Page 53 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

Today, I lost Gasho.

“We still have time,” Elyn assures me. “It’s not over yet, Kai.”

I pace and continue to scan the horizon for Jadon—but I only see ruined homes and shops, discarded swords and pikes, and bodies—too many bodies.

“How did he escape?” I rage.

Who gave him Gashoan armor? Who gave him that curved blade? Did he kill the Sisters of the Dusky Hills?

Why do I think he did something that horrible?

Because he is the son of two horrible men.

“He’s grown bigger,” Elyn says, using a discarded tunic to wipe off the blood drying on her golden armor. “I noticed that during the short time he stood beside me. He’s taller, wider.”

I lift my right hand. “And the mark?”

Elyn shrugs. “Couldn’t see where the ink’s stopped—but it’s spread above the cuff of his tunic.”

“Did you talk to the Eserime who weren’t healing?”

“That was sadness,” she says. “Shock and grief. They’re overwhelmed and they don’t want to disappoint you. They’ve come out of their trance, though.”

“Without threats from you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I had to threaten,” she says. “Gently, though.”

Nothing fits together in this town, not anymore.

Lone sandals sink into the mud, their owners unknown.

Ears severed from heads are sprinkled like rose petals on slick cobblestones that have been gouged by blades and spiraled horns.

The slain, already bloating from the heat, lie discarded beneath tables and beside altars.

What happened here? Will tomorrow be worse? Should we even try to right Gasho after the battle yet again, just five dawns away from this realm’s possible end?

If Danar Rrivae doesn’t take Vallendor from me, Jadon will—unless his strings are cut like the puppet he is. But Danar Rrivae will only cut those strings if he thinks I’m weak enough to defeat.

Am I?

Was Jadon captured by the Devourers to be returned to his father? Or did he leave Gasho on his own? And if he did leave Gasho on his own, what is he going to do? Where is he trying to go? Will he return to his mortal father, Syrus Wake?

And if he wasn’t captured, if he willingly left, then he’s betrayed me, again.

“We have five dawns left,” I say.

“And we’ll find Jadon,” Elyn says. “We must. Meanwhile, you have to convince Zephar to join our cause. If he does, I will reduce his sentence and restore his rights to travel freely—here and throughout the Aetherium. I may even approach the Council of High Orders and suggest a promotion for him.” Her words are measured, like all deals brokered during wartime.

But then I study the twisted wreckage of the town square, the broken bodies littered across the cobblestones. The flickering shadows of Mera and Eserime moving like smoke across this destroyed town. I’d pay almost any price to end this destruction.

Elyn and I try not to flinch, try to stand tall for the sake of the townspeople looking to us.

But our eyes can’t stop searching for something in this carnage that will restore order here and across my dying realm.

The day is ending, and the daystar does not bring the light it once did.

Instead, it casts a sickly glow over Gasho and the surrounding desert.

Red light bleeds across the horizon and seeps into the cracks of the broken city.

The buildings, once proud and grand, are now ragged silhouettes against the burning sky.

Everything has been burned and torn apart.

Finally, the Adjudicator nods. “I’ll bring as many Raqiel as your uncle will allow, because…this is the end. Meet me in Agon’s aerie after you talk to Zephar.”

She places her hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for protecting me. Maybe, after we’ve won this fight, we’ll laugh together about me needing your help.” She flicks her wings. “I’ll look one last time for Jadon. He’s here. He must be.” She takes to the sky.

I watch her glide away until she’s swallowed by smoke and light.

Once this war ends, I will write a strongly worded letter to the manager about how my experience here in this realm left me wanting, how by the end of every day, my armor was covered in blood.

The food tastes rank now, and given what happened to this realm, I want my time and money back, or even a trip to one of the nicer realms. I’d also appreciate a new sword.

I stare at Fury’s black blade. No nicks. I tap the edge, still sharp even though it bounces off these new otherworldly. Yet my dagger, Tempest, has had no difficulty tearing through muscle and bone.

Why?

A contingent of my Eserime healers—recently chastised by the Adjudicator—moves between the casualties.

They place their hands over the hearts of the injured and offer prayers for the dead.

I also touch hearts and heads as I make my way toward the Temple of Celestial, growing weaker with each one.

