Page 47 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

We don’t have much time.

“I know,” Elyn says, “but you need to eat. Remember: you’re weakening and can no longer eat mortal food.” And so we stay at the Sanctum for breakfast.

The rich aroma of tender lamb mingles with the scent of crisp, golden chicken. Sweet honey and nectar adorn cakes and dough balls piled high on the platters set around the pavilion. The Sanctum looks golden in this light.

The music playing was composed by my great-uncle, Sacha Laserie, as he watched over his shepherds throughout Ithlon.

The melody is light and infectious, bouncing around the pavilion like a child’s ball.

The soft plucking of strings, the gentle thrum of drums, and the lilting notes of a flute blend in perfect harmony.

And we rush now

With blue light of darkness

To save one milky-drop of life.

We clutch this realm with hendassa strong as fierer!

My mother taught me these lyrics, and now I’m blessed to recall her sweet voice as she sang. The faces of Mera warriors and Eserime healers shine with laughter.

It’s as if all is well here. Great music. Delicious food. Yet something is out of tune.

“Are you certain that I’m welcome here?” Elyn asks.

“While there aren’t any Onama around, there are other Eserime,” I say, nodding at the pods of healers enjoying the festivities. “So at least some of you is welcomed.”

We laugh.

“And this is my Sanctum,” I say, serious again. “I can invite whoever I want.”

But no Eserime have come over to speak to the Adjudicator. She is the enemy even though she didn’t sentence them to be here—they came to Vallendor voluntarily.

I, too, feel like the enemy even though this is my Sanctum, my realm.

Shari is brave enough to join us, and she places her head in my lap. That low, anxious whine rumbles through her again.

Elyn scratches the wolf’s snout as she sends her eyes back around the pavilion to linger on the Diminished. “Sometimes, I forget that you all are so… big ,” she says. “Sometimes, I forget that this isn’t even your true size.”

I sip from my cup and say, “When it’s time to destroy, you’d never see our faces from the ground.

I’m a little smaller than some because my mother is Eserime.

Those two”—I point to two bronze-skinned women warriors—“Imlodel and Dayjah are big, but they both have Yeaden grandfathers. In their true form, they’re as tall as redwoods, and even they are short compared to Zephar and the other full-blooded Mera.

The Eserime are puppies compared to even the smallest Mera.

” I pause, then add, “But Mera—even Diminished—can be whatever size is needed.”

“I’m shocked seeing my order here,” she says, chewing on her lower lip.

“I believe in accepting the help of allies.”

A man laughs heartily from a firepit closest to the tents. His laughter sounds misplaced.

I look over in that direction, but I can only see the side of Zephar’s face and the back of a stranger’s head.

Elyn follows my gaze. “Who is that?”

I shrug. “Let’s go see.”

Tail down, Shari trots with us, her body pressed against my leg, that low growl vibrating against my calf.

A sour taste clings to my tongue, and my skin prickles as we near the chairs and hearth.

The stranger seated at the smaller fire is Mera, fair-skinned with blond hair. Since he wears a long-sleeve brown tunic, I can’t see how many realms he’s destroyed. The stranger stops talking the moment he sees Elyn, Shari, and me approach.

Zephar smiles, his expression strained, and stands up. “Everything okay?” He glowers at Elyn and taps his thigh for Shari to stand beside him.

The wolf hesitates before she slinks over to him.

“That depends on your definition of ‘okay.’” I nod at the stranger.

The stranger acknowledges me and eyes Elyn. “An Adjudicator wandering the prison. How bold of you.”

“A Mera visiting my realm without paying his respects first to me,” I say, voice tight. “How bold of you, and stupid, to sit in my settlement as though you belong and deserve to be here.” My fingertips burn hotter the more I consider this man’s blatant disrespect.

Zephar lowers his head. “Kai, that’s my fault—”

“Who are you?” I ask, staring hard at this man who still has not shown me any deference.

Standing this close, I glimpse more of his skin—but I can’t see a vine, a star, or a title.

He’s not a young man, nor is he old. What has he been doing all these ages?

His sword leans against his chair and was crafted by the great Yeaden who forge all Mera blades—it gleams cold, sharp, and unforgiving.

But the hilt looks untouched, pristine, the leather pale and smooth, not darkened from use, never raised in anger or duty.

The stranger’s breastplate sits beside his sword, and it looks just as sterile as the blade.

There, in the breastplate’s center, is an “X” made of fiery crossed blades.

I don’t know this symbol.

“He’s just an old friend,” Zephar says now. “We haven’t seen each other in seasons.”

