Page 172 of Kissed By the Gods
My breath hitches. My body forgets pain—or itbecomespain.
“Hello, strider,” she says.
The Veil curls itself around us, and I fall back into it, grateful.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
RYOT
Einarrand I spin a wide arc in the air, both of us looking for Leina and Vaeloria. She was here, and then—gone.
I don’t allow myself to think about anyone but her, not yet.
“There’s nothing we could have done for them, Lastwall. Even if we’d made it, they were already gone.”
I don’t answer Einarr. I can’t. My heart is a fist. My thoughts are all teeth. All I know is I have to find her. Einarr and I are the only ones left in this godsforsaken sky—the remaining Altor have all streamed back into Amarune. To look for survivors, for wounded.
But all I can do is hunt for my heart, torn from my chest and carried through the Veil. So Einarr and I patrol the sky, pacing this stretch between where Leina first entered the Veil, near the fortress, to where she last disappeared over the ocean.
“There!”I swivel my head around, but Einarr’s already moving.
There’s a ripple in the sky, and then Leina and Vaeloria appear.
Unconscious, both of them. Falling.
Einarr breaks into another dive.
This time, we’ll make it. This time, we’ll save them.
There is nothing else.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
RYOT
The euphoriaof our victory is dimmed by the sheer magnitude of the losses.
Over 200 Aishan Altor are dead—more than half their forces—and thousands of civilians slaughtered. Wails of grief echo through the shattered city as people search the ruins, sifting through the bodies of the fallen.
Caius is among them. The Elder.
Thalric is injured. Gravely.
“Don’t you dare close your eyes, Thalric. I swear to the gods—if you die on me, I’m bringing you back to kick your ass.”
Nyrica’s hands move with brutal efficiency, fingers slick with blood. The stitches he’s weaving up Thalric’s side are fast, tight, and merciless.
Thalric groans, his eyes sliding closed.
“Oh,nope,” Nyrica snaps, catching his chin and forcing Thalric’s face up. “None of that. You keep those pretty eyes open, commander.” And he carries on stitching with a grim determination.
For the first time in his life, Faelon is silent, his shoulders slumped, his eyes hollow and distant as he clutches Caius’s bodyto his chest. His hands are bloodied, shredded from his own bow. Tears streak his face.
I should grieve, too.
But I can't.
Numbness has sealed me off. If I open myself to it, I’ll be lost.
