Page 4 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

Strong arms. A gentle touch. Fierce and fearless.

On the last day we were together, right before I was dropped into that forest outside of Maford, he’d kissed me.

Mera don’t glow plum like mortals, but I’d known that he wanted me, that he loved me.

But then I chased that thief into Maford, and my life changed, and my heart swayed, and I fell in love with another.

And now, as I stand before Zephar, my face burns with shame and guilt for not trying hard enough to return to him.

As tall as a date palm, as broad as a river, and larger than any man in this realm, Zephar is still not his true size because he is Diminished-—punished by the Council of High Orders for breaking the rules.

Like me, his strengths and abilities have also been muted.

He moves slower than he used to, and his punches land softer, though to a mortal, still deadly.

Zephar can only travel the realm by foot and not by Spryte, which is simply thinking “Maford,” and pop , you’re in Maford.

Strips of his tawny skin hide beneath crimson symbols, orbs and connecting vines that signify the realms he’s destroyed.

There is the raindrop of Melki Realm. There is the mountain peak of Yoffa and the seashell of Ithlon, the realm of my childhood, the realm that I destroyed without permission.

Zephar had poets write songs for me, and sometimes, Zephar would sing them.

Before the world began,

I loved you even then.

You held my heart and hand

And found my joy within…

Zephar would woo me with lavish dinners, and we’d lose ourselves in drink and honey and clouds of incense.

He’d punished those who spoke against me, and all knew that if they fucked with me, they fucked with him.

We’d recline beside a fire or near a stream, and I’d trace the ink on his chest and back, mountains, raindrops, snowflakes, and arrows, and those symbols that spelled ZEPHAR MERA, brEAKER OF REALMS. His skin always pebbled from my touch.

I see no new markings right now, but I haven’t seen all of him… yet .

“Kai,” Zephar says as I melt into his arms. He feels solid, familiar, like home. His face lightens as he lifts my chin. “It’s you.”

I smile and shiver from his touch. “It’s you.”

He places the lightest, sweetest kiss upon my forehead, and then he feathers another kiss across my lips.

My stomach tumbles with desire as I caress his cheek. “You found me. Right on time.”

The daxinea sent me here to save Gasho and its people—and as reward, I also found my love. I search the skies but see no sign of that magical bird, the last of her kind on this realm.

Zephar lifts an eyebrow and says, “You’ve been away since last spring, but I remained yours.”

My tongue stiffens—I can’t say the same. It’s been such a long spring. And then I hear what he’s just said…

“I’ve been gone for twelve months?” My hands tingle, and I squeeze my numb fingers.

“Yep.”

“Shari,” I say, looking around. “Where is she?”

He shrugs, distracted only by me.

But I see her, realm-sized now but still wolf-big. The Warden of the Unseen Step romps with the sheep dogs, and her pink tongue hangs from the side of her mouth.

Zephar’s rum-colored eyes brighten until they’re nearly translucent. He squints at my amulet. “Still dark?”

I glance down at the moth and nod. “Yeah.”

“You have me again,” he says. “Let the Council of High Orders keep their toys.” He flicks his hand even though his “toy” still hangs around his neck, weakly lit but lit enough to slow time. He kisses my hand, cups it to his cheek, and leads me up a pathway of brown- and cream-colored mosaic tiles.

I take another quick sip from his flask. “This can’t be water. It’s so good.”

“Just water, Beloved.” He lifts an eyebrow and chuckles. “You’ve been roughing it, huh?” He points to the healers now holding golden pails and inspecting a dry fountain. “And they’re back to healing the Gashoans’ aqueducts again.”

Golden pails . Sybel Fynal, the Lady of Dawn and Dusk, carried golden pails of water from the forests to the wells outside of Maford.

“Where are the guards?” I ask. “Amus and Ilil and the rest?”

Now, though, these gates have been abandoned.

Zephar’s brows furrow. “Dead.”

I gasp. “What? How? Where were you?” Ice crackles in my tone, but I force myself to take a breath. “Sorry.”

Zephar’s jaw muscles tighten—my tone didn’t go unnoticed. “We can talk specifics later. Now is not the time.”

He’s right.

Because right now, villagers are falling to their knees in gratitude as we walk past them. There’s Heri and his wife, Sotaty, and their baby, Imet— oh my goodness!— who is now walking.

I take Imet into my arms. She’s shaking from all the fire and fighting. “It’s okay, little one,” I whisper. She touches my cheeks as I smell her soft baby skin—

Oh, no.

