Page 18 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
Smoke and screams and orange fire painted the sky. A loud rumble knocked him off his feet, the impact wrenching his hurt shoulder. He pulled himself back to his feet, hissing through his teeth when his shoulder protested.
Ben Reiss and his dragon’s destruction of Kyvena hadn’t fully processed in Jove’s mind. One World had joined forces with the Cerls. As an intelligence agent, Jove had known they were connected, but he’d never dreamed they’d be able to pull off something on this scale.
Small demonstrations, a little violence, several arrests? That was closer to what Jove had anticipated. Why would hehave ever thought otherwise? The Jaydian Hover Crews were the best in the world.
He looked back at the burning city below him just as an enemy hover dropped something from its cargo hold.
“Get down!” Harlan Shackley shouted.
Jove and the Yalven emissary beside him, Saldr, hit the cobblestone so hard, Jove’s bones ached. The ground shook and rattled them further. He couldn’t hear anything over the screams and other commotions throughout the city.
Holy shocks, they were bombing the city.
His father had already recovered and sprinted for the manor’s entrance. Jove might’ve kept pace had he not been shot only minutes before. Instead, he stumbled to his feet only to fall again.
Blasted shoulder. Blasted bombs. Blasted everything.
Saldr helped him to his feet. “Are you all right, Master Shackley?”
No part of this was all right.
More violent, swearing shouts from Harlan; he was cursing at the looters trying to force their way into the manor. Jove retrieved the stolen Cerl pistol from the ground, hitting the hammer too hard with his thumb. Its stinging pain was more like an annoying wasp buzzing in Jove’s head. He squeezed the slick trigger. Fiery blue bullets joined his father’s own shots into the crowd of criminals. Jove stumbled from the recoil.
They shouted. One man screamed as blood soaked the back of his light-colored jacket. He fell in a crumpled heap. Jove’s chest heaved painfully as if something was sucking the lifeblood from his heart. He fired again. Another wrenching sensation. The bullet hit the side of the manor and ricocheted into another looter.
The rest scattered, running away from more blue bullets coming from Harlan’s weapon. Jove should have been up therewith him, should have been at his side as he stormed the manor’s entrance, but…
Fire tore through Shackley Manor’s roof and busted out windows along the top floor. Chaos reigned everywhere he looked. If he broke into his home and found his family dead…
No. He could not do it. He could not go into that house and find his wife…hisson—
The worn and weary cobblestones dug into his knees before he knew he’d fallen again. Not pain this time, but despair.
How could he have left his family? He was supposed to protect them, and he’d just…left.
The alcohol couldn’t shield him from this. The evening’s horrors had burned it out of him. The understanding of what he’d done pierced deeper than any bullet.
I left them.
I left them.
I left—
Enough.
He placed his hands upon the cobblestones, wary of the glass, and pushed himself to his feet. His stomach felt hollow yet full of lead at the same time. Bile waited at the back of his throat.
But he owed it to Clara to face what he’d done. If she was alive, he had to protect her. If she was not…
He couldn’t think about that. Not if he wanted to keep his feet moving.
By the time he got to his father’s side, Harlan had already kicked down the door, shouting “Celeste!” into the darkness beyond.
No response.
Jove stumbled into the foyer. The elegant family portrait on the wall hadn’t been touched. Nothing had been—yet. The looters would be back.
The figures immortalized in brush strokes stared back at him in the dim firelight filtering through the open front door. Jove had felt important that day. He’d helped wrangle his younger siblings just enough to sit still for it. Zeke was the only one who’d smiled.
