Page 35

Pray that the water mage grows tired of your screams for help and lets you go;

Accept the inevitability of death.

By the time the Ebondrift refugees arrived in Della, the sky had long ago gone dark, painted velvet black and crowded with stars.

For as long as Skye could remember, the tiny village at the center of the island had always been grim and ordinary, reflecting more than any other area just how far Tempris had fallen after the Schism. A few rows of gray stone houses, a public stable, and a moss-covered inn—that was all there had been when he passed through last week.

There was even less now.

The cottages had been burned, and the inn’s characteristic marble columns had been reduced to rubble. The smell of blood and smoke and unwashed bodies filled the air.

Ivain and his forces had been stationed in Della for nearly three days, using the abandoned village as a waypoint while they searched the rest of the island for survivors. A wall of rock and dirt had been erected around the perimeter of the village square, and the earth mages were already using their magic to carve small keyholes in the battlement, placing the flash cannons from Ebondrift at strategic points around the camp. The airship hovered over the eastern wall, a smudge of blackness against the starry night sky.

An airship, Skye thought with a slight shake of his head. He still wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t hallucinated that part of the battle. For as long as he could remember, Ivain had been trying to get that rust bucket up in the air. Who knew all it would take was an entire city of mages at the old man’s beck and call?

Skye sighed and readjusted his pack, weaving his way through the milling crowd. The village square was clogged from end-to-end with tents bunched around flickering campfires.

They’d had little time to celebrate their victory at the canyon. Ivain had given Skye a hearty pat on the back by way of greeting, and then it had been back to work. They’d counted the dead and burned the bodies, and when the sun had started to sink beneath the horizon, they’d finally begun the long process of loading the caravan onto the airship, saying a silent prayer that their wounded survived the trip to Della.

Hungry and tired, every muscle barking as new aches and pains began to make themselves known, Skye slipped inside Ivain’s war-tent and slumped onto a bench. The interior was plain, unadorned except for a few benches and chairs and a large table spread with maps and papers. Fire lamps in each corner of the tent provided warmth and light, and silencing wards—just strong enough to dull the sounds of the camp outside—shimmered across the white canvas walls. A low wooden platform kept the mud and rain from seeping in, and a curtain separated what Skye could only assume was the sleeping and living area.

Skye grimaced as he reached for the buckles on his armor, letting the scaled pieces of leatherfall to the ground. He was still covered in grit and gore, and the entire right side of his shirt was soaked through with blood. He had used far too much aether both during the battle and after as they loaded the flash cannons onto the ship, and it was taking longer than it should have for his wounds to mend.

The tent flaps pushed to the side, and Skye rose to his feet as Ivain ducked inside. His white-blonde hair was speckled with blood, and there were lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He had already discarded his armor, revealing a plain shirt that, once finely made, was now stained and tattered.

“Boy,” Ivain said in greeting, clapping a hand to Skye’s shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug. One that Skye readily returned, indifferent to the blood and dirt that coated them both. “I can’t tell you how relieved I was to see you out there today.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Skye was nearly limp with fatigue, and he sagged a bit when Ivain released him and took a step back. “What about Sarina?” he asked. Without the relays, there had been no news from the rest of the island, and no way to know if the people he called family had made it through. “Is she—”

“Fine.” Ivain gave him a tight smile. “Just fine. As are Aimee and Aiden and the rest of the household staff. The manor, amazingly enough, was untouched. Those wards you and I installed around the main property last year did their job, and they did it well.”

Skye shifted his weight, noting the name Ivain had left out. “And Taly?” he asked. Ivain had sent scouts to every nearby village, looking forsurvivors. It was possible he could’ve found her. “We got… separated.”

Ivain’s face fell, and he opened his mouth to answer… only to shut it.

Skye’s heart sank as a little bit more of the hope he’d been clinging to slipped away.No. The answer was no. She wasn’t here.

Voices approached from outside, and moments later, Eula, Kato, and Harin trudged into the tent.

“We’ll speak when this is done,” Ivain said, giving Skye’s shoulder one more squeeze before moving to the massive table that ran the length of the tent. Planting his feet firmly, he straightened his shoulders and stood a bit taller, and suddenly there was no more Ivain. Standing in his place was the Marquess Castaro, High Commander of the Gate Watchers.

“As I’m sure you all know,” Ivain said, addressing the people as they gathered around the table, “approximately five days ago, Tempris came under attack from an unknown enemy. Every major city on the island has been invaded by shades, and many high-ranking officials in the Gate Watchers have gone missing in what is likely an attempt to disrupt our chain-of-command. We do not yet know how many lives have been lost. We do not know who we’re fighting or why. All we know is that our enemy has stooped low enough to weaponize the dead. They’ve arrested the souls of those trying to pass through the veil and trapped them in a house of decay. They’ve committed one of the few crimes the Genesis Council has deemed an act of true evil, and that makes them capable of anything.”

Ivain paused, meeting the eyes of every person in turn. “I applaud you all for the bravery you showed today. I commend you for the courage you’ve demonstrated in leading these people and keeping them united. I thank you for the service I know each one of you will continue to give. It is not an easy thing that we have been called upon to do, and there will be worse days ahead. Days that are harder, bloodier—that will steal away your resolve. But take heart. Find hope in the knowledge that we are stronger together. That our enemy tried to break us and failed, and that today’s battle, despite our losses, was a victory. We are still here, and we will keep fighting, until the war is finished.”

Ivain turned to the man standing at the farthest end of the table. “Marshal Harin,” he said, expression stern. “Report.”

Harin began to give his statement, clasping his scarred hands behind his back as he accounted for the number of wounded, the duty roster, and other details about the refugee integration.

Skye tried to listen, but his attention kept slipping to the calculated gaze he could feel boring into him from across the table. Kato had fought valiantly that afternoon, but there was still the issue of Taly. Kato believed her to be a traitor, and hewouldbring the issue before Ivain. The only question was when and how big a spectacle he intended to make.

Eula stood beside Kato. Her face was clean, but flecks of gore still clung to her dark hair. There was a cut on her cheek that was struggling to close, and she wiped at it occasionally, frowning at the blood that streaked the back of her hand.