Page 158 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
“The waiting place in the afterlife?” Hallie asked, her voice shaking a little. “But why did Correa not use the Lord Elder for this? Why make me take on his Essence? What was his intent?”
Kase ached to go to her, but he didn’t know what he could do besides holding her. And after their argument, he wasn’t sure if she wanted that. So instead, he tortured himself by standing by and watching as Saldr laid out her fate.
Fely looked at Saldr, eyes shadowed. Saldr took Hallie’s hand in his. “Because we Yalven Chronals believe it best to reset the Aurora Gate in Myrrai, which would mean resetting time. The Lord Elder was waiting until it was known what the future held, what details the final battle would paint. And if all would be lost, he would use his power to reset the Gate. In the end, we would be better prepared to fight Jagamot. None of our prophecies or writings detail how to defeat Jagamot decisively—only theories.”
“Without Kainadr’s sword to take the Lord Elder’s Essence power, the General needed someone else who would be weak enough in the power to manipulate into his own plan,” Fely said. “And the Essence of Time can only be passed down a familial line.”
“But Navara,” Hallie said. “She was supposed to take the Essence power from him, but she ran to stop that from happening. Why do that if the Lord Elder was going to hold on to the power?”
Saldr chewed his lip. “Raern was never going to pass it to her. He’d always planned on letting her go.”
“Then why did he pass it to me? What purpose did that serve in his grand plan?”
Both Saldr and Fely were silent. Kase didn’t know what to think. He didn’t understand much, only that it didn’t sound good for Hallie. And his heart was breaking for her, for him, for the life they could have lived. For the future they might never have. Because, it seemed, she was always doomed to serve a higher purpose.
Still, a sliver of reckless hope stuck in him, some spark of determination to find a way out of this. He just needed to figure out how.
Saldr looked sadly at Hallie. “I do not know, but as the Essence of Time, he certainly had a reason. We must trust his judgment…and prepare you for the end.”
Chapter 32
THE COLOR OF THE OCEAN
Clara
OF ALL THE DAYS TO be working the rations station instead of the hospital ward, it had to bethisday. When the soldier delivered the message, Clara left without turning back. She’d apologize later.
She sprinted as fast as she could toward the ward, trying not to trample anyone or trip. Samuel bounced in the wrap she’d tied around crossways around her chest, her right arm keeping him tucked to her.
In her other hand, she clutched the Stradat Lord Kapitan’s missive in her fist.
They have found Jove and Les and are taking them to the hospital ward. They are alive and relatively well.
It was a miracle she hadn’t tripped on anything with the tears clouding her vision. Just one more tunnel. Just one more curve.
The air burned in her chest, but she only pressed on harder. He was alive. Alive.Alive.Her prayers had been answered. She dodged a few more refugees before she turned the corner and saw the crooked rows of pallets and hanging linens. She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand, still holding the missive. The proof she wasn’t running to identify a body.
She whipped her head right, then left. Where was he? He should be there.
All she knew was that he was alive. And relatively well.
What did relatively mean in Harlan Shackley’s estimation?
Where wasJove?
One of the men sent to fetch her raced ahead and spoke with another man, who nodded and wound his way to the back of the ward. Clara followed him, stepping around medics, nurses, and the injured.
The ward was loud as it usually was, the noise made worse by the Catacomb walls. Clara’s eyes searched, her head on a swivel.
And then he was there, appearing as if from thin air.
Relatively well apparently meantfilthy and covered in blood.Jove’s face was haggard, his lips chapped. His days-old stubble clung in patches to his cheeks. His shirt was torn, bloody, and no longer white. One of his hands was swathed in bedlinen bandages. But his eyes burned in his face. They were still the color of the ocean she’d missed so dearly.
“Jove,” she sobbed.
He couldn’t have heard her, not over the noise in the ward, but it was still all the permission he needed. He sprinted toward her, clearing someone’s pallet with one jump, not even clipping his shoe on the rail.
Then his arms wrapped around her, pulling her to his chest. Careful of Samuel, he cupped the back of her head, pressing his forehead to hers. Tears slid down his nose and hers. And then he kissed her.
