Page 33 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

I can’t Spryte Separi and Philia to Castle Wake in Brithellum. If they’re to come with me, we must travel that great distance the old-fashioned way: by horse.

The Librum Esoterica glows from my pack like a beacon, revealing itself to those most interested in its power, including Danar Rrivae and Philia Wysor.

“Separi—” My chest tightens, and my hands tremble on the reins. “I’m so sorry about Vinasa. If there’s anything I can do…” I know the words are meaningless, that I cannot replace him.

“He was my heart,” she says, her gaze roaming the horizon.

“I should’ve been there—”

“You were there,” she corrects.

I don’t know what else to say, and Separi doesn’t offer any suggestions.

Two Renrians she’s loved have died for me, and we both know it. She doesn’t ask the obvious question: Who’s next?

I clear my throat. “I’ll—”

“Bring him back?” she asks. “Change their hearts, make the mob throw flowers and honeycakes instead? What could you do, Lady, that would’ve changed the outcome?”

I don’t have the answer. Be better is not enough.

No wolves or big cats snarl at us as we head east. No creatures with fangs and runny eyes or tri-colored feathers and scaly feet chase us into the desert.

We find no animal shit drying on the path.

No desperate bandits stumble from the brush to demand our coin or our bodies—but that doesn’t mean that we aren’t being followed.

I feel another’s presence—and a pair of eyes can be heavier than a pair of fists.

Dirt and blood cling to my peeling skin and crust the insides of my nostrils. I hate the tackiness of my fingers and the way my armor sticks to my skin.

Last time I traveled this trail, Jadon rode beside me and we weren’t talking. I’d been furious with him after learning the truth of his biggest lies.

Now, though, I miss our conversations, our good-natured ribbing and flirting.

I miss sharing meals with him, our long conversations as we lay beside each other, staring at the skies.

I think about kissing him in the meadow before we’d been set upon by the gerammoc and aburan.

And I think about our lovemaking at the inn.

I remember his gifts of sweet treats, bouquets of wildflowers.

But through it all, he kept so much of himself hidden from me.

Beside me, Philia occasionally taps her bow, drawing power or comfort from it as she rides.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

She nods, silent and worried.

“You aren’t alone,” I say, though I’m no good at consolation. “You’ll be fine. Think what you’ll want to do once you and Olivia are home, wherever you decide home will be.”

That makes her smile.

I asked neither of my companions to come with me, but Philia wanted to help save Olivia, and Separi wanted to help keep me alive.

She knows that, despite my display of power, I’m not whole, that I could use her staff as well as her skills with plants and crafting—and she also knows that mine can be a lonely existence, and I appreciate her company.

Philia clears her throat and says, “Kai?”

I look over and see that clouds have formed in her eyes.

“I need to tell you something,” she says. “Something about Veril and my family.”

I wait a long time as she struggles with her words before prompting her to continue.

“Veril had a scar,” she says.

“Yes, a small pearly one right here.” I touch my cheek. “What about it?”

“Back when my father was mayor of Maford,” she says, “he and his drunk friends broke into Veril’s home one night.

They demanded that he perform magic tricks, and sing and dance.

Veril refused; he wasn’t a minstrel or a fool, but my father and his friends didn’t like that he told them no, and so…

So they destroyed everything in his cottage.

“Pages of study? Gone. Powders to make new treatments and improve old ones? Gone. There was this one medicine he made for chest coughs? They destroyed that one, too.

“And then they pushed him over, and my dad…” Philia swallows and swipes at her tears.

“My dad pulled out his dagger and—” She taps her cheek.

“That’s how Veril got his scar. Philip Wysor was an ugly man who made beautiful glass, and he got very sick and died the way he deserved: slowly and in great agony.

The coughing powder he destroyed could’ve saved his despicable life. ”

Separi looks over to Philia, and then she glances at me. She touches Veril’s fox pendant that hangs around her neck.

“I knew who my father was. I was scared of him, and I hated him.” Philia dries her face with the backs of her hands. “But Veril…we didn’t get along at first. I hated him because I was supposed to.

“But he made me want to be a better person, a better student. I’d go out to the woods to bring him herbs and plants. I’d watch him brew. He became like…like an uncle to me, one who knew so many things and appreciated that I was smart.”

My stomach growls.

Philia hears my hunger and laughs. “My confession made you hungry?”

I laugh, too. “I think Veril knew how you felt about him. He would be proud to see you riding with me.” Separi doesn’t look at us, but she doesn’t contradict me, either.