Elyn isn’t here to heal me, but I offer myself to my people—it’s in my nature.

Zephar and the Diminished don’t help restore Gasho like they did just days ago. They’ve already left for the Sanctum, leaving the Eserime to clean up the fallen town alone.

Why? Where is Prince Idus?

His body hangs from a date palm, still clutching his curved sword. The pool of blood beneath him looks darker than the others. He was the last in his bloodline and never became king, because I waited. These poor people relied on me for protection, and the enemy breached our defenses again .

Rage swells through me like an ocean on fire—rage at Danar Rrivae for destroying Gasho but also rage at Zephar, who prides himself on being a warrior with a big brain and bigger swords.

How did he allow this massacre to happen?

Where were the Mera guard who’d been charged with the protection of this sacred city?

I don’t want to argue with him, but the longer I wait here, the angrier I become.

Because a cruel dawn draws closer to Vallendor.

…

The Sanctum no longer smells of sweet chamomile or soothing lavender but instead reeks of rot. The once-beautiful gardens have been trampled. The soil is tinged green and black with the fetid blood of dead Devourers.

Wait . I close my eyes to focus on a hum that shouldn’t be possible.

Flies .

There shouldn’t be flies in the Sanctum; corpses shouldn’t exist in the dwelling place of gods.

There are now dead gods at the Abbey. Jadon. Oh, shit.

Up ahead, two Diminished guards stand at the pavilion’s entrance. Even from the bottom of this pathway, they make me uncomfortable. Their flat eyes are more muddy than golden. My amulet thrums against my chest, warning me not to approach them.

I turn back. I hike over boulders and scale the cliffs to reach my tent. My muscles cry out and my left arm trembles. I’m weaker now from the fighting and healing down in Gasho. I can feel bruises spreading across my back with every move.

My amulet, though, keeps pulsing through it all, providing a necessary boost of power to compensate for my weakened muscles.

I sweat profusely beneath my unforgiving pewter armor.

I will soon need new protection; the breastplate continues to erode, fractures grow on the greaves meant to protect my shins, the vambraces sag shapelessly around my forearms, and the scabbard holding Fury on my back feels soft enough to melt right off.

I keep climbing until I finally reach the bluffs behind my tent. Voices drift out from inside—Zephar’s and…

“You told us that she’d be here.” Orewid Rolse, the disrespectful oddity with the spotless armor and new boots.

“She’s down in Gasho,” Zephar says. “If you would’ve come when I told you to come—”

I peek through the tent’s flap.

Orewid Rolse lounges on my— my !—chaise lounge. Four other Mera soldiers stand behind him, and they wear breastplates marked with those fiery crossed swords. Crusaders.

Zephar stands with Diminished from my own contingent. Imlodel, Dayjah, and Alan, but…

Something’s out of tune.

Their skin bears crimson markings, but the color of their skin beneath the ink looks as degraded as the Devourers we just fought.

No, it’s not possible. I sniff the air.

My tent stinks of dirt and medicines. Like being left in the desert to die but…

Oh, no. These Mera Diminished have been…

Resurrected.

How? I didn’t see any leather-winged flying beasts soaring over the city.

Also inside the tent is Tatanye Lote, the Eserime healer who’d met Elyn and me on our trip to the Temple of Malik Sindire. She sits beside another healer, both women slumped over, their foreheads against their knees.

Oh, no. Are they using their order’s powers to bring the fallen back to life? It’s impossible, but I’ve seen many impossible occurrences recently.

“Will she return to you?” Orewid Rolse now asks Zephar.

Zephar smiles smugly. “Of course. Despite everything, she’s still in love with me.”

The men laugh and nod like they’re comparing notes about conquests.

“Hard to believe,” Orewid Rolse says. “One of the most powerful beings in the Aetherium moments away from losing it all for love.”

Zephar snorts and folds his arms. “It’s obvious you haven’t been loved by me.”

“She’s lost her beauty. Her skin looks like an elder’s quilt.”

Zephar glares at him now. “Her beauty remains—that will never change.”

Orewid Rolse takes a moment, then asks, “And what if she doesn’t return? Or what if she slips by like she did before and kills more of your men?”

“Then you will go down to Gasho and stop her there.”

Orewid Rolse glares at Zephar. “Since you didn’t stop her before?”

