Page 275 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
Jagamot’s shadow army.
Jove sprinted into the fray, his pistol firing into the gray, but his bullets only grazed the demons. They worked on the black-veined men and women, though.
A soldier with solid black eyes like Eravin Gray’s turned the corner, his bloody sword waving in the air. Jove didn’t think,only took aim at him and fired. No time to grieve the necessity, to feel any guilt. He needed to find his wife and son.
Where would they have gone? The townhouse? If Clara had been thinking straight, she would’ve tried to leave the city. Could she have made it to the front city gates? Jove swung in and out of the chaos, focused solely on finding a woman with brown skin and braids and a baby in her arms.
With each person he passed who wasn’t his wife, his panic heightened. Was she already dead? The city was too large. He would never find her.
He should be grateful he hadn’t found her in the piles of the dead. But not knowing where she was? It was worse. His heart hammered, and his stomach roiled.
Losing track of just how many shadows or others he killed, he fought through the city. He stole a dying soldier’s sword. He was rubbish at swordplay, but it still made him feel better with two weapons instead of one. With the pistol in one hand, the sword in the other, he leapt over rubble and shot another one of those shadows. Blue fire zinged out and blasted a hole in the specter. It slowed him enough for Jove to careen by.
Bursts of gold mist dusted his peripheral vision. The Yalvs were doing their best to beat back the invaders, but would they be enough? He hadn’t seen Saldr since they’d reached the surface, and he hadn’t seen the healer, Kainadr.
Jove fought his way underneath the towering gates to the lower city and down the streets until he found himself in one of the larger market squares. The trampled and blackened awnings were the only evidence it had once been a thriving center of trade and culture.
Jove sprinted over dead flowers and broken glass bottles. The marketplace was a chaotic mess with shadows and citizens alike. Those not infected with the Yalvar fuel were fighting bestthey could, but they were almost inconsequential compared to whatever demon ran in their enemies’ veins.
“Jove!”
His heart stopped as he wiped blood and sweat from his brow. He whirled around, his sword flashing in the air. He scanned the massive crowd.
“JOVE!”
Where was she?
His arm stung as a woman with black blood leaking from her mouth clawed at him. Jove shoved her away. He swiped his sword at one of the shadows and followed it with a blast from his pistol.
His way was clear. He leapt on an overturned cart.
Finally, he saw her. Samuel was strapped to her chest, and she was covered in blood. His heart thumped in his ears.
“Clara!”
That blood was fresh.
Ice-cold rage encompassed him as he leapt down, pistol firing into the crowd, sword swinging.
Now he knew exactly how his father had felt when Correa had attacked his mother. He would mow down anyone in his path to reach his wife.
He only saw red. The blood on her face, on her clothing, on her hands.
He would kill whoever was responsible for shedding that blood.
Someone shouted his name, but it wasn’t Clara, and he didn’t care. He needed to get to her. He shouted his rage with each thrust and each blast.
Finally, she only stood a few strides away from him.
Her eyes met his, so beautiful yet terrified, relieved yet hollow. His name was on her lips.
A soldier stepped in front of her, a trio of diamonds tattooed on his neck, his blond hair braided back. Cerl. He swung his pistol toward Clara, his finger on the trigger. Black blood filled the man’s veins.
Clara fell to her knees, her body turning to shield Samuel.
Jove bellowed his fury and terror. “Get the stars away from her!”
With a speed he hadn’t even realized he possessed, Jove whipped his pistol up and fired at the man.