Philia nods, her expression lighter already.

We stop in a sheltered outcropping that overlooks the forest. There, we tie up the horses, and Separi prepares breakfast. We keep watch for any threats even as we eat.

I swallow the last bite of my sandwich and say, “So, Brithellum.”

“Minimal casualties,” Separi says.

On the dirt between us, the Renrian spreads out a map of Brithellum and weighs the corners with rocks.

“The walls are known to be impenetrable from the outside,” Separi says. “Rocks fortified by ward-stones. The only way in is sneaking through.”

“Here,” I say, pointing to a tiny notch at the southern wall. “Gileon’s suites.”

Separi leans in, her eyes narrowed. “Yes, but it’s risky. Too narrow for a quick escape.”

“I’ll have to take the risk. We need that ring.”

“Minimal casualties,” Separi repeats. “Wake is smart; he’s integrated his soldiers throughout the city with families and innocents. Aphids among roses.”

“Which means,” I say, “that I must treat the entire infested garden.”

“With fire, wind, and lightning?” Separi asks, eyes wide.

“Yes, unless they surrender Olivia or the ring first.”

“I like Kai’s plan,” Philia blurts. “Fire, wind, and lightning if they resist.”

“What about sparing innocents, Lady?” Separi asks.

“In this instance? Who is really innocent? Why should the wife of Wake’s captain be spared just because she holds no weapon?

Her husband is the weapon, and she holds him every night he returns to her with the blood of other innocents on his tunic.

She feeds him. She loves him. She pays for her silk and wheat with the spoils of war.

They hold hostages, like Olivia. Wake’s army continues to destroy this realm as though it’s theirs to destroy. ”

I touch my amulet to settle my suddenly queasy stomach. “I will give them a choice,” I say. “They can give me Olivia out of fear, or they can do so out of love. If they choose neither, they will die. There is no compromise, not anymore.”

Separi frowns but dips her head. “Yes, Lady.”

Though I’d argued with Zephar about sparing innocents, here I am, days later, as merciless as he was. I clear my throat and add, “Minimal casualties.”

“You can make a better threat,” Philia says. “Demand that they release Olivia, or you’ll destroy their precious, stupid little storybook, jewels and all.”

“It’s not a stupid little—” Separi starts to say.

“That’s an approach,” I say, speaking over the Renrian. “If I must, I will use the book as leverage.”

Never in a million ages would I destroy the Librum Esoterica —but Philia doesn’t need to know that.

The air feels heavy. We’re still being watched—though I can’t say by whom or what.

As we ride, the plains grow drier and grittier.

The fine crystals in the dust glimmer in the daystar’s light, blinding us.

The trail curves to the west, then veers north again, ascending over foothills, and then sends us back down steep paths that bring some relief from the heat.

We ride alongside rust-colored gorges that fall off sharply, down where the sharp rocks explode from the earth.

I don’t dare peek over these cliffs—gouges from the fingernails of desperate travelers mark the edge of the bluff.

I see no ravens. That’s good.

I try not to think about Danar Rrivae, Jamart, Lively, Sinth, and the other Voidful whose bodies surround the Broken Hammer.

A ring of far-off blue mountains spreads seemingly forever, until it reaches that tallest peak lost in the clouds: Mount Devour. The Abbey of Broken Worlds sits at the peak, hidden in the clouds, unchanged.

Vallendor Realm already looks defeated. Everything around me is dying. Nothing lives here, no chirping birds or blossoming tree branches, no squirrels or crickets. The only sound is our horses’ hooves on the winding path.

…

As the nightstar climbs high in the sky, we reach a town that has been smashed and burned, as though a fiery giant has stomped through it.

The land sounds marshy—squelching like boots pulling out of mud—but there is no water here.

The air remains dry, and the sky looks as fractured as a broken mirror.

An arch of scorched white marble looms before us, with thick weeds threading through its many cracks.

But then I look .

Carts, horses, and people have all been consumed by flames, and their blackened remains now tumble across a charred meadow.

Scattered across the landscape are wine barrels and tarnished mugs, chests burned down to their steel clasps, pots and kettles, knives and giant spoons, and swords that had clearly been useless in the town’s defense—useless against… me ?

Did I do this?

“No,” Separi says.

I startle. “Did I ask that aloud?”

Separi squints at me. “Yes.”

Philia giggles. “You’re losing it, Kai.”