Page 11 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

After my visit with Malik Sindire, I return to the Sanctum and to my tent.

Zephar and Shari aren’t there, but the bed has been made and fresh flowers have been placed against the pillows.

Zephar’s apology.

Outside, a horn blows: a call to arms.

I shove myself into my new set of armor and rush back outside, joining my contingent of Mera warriors—Diminished all—rushing to grab their blades, bows, and arrows.

“What’s happened?” I ask, running alongside Ianna. He’d been one of the first destroyers to join me in the destruction of Ithlon.

“Attack on a caravan,” he shouts.

Together, we race down the pathway to the misty garden. I check my swords and dagger—I’m ready to fight. We run through Gasho and out the now-repaired gates. My lungs fill with dusty air, but a smile finds my face after all the previous uncertainty. This is what I’m meant to do.

But then I see.

My stomach drops.

Gorga!

Banners with the moth sigil lie trampled on the ground. Women wearing those ochre-colored robes are being chased by green-scaled bandits wearing gray armor. Idus, the prince of Gasho, takes cover behind the two large guards swinging blades too weak for these opponents.

Shari is ripping through a Gorga bandit’s neck. Zephar is swinging his dual swords at another bandit, but he shouts in frustration as his blades bounce off the Gorga’s thick skin. Finally, thankfully, one of his blades cuts deep into the Gorga’s hip.

Didn’t I tell someone to place protective wards on the roads?

One of the Sisters of the Dusky Hills screams as she runs toward the open desert, two Gorga bandits chasing her.

I shout, “No!” and run after them.

One of the attackers catches up and rips away the young woman’s robe.

His partner looks back over his shoulder and whirls around to roar at me, “You Mera bitch.”

I thrust out my hand and throw fire in his face.

The Sister screams again as her attacker throws her to the ground and wraps his hands around her neck.

I catch a glimpse of big brown eyes, hair the color of wheat and sunflowers… I know this woman!

Ancress Mily Tisen had been my attendant.

Though her smooth, unwrinkled skin reveals her true age of twenty seasons, those brown eyes and husky voice belonged to a wiser, older woman who’d seen too much.

Just two springs ago, and new to the order, she followed me around with paper and pen, recording all that I’d done and said.

I’d started teaching her the Mera language, throwing in a couple of swear words in Mera and Yeaden.

She’d prophesied a Gasho without light and a canal that ran rivers of blood instead of water.

Her dream had come true: the light of Gasho—me—left the city shortly after her prediction and hadn’t returned until yesterday’s slaughter.

The Gorga bandit tightens his grip around her neck.

The blue glow that I’d blessed her and the rest of the city-folk with just a day ago drips back into amber. She’s dying.

I scream, “Stop!” and hurl a blast of wind at the bandit to push him off of her.

But he’s strong and scrambles back on top of her.

If I use my full wind and fire, I’ll hurt Ancress Tisen.

I grit my teeth and pull Justice from my back scabbard.

I push that silvery-blue blade through the Gorga’s neck, expecting resistance, but it slides smoothly past scales and bone.

Thick brown blood splashes across Mily’s face and the Gorga’s life-light blinks black.

I kick the dead bandit off of the young woman and pull her into my arms.

She’s shivering with fear, but her breath steadies the longer I hold her.

A few times, I try to pull away from her, but she tightens her grip and whispers, “Don’t go. Don’t leave me. Don’t go—”

I whisper, “Okay,” into her curls, knowing that I must go—other travelers are under attack. Mily’s tears keep me there, and I don’t know what to do.

“Kai!” Zephar shouts from the riot. His voice snaps me out of my inaction.

I shout, “On my way,” to him, and to her, I say, “I won’t leave here without you, but I have to help the others.”

She releases me and weeps into her hands. Her eyes widen as she sees that another Gorga has spotted her, no longer in my arms.

He’s far enough away that I can tear him apart with fire. Then, in a fit of rage, I hurl fireballs at every Gorga that I see until finally, no bandits remain.

Ancress Tisen runs over to me and throws herself in my arms again.

I whisper, “You’re okay,” as my gaze roams the ruins.

Zephar frowns and holds out his arms. “ This is what I’m talking about. This is why we need to go to Shelezadd.”

“Why weren’t there protective wards?” I shout back. “This wouldn’t have happened if wards were placed—”

He turns away from me and grumbles as he finds Prince Idus beneath the bodies of two guards who’d sacrificed themselves to keep him alive.

Prince Idus, bloody but breathing, bows to Zephar. He’s a tall, handsome man with golden skin, thick black hair, and a well-oiled and groomed beard and moustache. Even in its current state his loose brown tunic, made of the best cotton on Vallendor, looks splendid on him.

