Page 25 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

Even though Zephar frowns at me, I keep glaring at the ceiling of our tent. My chin quivers, a sign that I’m moments from breaking. That would be the worst thing that could happen in a Sanctum of Mera warriors, Diminished or not.

I take a deep breath and hold the air in my chest. Don’t cry.

Don’t whine. Don’t beg. I take in another deep breath and notice just how fragrant the air is here.

Sweet figs and roasted dates. A fire crackles in the pavilion’s hearth as someone sings about their mighty blade.

All of this sits just a stone’s throw away from me, and right now, I feel as far away from my life here as I did standing at that pond beside my father in Linione.

My return from the abbey had been so lovely, too. A new sarong made of soft pink silk had been draped across our bed—a gift from Zephar. The old tub had been replaced by a bigger tub made for two. Another gift from Zephar.

Now, though…

Shari sits at the tent’s entrance, her tail twitching, her eyes glinting. She pants, then holds her breath, pants, holds her breath. Anxious, which makes me anxious, too.

I glare at Zephar and ask, “What’s the point of going to Eaponys or anywhere else if the ultimate evil is roaming the realm? The real traitor, not the one you think is standing in front of you—”

“I didn’t call you a traitor,” he spits. “I’d never call you—”

“The real traitor,” I continue, “is now creating stronger otherworldly that can’t be killed.

Again, I saw that creature at the sea reanimate right in front of me, Zee.

” I run my hands through my hair, then ask, “Do you think I was happy to hear that Vallendor will no longer exist if I don’t kill Danar Rrivae by the nightstar’s full ascent? ”

Zephar sets his hands on his hips and turns away from me. “So what am I supposed to do while you’re out saving the realm? Since your father refuses to grant me Spryte? Since I’m no longer allowed to go beyond Doom Desert province?”

“Please continue to prepare for war,” I say. “Fortifying not only Gasho and the small settlements around the desert, but also the Sanctum. This fight will have no boundaries.”

“And Eaponys?” he asks. “Will you grant me some freedom—?”

“Father didn’t give me the power to lessen anyone’s sentence.”

That may or may not be true, but I don’t want Zephar and the Diminished wandering the realm beyond Doom Desert.

“I’ll be back to help with Eaponys,” I say, touching his back again but feeling nothing—no desire, no angst. “We may need to pass through it to reach Danar Rrivae’s hiding place.”

Shari paces from the entrance and over to me, back to the entrance and back to me. Her fur spikes as she tucks her tail between her hind legs.

I squint at her. “She’s upset.”

Zephar looks over at his wolf. “Because you’re leaving again. She hates it when you go.”

I stare into the wolf’s golden eyes. “I’m sorry, Shari-My-Love.”

“No.”

I startle. Did she say “no” or did I…? My amulet vibrates against my skin, and now, it shines with a barely there glow. I look back at Zephar. “There will be plenty of fighting and destroying in the coming days. I promise you that.”

He rolls his eyes and folds his arms.

“Do you think this has been easy for me?” I shout, throwing my hands up.

He says nothing.

“I asked you a question,” I ask, louder.

“Are you asking as my commander or as my love?” he asks, coolly, eyebrow high.

“Don’t be like this, Zephar. Okay? Trust me, yeah?” When he doesn’t speak, I gape at him and shake my head. “I’m doing what’s being asked of me, what’s required to save all of us.”

My heart belongs to Zephar—but he doesn’t want it anymore. I can tell.

I stomp out of the tent and head to the gravel path that leads to the narrow canyon separating the immortal and mortal planes.

So many people are waiting for me to act, to save them all.

Elyn remains at the abbey and awaits for me to return with the Librum Esoterica and its powerful gem, WISDOM.

Jadon waits for me to free and forgive him for his betrayals—against me and against Vallendor Realm.

Prince Idus, pacing alongside the special celebration ritual bed within the Temple of Celestial, waits for me to make him king.

Zephar waits to resume our life together, liberating one town after the next as we slowly make our way to destroy Danar Rrivae.

And the Gashoans wait for me to bless them with another baby and another cow.

Yet I stand here, as stuck as I was the last time, but now, I have the power to act.

Because someone else is waiting.

Me.

To return to Caburh and take the book from Philia. To corner the traitor and take his amulet and kill him. If I don’t, Eaponys and god jails and celebration ritual beds and cows will cease to exist. No one else can do this work except for Elyn and me. So what am I waiting for?

The nausea that comes from using Spryte and from standing so close to Miasma flutters through me again.

I grab hold of my knees and wait for the sensation to pass.