She smells like fire and sweat, and no ! Babies should smell like warm cake and fragrant powders. They shouldn’t tremble with fear.

I whisper, “I love you, little one, be at peace,” and I smile down at her.

Imet stops shivering. She gurgles baby-words, and “Amma.”

Yes, I’m gonna work to make babies smell like babies again.

I hand the child back to Sotaty as a crowd of toddlers totters over to greet me.

Aricus and Lanna and Enrik and Nosu—I’d blessed them days after their births on the Benediction of First Light. Now, they hug my legs, though they can barely stand on their own. I let them see my true face because children deserve that.

They all gape at me, and they begin to giggle and dance. Their glows shift from the amber of death to the blue of life.

I bend to touch their cheeks, and to each child, I say, “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

They crowd into my arms and plant kisses on my face.

They heal the hurt parts of me, too.

I peel out of that toddler hug, stopping to touch Saba’s broken arm and Puabi’s broken leg, which mend under my palm.

I calm hearts beating too fast, like the hearts of the elders Damuta, Unnabit, and Samath.

I place my cool hand against the fevered foreheads of little ones, Myla, Ettum, and Kernshe.

I can do all of this—my mother, Lyra, had been Eserime and the Grand Steward of Ithlon.

She’d had a title and different names throughout that realm.

One especially reflected her power, and now, that same title reflects mine: Healer.

“We have to keep moving, Beloved,” Zephar whispers to me. “They will keep you here forever. You don’t see it, but I do—you’re weakening.”

Ah. Yes. My body aches, and my muscles quiver, and the thudding between my ears is making me clench my teeth. I’m also Diminished.

With his hand on my back, Zephar guides me to the center of the pathway. He circles his finger in the air, and Mera warriors create a barrier between the people and me.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Zephar says. “I’ve come around to your way of thinking about these bright-light coddlers.”

“Bright-light coddlers?” I say, eyebrows high. “Who are you referring to?”

“The Eserime.” He gathers his long hair into a topknot. “Having them with us gets our point across to the Gashoans and to anyone else who thinks that all we do is destroy. These people are glad and grateful that we’ve returned. You hear them, don’t you?”

Though their mouths are still, the minds of the Gashoans move like whirlwinds.

“I told you help would come.”

“Celestial answered our prayers.”

“We must bring her gifts.”

The women wearing matching ochre-hued robes stand in the temple’s courtyard, their voices lifting in song.

Their garments are embroidered with gold thread along the sleeves and hems. Two columns of gold-and-green circles decorate the front of their robes—and those circles signify the importance of continued learning.

They are the Sisters of the Dusky Hills.

Celestial, your power bright.

Be our star in darkest night,

With gratitude, our voices raise,

In song and praise, we sing your ways.

Two guards pull back one of the veils hiding a temple chamber.

Inside the chamber is a bath built on polished alabaster stone.

The whole room shimmers, its walls made of blue lapis lazuli and inlaid with gold moths.

Pillars of obsidian threaded with silver soar up to the open domed ceiling.

Water cascades from multitiered pools, billowing steam scented with mint and lavender.

An Eserime with wavy seafoam-colored hair and silver eyes makes her way to my side. She dips her head and says, “Lady Megidrail, your list.” She hands me a roll of gold-tinged paper, which reads:

· AQUEDUCT NORTH

· AQUEDUCT SOUTH

· FORTIFICATION OF:

· ROADS

· GATES

· brIDGE

· OVERGROWTH

From reclaiming farmland and organizing defenses to healing the sick and weak to reconnecting with old allies.

“If you could please consider,” she says, “what you’d like to restore first.”

My eyes widen, and I sneak a peek at Zephar.

“You like it the way you like it,” he says with a shrug, grinning. “You don’t like shortcuts or others making big decisions like…the color of wildflowers in a field no one visits.”

“Water and healing first,” I tell her. “Food next. Place protective wards all around—without them, what good is a fixed bone if another urt is gonna break it? Wait—where’s…?”

I race out those broken gates and return to the gully.

That mother with the baby and toddler hasn’t moved from their spot in the dried canal.

I hop down to join them and say, “Iretah.”

She looks up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Celestial.”

I touch the top of her head.

She glows blue.

I touch the top of the little girl’s head, and Nenefer also glows blue.

The baby that she holds, though…

“Whose child is this?” I ask, touching the infant’s head.

“Tymy belongs to my brother and his wife,” Iretah says.

“And where are they?”

She swallows. “Dead. Attacked last week by the creatures. There was no one here to protect us. No one here…”