Page 13 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

Even while I sleep, I feel a strange white light beating against my face. I turn over in bed and let my eyes flutter open.

Shari’s come inside the tent, and her cold nose rests beneath my hand, pulling me from sleep, her emerald gaze steady.

Zephar slumbers beside me, at peace, his face soft even in its hardest places.

The disappointment of our lack of coupling again last night has melted from his expression.

I want to claim that I’m tired, that my head hurts, but the real reasons are more complicated than a sore back and being bone-weary.

Guilt.

Jadon.

Shari nudges me again.

Past the tent wall, a soft milky light too bright to be the nightstar pierces through the darkness.

My dream breaks apart like foam. I pull on my bandeau, sarong, and boots and grab my back scabbard heavy with Fury and Justice.

I ease into my new armor—the plates are lighter than my luclite armor and offer the flexibility of leather and the certainty of steel.

I follow Shari through the dark tent and out into the lighter world.

Dawn has not come yet, but a new day has already begun.

No one roams the valley. Down in Gasho, the newly restored acacia trees and date palms stand tall and still.

A sweet, honey-scented breeze rustles the banners and kisses my neck.

The source of that radiant milky light hangs just above the trees.

Daxinea! Her feathers glimmer like white embers, a beauty like none other.

“Come, Lady.”

Just as she did days ago, the daxinea flies toward my destination.

Shari nudges my knees and pants. She nudges me again and jogs ahead.

“Where do you want me to go?” I follow her to the path that separates the Sanctum of the Gods from the mortal world.

At the Sanctum’s boundary, the wolf sits on her haunches and wags her head. She can go no farther without Zephar.

I stare into the mist, heart in my throat.

What awaits on the other side?

In no time, I’m standing on that other side.

The thick scent of burning incense wafts through the temple’s empty courtyard and sanctuary. Steam from that extravagant bath gathers beneath the domed ceiling, ready to soothe me—I’ll have to use it eventually, since it means so much to Prince Idus and the Gashoans.

I slip through the city, unnoticed by roving guards and couples meeting in secret.

That white light continues to shine in the west.

I hurry out the city gates and over a bridge over a canal that now contains running water.

I dart across the desert sand, so quick and light that I hardly touch the ground.

Something powerful pulls me, and I follow that mystery, watching out for windwolves and three-headed lizards-—or angry Gorga who’d heard about the fight yesterday in the desert.

I reach the slot canyons where my journey began just days ago.

My breath fogs around my head, and I run deeper into the ravine, keeping my eye on that soft white light. The wind howls through these soaring rock walls, like a song sung by many voices.

The daxinea dips lower to the earth, speeding still toward that great white light.

I slow down—I’ve reached a dead end. The high canyon wall is too smooth to climb. I crane my neck to see the top—

“There you are.” The woman’s voice sounds as soft as the clay beneath my boots.

I spin around to look at her, but the canyon is bathed in that blinding light. I close my eyes against the hard glare until it softens to reveal her face. No, her faces. The soft joy of her smile. Her angry, flinty eyes. A sorrowful, trembling chin. Vibrant, high eyebrows.

Sybel Fynal, the Grand Steward of Vallendor, the Lady of Dawn and Dusk.

We’d last stood together in the woods near Veril’s cottage.

That day, she wore a gown of gray mail that floated and folded like silk, its color shifting from ring to ring, from day-light to night-light.

This morning, she wears a polished amulet of a silver chalice encircled by a small flame.

A yellow sapphire burns above the rim of that cup.

Her one-shouldered dress matches the style worn by the women of Gasho, but instead of silk or linen, Sybel’s gown is made of canvas rough enough to slough off a man’s skin and a boar’s hide. Her look slays.

In that forest near Veril’s cottage, she’d helped me discover myself and had steered me as I searched for my amulet.

She’d instructed me to choose mercy before telling me that I was the Lady of the Verdant Realm.

I’d hug her right now, but she had failed to mention that her daughter, Elyn, was the one trying to kill me.

“You’re awake,” Sybel says now. “You’ve been asleep for too long.”

Out of respect, I fix my face and force myself not to scowl. “I deserve rest, don’t I? Especially after all your daughter’s put me through. After you abandoned me.”

Sybel tilts her head. “‘Abandon’ is an interesting word choice, Kaivara.” Her eyes take in my armor. “While you are playing house with Zephar Itikin, Vallendor slides further into doom. Danar Rrivae continues to grow in might, and yet you tarry. I know you’re afraid—”

“Who said anything about being afraid?” I snap.