“How lovely,” I say. “Shall I reach out to this old friend’s mother and share that her son remained seated in my presence?”

Yes, something is out of tune. Shari growls, a confirmation.

There’s an unfriendly glint in the stranger’s gold eyes. He stands with great reluctance, as if paying his respects is an inconvenience. “I’m Orewid Rolse, Lady.”

“Orewid Rolse.” I shake my head. “Doesn’t sound familiar. You must be in the administrative offices on Mera.” My eyes flick to his smooth hands and leather boots that have never stood in pools of blood nor in the cleansing fires of Mera devastation.

Shari barks at Orewid Rolse.

Zephar frowns down at her. “What’s your problem today?”

I consider the stranger some more. This time, Shari growls.

Zephar tosses his “old friend” an apology, then takes Shari’s collar. “I’ll put her up—”

“The Adjudicator and I will be leaving soon,” I say. “Goodbye.” The words are sharp and final, a dismissal. I turn and follow Zephar with Shari trotting silently at his side.

Elyn lingers behind for a moment, her steps hesitant. She senses something.

The wolf and Elyn remain outside the tent as I slip inside with Zephar. The flaps close behind me, and the atmosphere inside turns heavy, stifling warm and thick with the scents of leather and sweat.

Even my home feels strange.

Zephar stands by the bed, his face cast in shadow, his gold eyes gleaming.

“Who the fuck is Orewid Rolse?” I ask.

Zephar doesn’t flinch, unsurprised. He just stares at me, his expression unreadable.

I can feel that pull of a truth hanging just out of reach. Something isn’t right.

Zephar tries to chuckle. “You ask that question like he’s my lover.”

“The way he sneers at me is totally disrespectful,” I say. “Why is he here? We don’t need his help.”

“Will you calm down?” Zephar places his large hand on my shoulder.

“He isn’t here to help us. Like I said, he’s an old friend that I grew up with back on Mera.

You don’t know him because he’s… What did you say?

In the administrative offices of our order?

” Zephar cocks an eyebrow. “You never liked those types. Guess you still don’t. ”

I snort and shake my head. “You’re being a wiseass at the worst time.”

“Will you trust me, please?” Zephar asks. “All is well, my love. Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

“I’m not here to enjoy the quiet or to make new friends. We have shit to discuss, and your pride is standing between us.”

Zephar crosses his arms and plants his feet apart. “What is it that you’d like to discuss, my love?”

“Don’t.”

He laughs, shrugs, and loosens his stance, placing his hands on his hips. “Better?”

My stomach becomes a tangled cord.

“Kai,” he says, smiling. “What’s on your mind? I wanna know what you’re thinking before you race up the mountain to embark on whatever secret mission—”

“It isn’t a secret mission,” I shout. “The realm is ending—”

“Right. You said that.” He points toward the hillside. “Where you’re headed, they think that, too. And they run to the mountains to worship the charlatan wearing white as though the end won’t find them there.”

I squint at him. “That charlatan wearing white may know shit that may keep us all from dying, and yet here you are, laughing—”

“Sincerely, what could he know that we don’t?” Zephar asks, arms out.

“How to kill those creatures that can resurrect the fallen, for one. What went wrong after Agon destroyed Celedan Docci at his bench? How did Danar Rrivae create those… Devourers ? Zee, they’re massive.

They’re nearly our true size. I would’ve been impressed if I wasn’t fighting for my life.

” I pause, then narrow my eyes. “But I guess none of that really concerns you.”

He shrugs. “I’m Mera, my love. Your second-in-command. I’m no ordinary Destroyer.”

“True. But these are no ordinary otherworldly.” I march over to my trunk and throw it open.

My clothes, neatly folded and tucked away, still smell of lavender and tuberoses.

Some of the fabrics have softened from wear, but they’re all still rich in color.

I push skirts and breeches and bandeaus aside.

“What are you looking for?” Zephar asks.

“Another pair of boots,” I say. “These hurt. They’re too small.”

No boots. I close the trunk with a soft thud and walk over to another trunk closest to the tent’s rear entrance.

I catch a glimpse of the gardens beyond—and my breath catches when I see the tub that Zephar had built for me.

The wood is splintered, and the once-perfect iron bands are now twisted and misshapen.

Shari nudges me.

“What happened to the tub?” I whisper to Zephar. “Who did this?”

His gaze follows mine to outside the tent. “I did that. I’m starting over.”

“Really?”

He shrugs. “To make it bigger.” He pauses. “Did I do something wrong again?”

I whisper, “I guess not.”

Will a new tub or new boots matter six nights from now?

I take a deep breath. Standing again, I say, “I also need to say—”