Page 49 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

Elyn and I finally reach the part of the mountain where Malik Sindire’s glass- and white-stone-walled temple sits. The daystar is high in the sky, half-hidden behind clouds. He still casts hard light over the landscape—powerful even when he’s concealed.

“ This is a temple?” Elyn asks, shocked by the structure’s simple lines, walnut doors, and the pools of still, clear water. “Looks more like the mountain retreat for Council meetings.”

I take a deep breath; the air smells of pine and damp earth. “I noticed that it looks similar to the dwelling on Linione.”

There’s a restlessness in Malik Sindire’s estate-temple today. As we approach, I hear the low hum of distant voices. I don’t sense, though, the out-of-tune strangeness I felt at my own Sanctum down the mountain.

More people are milling around than during my first visit; some move between the shadows, a few sit beneath the trees.

I don’t recognize the people standing near the gates, lounging on the wide veranda, or draped lazily across the stone steps.

They’re all strangers, but they don’t see Elyn or me as a threat.

When I catch their gazes, they simply nod and return to staring out at the trees or up to the cloudy sky.

Blank-faced, they look lost in a trance, their thoughts floating beyond this realm.

They all wear simple white robes adorned with symbols and tangled, shimmering patterns.

They remind me of the gown that Nimith wore up at the abbey.

Elyn and I pass them without speaking. Malik Sindire waits for us on the veranda.

“Dyotila and Avish,” I say. “Where are they today?”

“Gathering more berries, nuts, and fresh water for our guests.” Malik Sindire’s eyes linger on my forehead and the new patch of skin left bare after Zephar’s plucked it.

Tonight, the Dindt wears a gold robe with a rust-colored weave and matching slippers.

He smells of sage and cinnamon, and his skin shines as though he’s dipped himself into a vat of oil.

A smile sweeps across his face as he bows toward Elyn. “I’ve never hosted an Adjudicator, much less the Grand Adjudicator of the Nine Realms. Welcome to my home, Lady Fynal.”

Elyn gazes around the temple grounds. “You have a full house.”

“Demigods experiencing identity crises,” Malik Sindire says, shrugging. His eyes continue wandering the new landscape of my face and neck.

“Kai told me that you visit Vallendor only twice an age,” Elyn says. “That’s not often.”

Our host flicks his ring-heavy hand. “True, but I’m glad that my visit this time may benefit the Lady and her realm.

My followers are also pleased that I’ve returned.

” He smiles as he regards his people. “Even during less dangerous times, they find my temple a refuge from the chaos in the hinterlands. And as you know, these are no longer peaceful times. The threat is real.”

Elyn and I glance up at the daystar now moving toward the horizon. Soon, his partner will dominate the skies; she grows fuller each day.

“How dire has our situation become since we last spoke?” Malik Sindire asks me. When I don’t immediately respond, he says, “Oh, dear,” and he beckons Elyn and me to follow him. “Let’s make our plans over a drink.”

We pass more demigods sleeping on chaises and armchairs. If they were scared before, their faces no longer show it. They are soft and unlined, blessed and unbothered.

We settle on the glass-walled patio that shields the interior of the temple from the outside world.

“Zephar thinks your followers are a doomsday cult,” I say.

Malik Sindire looks over to me. “Is doomsday not upon us?”

I open my mouth to respond but think better of it and seal my lips again.

“Lord Itikin is usually a clever strategist,” Malik Sindire says, “but in recent times, he’s grown willfully ignorant. A grasshopper who thinks he has all the time in the world.”

I furrow my brows. “He hasn’t been himself lately.”

“Even some in his camp see that all is not well,” Elyn says.

“Dyotila and Avish have also told me similar tales,” Malik Sindire says, nodding.

“I’m referring to someone else,” Elyn says, “the Eserime healer who met us on the road.”

I give Elyn the slightest headshake, angered by her carelessness.

“Really?” Malik Sindire says.

Too late.

“She expressed her concern to us,” Elyn says shakily as she realizes her mistake. “But then, as you said, who isn’t concerned about everything nowadays?” She chuckles.

Malik Sindire says, “Hmm. Yes.”

Elyn mouths an apology.

I nod, irritated. Malik Sindire and Zephar won’t be bonding over mugs of mead anytime soon, but I don’t want to endanger Tatanye Lote’s life in any way.

“If it matters, Lady Megidrail,” Malik Sindire says, “I’m pleased that you decided to follow your head and not your heart. Zephar Itikin is a most… persuasive god. You are a brave woman.”

“You’ve heard our arguments, then,” I say.

His eyes flit around the room, amused. “Such marvelous echo in this part of Doom Desert. Who needs fools or songs when we can all listen to the new chapter of ‘Kai and Zephar’?”