“You are, and you’d be a fool if you weren’t. Are you so arrogant to think this is simply an ordinary war against an ordinary man?”

“No,” I say, “but what good is fear? I’m just trying to…to…” I scrunch my eyebrows and finally admit, “I don’t know what I’m trying to do.”

“That soft bed has weakened your resolve and your memory,” she says, “and while you aren’t a fool, softening your shoulders like you have is a foolish act.”

Her words and meaning push against my chest. Frustration swirls in my belly until it becomes fire that burns my mouth.

“I’m not vacationing , Grand Steward. You may not have noticed, but I’ve healed and helped a lot of people in the days I’ve been here.

I’ve blessed babies, and I’ve blessed crops.

Merchants can travel again, and we’ve placed protective wards along the routes so that even shepherds can guide their sheep and goats to safe pastures.

My shoulders are far from soft, and I’m doing this while still preparing to fight Danar Rrivae.

We’ll soon pass through Eaponys, which sits between here and the Sea of Devour.

But I don’t expect you to understand my job as a Mera Destroyer. ”

“You mean, as a Mera Diminished ,” she clarifies, eyebrow cocked.

I lift my chin. “Diminished or not, I’m fixing these ruined places, including Eaponys. Isn’t that what I should be doing? And ‘tarry’? Interesting word choice, ma’am—I’ve already restored Gasho since I left this canyon three days ago.”

Sybel glares at me with her lion face, all rage and judgment, terrible to behold.

Shame makes my cheeks burn, and I lower my eyes to the canyon floor. “I mean no disrespect—I’m just sharing all that I’ve—”

“Before you make me regret coming here,” she grumbles, “before I take back the gift I’m about to give you, I suggest that you listen and swallow any remaining updates rolling up your throat.”

My shoulders drop— soften —and I put my tongue away.

Above us, a creature growls, low and angry.

I look up but can’t see the beast’s glow behind these limestone walls.

“Unlike you,” Sybel says, “I haven’t had a moment’s rest. Neither has your uncle.

Together, Agon the Kindness and I have taken a critical step on your behalf.

” She slowly exhales, and the face of a sharp-eyed and thoughtful silver eagle takes the lion’s place.

“We’ve petitioned the Council of High Orders to consider your situation again, and they’ve agreed to offer you this. ” She holds out her hand.

A ball of swirling darkness streaked with lightning bolts bounces around her palm.

I gasp, “Spryte!”

“Unless you don’t need it,” Sybel says.

“But I do need it!”

“Then…”

“Thank you!” I don’t waste the opportunity, holding out my hand and watching as the ball rolls along my arm and melts into my amulet.

The moth bucks wildly against my chest. I close my eyes to enjoy the thrumming of the pendant now invigorated from this wonderful gift.

I can’t smile any wider than I’m smiling right now.

For a moment, Sybel shows her softer human face, but then the flinty-eyed eagle returns. “You have the ability again to travel quickly across the realm,” she says. “You may keep this gift with one condition: go to the abbey atop Mount Devour immediately. There you will receive new armor—”

“I’m already wearing new armor,” I interrupt, hypnotized by the dark swirl of the moth’s thorax. “This set was a gift from Malik Sindire.”

“Who is Malik Sindire?” Sybel asks, squinting.

“He visits Vallendor every now and then. His followers built a temple for him on the other side of the mountain. He’s a collector of things from around the realms. Weapons, armor, books… He knows my father.”

“ Everyone knows your father, child,” Sybel says. “I don’t understand. How can this Malik Sindire give you anything powerful enough to withstand the strength and might of the traitor?”

“I don’t know, but he did.” I peer at her. “I’ll go to the abbey—I have unfinished business there anyway with my uncle.” I tap the pendant and add, “Thank you for this, Lady. Now, Zephar and I can—”

“Only you may use Spryte,” Sybel is saying.

I blink. “What? No—”

Another growl- comes from the ledge above. Multiple footsteps sound against the hard-packed dirt.

I count twelve feet.

A draft catches their scent: rancid, musky meat.

My skin sizzles, and the tiny hairs around my body lift.

“Listen.” Sybel’s face darkens. “The Council resisted our petition to return Spryte to you, and they pointed out every error and offense you’ve made against Supreme that caused them to withdraw your ability in the first place.

I kept reminding them of your growth, and how you’ve placed yourself in harm’s way to save those around you.

How, in your heart, you yearn to do right. But—”

“But what?” I ask, my anger starting to crackle.