Page 72 of Swords of Soul and Shadow
He didn’t care about Harlan.
Kyvena’s main defense was their superior air force and electropistols. That was half the reason why Ezekiel Fairchild’s betrayal had been so devastating. On one hand, his uncle had given the Cerls a weapon; on the other, his mother still locked herself in her library every year on the anniversary of his death.
As the hero who led Jayde to victory in the war, Harlan had been the one to order the execution of his brother-in-law and Ezekiel’s two sons…barely men, but just as guilty, according to the death declarations. They’d been twenty-two at the time.
Kase’s fingers gripped the steering control harder, and the engine revved in response. If the Cerls had any advantage now, it was likely because of his uncle.
Was Ezekiel the reason the Cerl hover felt more like an extension of Kase than anything else? Was he the reason electricity in Kyvena and the surrounding villages had ceased to work?
A smudge appeared on the horizon, and Kase’s stomach dropped. The hover sped up. With each passing second, the once-glittering capital city nestled in the hills of Jayde grew larger.
The Jayde Center’s glass dome was gone. An air of ruin hung over the city like a specter. The once-majestic stone of the outer wall lay in heaps, and the great doors hung off their hinges. Kase pushed the hover harder, pulling up to clear the top of a severely damaged section of the wall.
He didn’t register most of the city’s destruction as he skimmed the rooftops of the lower city. He didn’t want to risk flying any higher for fear that the Cerls were waiting somewherenearby. He needed to climb the hill to the upper city and find his mother.
Many city mansions showed some sort of damage, but as most of them were constructed of the finest stone, they stood mostly intact. Some were worse off than others. Several were missing parts or the entirety of their roofs.
Like the gate at the wall, the one at Shackley Manor hadn’t been a deterrent to anyone who wanted to enter the estate. One of the swirling iron-rod doors hung at a grotesque angle, the other flung to the side without a care.
What in the stars would’ve done something like that?
Heart pounding, Kase set the Cerl hover down in the front courtyard.
Most of the Manor’s upper floor was missing, as if something large had taken a bite out of it. The windows were broken, the stone blackened with soot. He knew the look of a building devoured by fire, but it hadn’t consumed the entire manor.
He popped the windshield up and scrambled out of the hover. He hit the ground hard, his knees nearly giving out. He sliced his hand on something.
“Son!”
Kase could barely hear Stowe’s voice, and he didn’t care. He needed to find his mother. The door hung wide open, the lock busted. He flew inside.
Someone had thrown paint across the family portrait dominating the entrance hall. A streak of red dripped down Harlan’s stone-like features. A jagged slash marred Kase’s own.
Lead filled his stomach. He’d always hated the portrait, hated it for what it represented, for the memories it evoked. It only served as a reminder of everything he’d lost.
But seeing it destroyed only drove the knife deeper—it made him want to give up completely.
He took several deep breaths, willing the tension in his jaw to ease.
“I cannot control others’ actions. I can only take responsibility for my own,” he whispered under his breath. He turned away and eyed the grand staircase.
The looters couldn’t do much to the stone stairs, but paint that looked too much like blood had dried in dark russet patches on a scattered few.
“Take these.” Stowe came up beside him and handed him the electropistol and Cerl weapon he’d left in the hover. Kase watched himself take the pistol, not entirely present in his own body. He cocked the weapon, but no sparks sputtered to life at the end.
The electricity. Gone.
Cornhead was right.
He handed it back to Stowe and hit the hammer on the Cerl pistol. Instead of sparks jumping from the end, a wave of cold swept over him like every time he started up the Cerl hover. The metal was the same blue hue.
For a split second, Kase wished he’d taken the time to rest instead of running in without thinking. He’d forgotten he’d cut his hand. Fresh blood smeared on the pistol’s textured grip.
But if his mother…if she was…
Kase couldn’t think past the terror. He couldn’t let himself think about the worst-case scenario; if he thought it, he feared it would become real.
So without thinking, he searched the first floor. Stowe followed behind, his flashpistol ready to fire. Most of it had been looted, burned, or defaced. The family crest, complete with swords, was still intact in the dining room—ironic—even if it was now covered in the same brown stains as the stairs. Seemed that whoever had broken in with the intent of stealing all the finer things—including the silver spoons kept in the sideboard at theend of the dining hall—hadn’t wanted or couldn’t pry the crest off the wall.