I laugh heartily. Elyn rolls her eyes.

Malik Sindire chuckles. “Will she boot him from the Sanctum? Will he destroy the closest town? Will they grow into their true sizes and battle it out? Who knows?”

“I apologize for our highly entertaining disturbances.”

“Don’t ever give in to guilt or to someone else’s plans,” he says, now serious.

“Though you owe Zephar Itikin nothing, Kai, you will give him life through your wisdom. He doesn’t understand, but only because he doesn’t have to understand.

He doesn’t have to make decisions like yours. That’s not his legacy.”

“But what if walking away was the wrong choice?” I ask.

Malik Sindire shakes his head. “If you continue to search for answers, people will ultimately forgive your honest choice. Isn’t that right, Adjudicator?”

Elyn grunts. “Sure.”

“You, Kaivara, are on the path that will change the course of this realm.”

“According to man’s prophecies,” I say. “You’ve said that before.”

Malik Sindire clutches his heart. “ Man’s prophecies?

Didn’t you just return from the Abbey of Mount Devour to learn more about how we’ll all die if you don’t stop the traitor?

Did you forget that the Council will send the most powerful Mera to destroy Vallendor if you fail?

That your father, too, will be annihilated—? ”

I hold up my hand. “I’m changing the course of this realm. I understand.”

“Yet all Zephar Itikin can think about is toppling some cottages and burning down some poor farmers’ wheat fields.” The Dindt rolls his eyes. “Such a tiny mind in that big body. The Lord of the Shielded Fount and Prince of Lissome Blades can be a… hejelink. ”

“Asshole” in Yeaden.

That makes Elyn laugh. “Hejelink, indeed.”

“Are there any additional updates,” Malik Sindire asks, “besides the quiet buzzing of whispered concern?”

Over glasses of wine the color of late afternoon skies, I tell him about all that’s happened since I left here with his gifted armor and a new dagger—from reuniting with Jadon Wake Rrivae at Mount Devour and claiming the signet ring from Gileon Wake to destroying Celedan Docci, to Miasma sweeping through the abbey.

“And where is Wake Rrivae now?” Malik Sindire asks, his eyebrows knitted.

“In the safest place I could think of,” I say. “Cloistered at one of the smaller sanctuaries down in my temple.”

“Your temple?” He tugs at the collar of his robe. “But…”

“We know, ser,” Elyn says, holding her glass idly between her fingers. “Our choices of location were few. He presents a great threat, and we wonder if, by destroying Celedan Docci, we’ve made the problem worse.”

“We didn’t have the chance to consult the Librum Esoterica before the wave of death swept over the abbey,” I add, draining my glass. My face stings from the strong wine—a better sting, though, than the kind in my cramped toes. “I must admit that I regret giving the Librum to Syrus Wake back then.”

Malik Sindire flaps his hand between us. “It’s not your fault he abused the power of knowledge to gain terrible power and conspired with the traitor to gain even more.”

“Maybe some things shouldn’t be written down,” I say, staring into my empty glass.

“First,” Malik Sindire says, pouring more wine into my glass, “books, even the worst ones, are magical. If the mind can capture abstract concepts in a form others can grasp, we are better for it. And second, you didn’t write the Librum .

The Adjudicator’s family, the House of Fynal did—and they will continue to be the stewards of that knowledge.

While you are Blood of All, Beloved, you aren’t a scholar.

I don’t intend to offend you, but this is not yours to grieve. ”

I snort. “Fikx vai.”

He smiles and lifts a finger. “I didn’t say that you weren’t smart . You can curse in seven thousand languages. Are you content in books and papers, your fingers stained with ink?”

“No.”

He chuckles. “Exactly. So, the Weapon: you said that the marking on his hand has spread. Can you describe it?”

“Do you have paper and ink?” Elyn asks. “I can draw it better than describing it.”

Malik Sindire sets before Elyn sheets of thick white paper and different-colored inks.

By the time I’ve sipped half of my wine, Elyn has drawn a remarkable depiction of Jadon’s right hand.

Green, red, black, yellow, and blue inks that comprise a hand with one fingertip a flame. Another fingertip as ice. Water. Earth. Darkness. A drop of water disturbs a pool that ripples out, out, out to create rings within rings.

How did she have time to study his tattoo so thoroughly?

“And his skin has turned the color of paste,” Elyn shares, “and his eyes change from blue to lavender to no color at all.”

“And there’s this glow that emanates from him now,” I add. “Like the light in an underwater cave. Watery and…”

Malik Sindire studies the drawing in worried silence.

Elyn finally takes a long swig from her glass. The old Elyn’s dead and gone.