“I was away,” Zephar says. “He was one of my best archers—”

“And she still killed him. You had a chance to end her when she first landed outside of Gasho days ago, and you did nothing. Then, when the urts and cowslews invaded the city, your warriors had her surrounded and you did nothing. She keeps walking when she should be dead.”

I gasp, recalling those footprints in the red dirt, the swords drawn on me as I was fighting those otherworldly on my first day in Gasho.

Fuck! I knew it.

Zephar tilts his head. “You don’t trust me? She’s nearby. You’ve seen how she looks at me. She’ll do anything for me. Now, it’s your turn to follow through.”

When he doesn’t speak, Zephar spreads his arms. “How many times must I say it? I believe in your mission. I believe we must remain pure and separate from the other orders to do our job—to wreak destruction as Supreme wants. I believe this with my whole heart.”

Not only have the Crusaders invaded my Sanctum, they’ve also infected Zephar with their outrageous beliefs.

I didn’t imagine that feeling of being an enemy in a place that’s supposed to feel like home. The Mera who’d shot at me was supposed to kill me.

“Kaivara Megidrail is now the last one,” Orewid Rolse says, “and she embodies everything that we stand against. She must die—and that seems to be underway already. She must die, and then she must live again for our cause.”

Live again?

Zephar frowns. “I don’t disagree. When she comes back to the Sanctum, then…” He waves his hand at the undead Mera standing behind him.

I creep alongside the tent until I gain a wider view.

The Diminished stand in two groups. Those standing with Shari had repaired Gasho the last time invaders came to the city.

On that day, they’d cleared the aqueduct with good cheer.

Just seven dawns ago, they’d burned the corpses of otherworldly and showed the Gasho children their swords and markings.

Worry now shines bright in their eyes. Do they want this?

Are they complicit in my murder— and resurrection ?

Standing on the other side of the pavilion are warriors who’d been injured, who were once moments away from death. They wear their original Destroyer markings, but a new brand burns red hot in the middle of their bare chests.

Fiery crossed swords.

They stand there swaying, their eyes muddy, their unbranded skin mottled brown and green, like the scummy surface of a neglected pond.

My hands burn, and the urge to scream bubbles in my chest, like my heart might explode at any moment. I don’t want to wait for help to arrive. I want to destroy them right now, Zephar included. But what would be the point?

I’m here on Vallendor for a purpose. The mountain can’t sink into the swamp. If I fight alone, what would I gain?

The Crusaders are just one more problem on my growing list.

My relationship with Zephar is no longer an issue. We said goodbye a long time ago. I just didn’t realize it.

“Tonight,” Zephar declares, “I’ll fuck her until all strength has left her legs. Then I’ll take the amulet and the armor—I’ve already destroyed any protective clothing she’s stored in these trunks—and she’ll be as naked and powerless as the day Lyra Laserie gave birth to her filthy abomination.”

Filthy abomination?

“You’ll sleep with her even though she’s betrayed you with the traitor’s son?” Orewid Rolse says.

I reel in shock. Zephar knows about Jadon.

His face is still as stone. “She has no idea how close I’ve come.”

Zephar lowers his head, his nostrils flared, his eyes shining with tears.

“I’ll do my part. I won’t hesitate. Her infidelity just makes this easier for me.

For all of us. My unhappiness isn’t new, nor is it caused by the traitor’s son—I’d taken a step away from Kai even before the Adjudicator deposited her in that forest outside of Maford. ”

I can’t believe my ears. We were still together then. We were still in love. Weren’t we?

This could all be a trick, I reason desperately. Zephar could be protecting me by trying to fool this Crusader into thinking he hates me.

But my heart and head agree for once: Sweetheart, this isn’t a ruse . Accept it for what it is. Betrayal.

Is this what worried Shari? Has she been trying to tell me all this time? You in danger, girl .

Elyn and Sybel were right: Zephar isn’t who I thought he was.

Neither is Jadon.

But now I know they are my enemies. And now, I will destroy them all-—

Celestial!

A woman’s voice cries out for me. She sounds like Ancress Tisen.

My pulse racing, I look over my shoulder at the desert outside Gasho.

Celestial! Please hurry!

Yes, that’s Ancress Tisen calling me, praying.

But she’s dead…

Right?