. An older woman and man I didn’t recognize, and Soren–with his green Chaeten eyes. I dipped my head under the weight of Soren’s anger. I couldn’t blame him for hating me.
“We saw you kill Mahakal, through your brother’s sword.” Soren’s voice was deliberate, each word crisp.
“I’m sorry for your friends; for Telesilla.” The words scraped against my dry throat. I saluted deep and heartfelt to the bodies behind him, shuddering. “I’m so sorry, Soren.”