Zephar finds his simple crown of rose gold in the dirt and sets it on the prince’s head.

Prince Idus thanks him and freezes once he spots me. His lips start to curl into a sneer until he catches himself and forces a smile onto his face. “Lady.” Anger still bubbles in his eyes before wisdom tamps down the heat of his resentment.

…

The Mera and royal caravan return to Gasho, and the city-folk toss flowers and coins at my feet.

Alabaster statues ornamented with chamomile and sage now line the courtyard.

There’s Zephar and Shari… Is that Sybel Fynal’s image?

And is that… Elyn Fynal’s image? None of these figures are taller than my statue nor are they permanent fixtures—they’ve been mounted on horse-drawn carriages.

Moveable. An eclipse of moths flutters around the alabaster Celestial, and a few break away to find and flutter around the living one.

Ancress Tisen leads me to a seated canopy and rests on a cushion behind me. Her eyes are still swollen from crying, but hope has replaced fear. “Is there anything I can get you, Celestial? Water? Dates?”

“No, thank you.” I cock my head. “You aren’t angry with me?”

“You saved my life, Divine,” she says.

“But you wouldn’t have been in danger if I’d been there.”

“I knew you’d come.”

I make a skeptical face. “Really?”

She shrugs. “Isn’t that what faith is? Trusting that all will be well?”

“You could’ve died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Others did.”

“And they are now with the ancestors, and you’ll look after them just as you continue to look after me.”

I touch the young woman’s cheek, and her glow burns blue again.

An older man with long, sandalwood-scented braids bows before us.

I nod to him and say, “Intendant Wosre.”

“Mighty Celestial,” Intendant Wosre says.

“Most revered among the gods. The one who protects and guides us through battle and thought. Merciful and cruel, the most exquisite of the goddesses. With your hand, Celestial, mortal-kind finds the path, a higher calling, yet never reaches your perfection.”

Zephar, coming to sit beside me, mutters something that I can’t decipher.

Eventually, Intendant Wosre reaches the request portion of his grandiose speech: some mortals would like to journey to the next town over to re-establish trade, but they need protection as they travel these dangerous roads—especially after today’s assault.

I nod. “Travel mercies for the prince and pilgrims,” I say, eyeing Zephar.

He nods, beckons a nearby Eserime, and gives the order.

If he’d done that earlier…

I gaze at the crowd of Gashoans wearing their finest silks, tan and white linens. They’re carrying bottles of wine and ale, platters of roasts and figs. The bannermen hold pennants with moth sigils that undulate in the slight breeze. This is no ordinary day.

“What’s happening now?” I ask Ancress Tisen.

“The Celebration of Renewal,” she says, “in honor of your return. As you know, Divine, it is your right to take as many as you desire.”

Take as many… Oh, yeah. Lovers. Sex. That kind of celebration.

“We’ve only had one festival since you left us,” Ancress Tisen says, “and today, with your victory against the Gorga, the time is finally right for another.”

Intendant Wosre cries out, “Prince Rewyn Idus, Sixth of His Name, Starbound and Shadowforged, Chosen of Celestial.”

The prince takes his position before me, and he’s still shaken from the attack on his caravan in the desert.

The last time he stood before me in this town square, his eyes had lit up with roguishness. A master of seduction, his expression told me. How lovely and awful for the future queen of Gasho.

Now I smile at him. “Prince Idus. Hello, again.”

The prince says, “I have a gift for you, Divine One. If you would join me.”

Zephar and I follow the prince to the temple.

Intendant Wosre and his staff lead us to a chamber lined with countless sticks of burning incense.

There’s a large bed covered with silk and hidden with veils.

Musicians stand at the door to this room, strumming and fluting and singing a song that I can only hear snatches of over the other songs of celebration.

Rejoice! Be glad! Dance about!

We will delight her! Rejoice and shout!

He moves her with his gifted kiss

Her hips, they move with delightful bliss.

The bed is for Prince Idus and me…and whoever else I choose.

His father, King Idus, had also been a beautiful man, but he hadn’t been interested in “celebrating” with me or any other woman.

On that night of the Celebration, I’d closed the veils and then-Prince Idus and I held hands.

After he promised to protect Gasho, I decreed him king and let him slip away to celebrate with Dorosi, the captain of the guard.

“Shall we try out this big, fabulous bed later?” Zephar whispers, his finger poking my back. “Just you and me? No audience unless…” He shrugs.

I laugh and lift an eyebrow. “Behave.”