My breathing tightens, and the urge to weep overwhelms me.

Don’t do it, don’t cry . But I give in and watch as heavy teardrops thump onto the toes of my boots.

Crying doesn’t lessen the heaviness; it only grows heavier, and what I’m feeling is suddenly no longer queasiness or sadness, but worse:

Fear.

Fear of living an incomplete being.

Fear of failing and not being a perfect god.

Fear of death—not just my death, but the deaths of my father, Jadon, Ancress Tisen, the children of Gasho, Prince Idus…

Shari whines and barks, pulling me out of my head. “Please.”

I frown. “Is that…? Is that you ? Are you… speaking to me, Shari?”

She pants some more, then cocks her head. “You must…”

I kneel before the wolf, my amulet trembling against my chest. “Am I hearing your voice right now?” This voice in my head is as soft as smoke.

Her eyes shimmer as she holds my gaze. “Yes.”

“Lady!” A woman’s voice, not Shari’s.

The wolf’s ears twitch.

“Please come!” Yes, this call for help sounds like it’s coming from a mortal woman, but she isn’t from Gasho—still, she sounds familiar.

“Lady!” a man cries out. “Forgive my unbelief. Come now. Please hurry, I pray to thee, Lady of the Verdant Realm!”

I spin around, trying to determine where those prayers are coming from.

The woman screams.

Lively! The candlemaker’s daughter from Maford.

With just a thought, I Spryte to the barren and brown ?elds behind Farmer Gery’s barn in Maford. The land here has been crisped by the now-setting daystar.

In the beginning, Supreme had created this field, and every field across Vallendor, filled with thick-bladed grasses, plants, and flowers that ranged in shade from the whitest whites to the deepest blues.

Back then, fruits, flowers, and trees held so much sweet sap that beehives were soon weighed down with honey.

“Verdant realm” was more than just my title.

And now, this field—and almost every field across Vallendor—grows with rot and disease, and death and decay.

Neither mortals nor animals can hide or slip through unnoticed in these grasses because every step snaps branches and blades.

Every step makes leaves crackle and the hard dirt puff and wheeze underfoot.

Twenty paces away, I spot them: Jamart, the candlemaker, the one who’d been the kindest to me but had stopped believing in me after Maford burned to the ground, and Lively, who’d been jailed because of her belief in the Lady of the Verdant Realm instead of Emperor Wake as Supreme Manifest. I’d freed her from Maford’s slimy jail.

Now, bloody and bruised, Jamart and Lively hover in the air, their toes not even touching the ground, their hands tied in front of them.

Jamart’s lantern jaw looks like it’s been dislocated, hit so many times that the bones in his face have shifted.

His daughter’s eyes…bloody sockets where those eyes used to be.

Shit!

I run toward them. And I run…and run…but I can’t catch up.

Something—or someone—keeps pulling them back and away from me.

There!

One thought and I’ve Spryted, and now I’m standing in front of them.

“I can’t see you, Lady,” Lively says, “but I feel your presence. You heard our prayers, Lady.” She grins, delirious with relief.

Jamart dips his head and murmurs through his twisted mouth, “Please forgive me, Lady.”

“Yes, of course.” I reach for the knot around the candlemaker’s wrists. No matter how quickly and forcefully I pull at it, though, the bond won’t loosen. “Who tied you up like this?”

Both shake their heads and shrug their shoulders. But then Jamart’s eyes widen.

I look back over my shoulder.

Creatures with the legs and trunks of hares and the heads, eyes, and wings of owls hop around a nearby log.

I whisper, “What the…?”

More of these creatures soar and circle the treetops and land on the highest branches. They stare at me with large, owl-like eyes, and they cock their heads just like I’m doing.

Some weird shit.

I turn back to work on the knot—

But Jamart and Lively have moved away from me again.

I run toward them and…run and run…and I’m forced to slow down until I’m not even walking.

A gray cloud forms in front of me. It’s too high to wrap my arms around but low enough for me to lift my hand and scrape my fingers along its bottom. Cold. The cloud grows taller and wider, until it hides the dark sky.

“You’re answering prayers again?” the cloud asks.

I pull the dagger from my ankle sheath as that gray cloud surrounds me. I can barely see the blade in my clammy hand through the mist.

The cloud thins some, and a man towers behind the candlemaker and his daughter. He, too, must hover—his feet aren’t allowed to touch Vallendor’s soil as long as I’m alive. He places one hand on Jamart’s head and his other hand on Lively’s.

I squint at him—but it’s not his remark that confuses me. “I’m dreaming,” I say aloud. “This…this isn’t real.”