Page 65 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

There is no time to mourn the loss of those who’d been born Mera true—the daystar will soon dip below the horizon.

We need the Renrians to add to our own numbers.

There are only five hundred Renrians across Vallendor Realm, most of whom live here in Caburh and deeper in the Kingdom of Brithellum—I haven’t seen many of them in half an age.

The hacked-up door of the Broken Hammer creaks open, and Separi stands there.

Her simple threadbare tunic has seen better days, but her smile makes her look almost whole.

Ridget peeks out from behind her, slightly hunched.

I remember the dress she wears. It was once vibrant green and has faded now into a dull, mossy shade.

Her hair remains carefully braided, but her deep-set eyes reflect her exhaustion and fear.

Relief washes over both of their faces. Separi whispers, “You returned…”

Elyn and I push past the couple and into the inn, closing the door behind us before we continue the conversation.

Separi looks at me, then at Elyn, and then back at me. “Lady, you’ve…”

“You’ve grown,” Ridget blurts. She sounds surprised, and her eyes widen as she takes in the changes—the way I’ve filled out, the height I’ve gained. She shakes her head, awestruck.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” I say.

I turn to my friends for a proper hug. I hold Separi and Ridget tight because they are dear to me—and because I’m about to ask them to make the ultimate sacrifice.

Ridget has a roast turning on a spit over the fire. A steaming pot of roasted garlic potatoes and carrots waits on the table. She pours us each a glass of rich red wine from a dusty bottle.

We all know now that neither Elyn nor I can eat their food. This dinner is an offering, like those made at the altars and sanctuaries throughout Gasho and around Vallendor.

After acknowledging their gifts, I take a deep breath and say, “Please, fight with me.”

Both women say, “Of course, Lady,” and bow their heads.

“The Renrians across Vallendor may be small in number,” Separi says, “but we are mighty.”

My eyes search the sitting room—there’s no one eating, drinking, or playing music. It’s entirely empty aside from us. “Where are Philia and Olivia?” I ask. “Down in the basement?”

“It was too dangerous for them to remain here,” Separi says, peering at my sword with wonder. “My nephew escorted them to a hidden settlement north of town, just outside of Pethorp.”

Separi takes a breath and clears her throat. She glances at Ridget, who says, “Tell her.”

“Tell me what ?” I say.

“I can’t find Veril’s fox amulet,” Separi says, “and I’ve searched everywhere for it. The pendant was in my bag when we left Fihel, I’m certain of that. But when I returned from Beaminster, I searched and… I apologize for my carelessness.” Separi’s lavender eyes dim with embarrassment.

“You didn’t lose it,” Ridget says.

Elyn and I look at each other, and the Adjudicator says, “He stole it.”

“Who?” Separi and Ridget ask.

“Jadon Rrivae,” Elyn says.

“But was that the real Jadon doing something as shameful as stealing?” Separi asks. “His hand—”

“The unmarked and marked are both the real Jadon,” I say. “You can’t separate one from the other.”

“That may not be accurate,” Elyn says. “At least, not permanently.”

We all pause to stare at her.

“Back in the aerie,” Elyn says to me, “when you accused me of searching for the Librum Esoterica , I was , in fact, looking for it. Because as you know, there exist countless answers in those pages, which are constantly being appended. Agon had the book with him, and as you were healing at the abbey—”

“Healing?” Separi asks, eyes wide.

“Long story,” I say.

“Agon and I both sped through the book,” Elyn says, “and we found an entry on what to do about problematic demigods with troublesome markings.”

I stare at her. “And?”

Elyn shrugs a shoulder. “Chop off the offending member.”

I blink at her. “And?”

“That’s it.”

“So I still have to kill him,” I say.

“You could chop it off and then try to save his life,” she clarifies.

How the fuck do I do that ?

…

High on the hillcrest that overlooks Doom Desert, Shari trots beside me as I ride Fraffin, the chestnut mare that I rode to Fihel.

Behind me, all the horses’ hooves clop against the earth as we rise above the province, drawing closer to the rolling expanse of this sea of sand.

Below, the wind churns, dark and brooding, a deep reddish-green that shifts and pulses to its own rhythm.

Sand dunes crash violently against the rocks, sending up dusty plumes that obscure the horizon.

The edges of the world disappear into nothingness as the sand and sky become one.

Fifty Renrians ride in a loose formation, their figures silhouetted against the dimming sky.

Their robes, intricately embroidered with luclite thread, catch the fading light of the daystar.

Their drawn-up hoods protect their noses and eyes.

The soft neighs of their horses blend with the roar of the sandstorm.

Separi rides behind me, her robes of rose-gold flow around her, and Ascendance, her twisted gray metal staff topped with a forged ball of light, glows faintly in the dying day.

Though the Renrians aren’t a race known for brute force—they fill themselves with knowledge and wisdom—their staffs contain lavender current that can fry a mortal to their death.

Ridget, along with a smaller group of women and children, stayed behind in Caburh to continue tending to the work of a city at war—making tunics, crafting armor, and writing down the events of this day for all time.

Their labor is as important as that of the warriors—their hands and words will shape the future in ways that steel can’t.

The pain in my gut does not come from any sickness—no, this twisting comes from anxiety.

Even though I’m at my strongest, I’m still worried, and I can’t get the taste of worry-acid out of my mouth.

I’m protected by the whole armor of my order and hold the mightiest sword in the realm and the dagger given to me in love.

My amulet’s power pulses through me, healing me from within, strengthening my bones, and still…

I have bubble-guts.

Shit…

And my mind won’t let go of what just happened.

I killed Zephar.

I loved Zephar.

I killed Zee.

Our separation happened so fast—that’s what I want to think. But the fracture between Zephar and me had always been there.

A difference of opinion.

That’s how he is.

Our fights are legendary.

He makes me hot.

I was wrong.

Again.

The march down into the dusty bowl is a silent one.

Elyn, beside me, rides Buttercup, the blond mare who’d also joined us in Fihel.

Every horse in our service wears armor of luclite and has been shielded in a protective ward cast by the Adjudicator.

The otherworldly creatures in this area—the smaller worupines, their quills bristling with strange poison, and the minulles, with their wide, glassy eyes, and their bodies a twist of owl and hare—scamper into their hedges, dens, and nests.

The long, sinuous bodies of snakes slide through the dead grasses and into dens.

The few creatures of order—deer, rabbits, and ground squirrels—hide in their shelters of overgrown roots and hollowed-out logs.

Their eyes are bright with fear, and they tremble as they wait for the storm to pass.

And that ! A scorpion the size of a crocodile rests in a bed of dying flowers.

She doesn’t move—she’s too sick to move.

Because she’s the only one of her kind, she must receive additional protection.

I wave my hand as I pass all of these creatures. My fingers glide through the space, a summons to restore what’s been broken and protect what has survived. The energy I use flows from my heart and spreads outward in waves as a soft, shimmering light that drapes across withered grasses.

The land slowly responds. The broken branches of trees straighten, and their leaves unfurl to reach for the gods of light once again. The flowers that have wilted begin to lift, their petals vibrant again.

The creatures around me stir, their trembling bodies slowly relaxing as the restoration spreads through them.

Even the scorpion lifts her tail as blooms of pink, white, and orange untangle around her.

The desert brightens, the sandstorm eases, the colors of the grasses deepen, and the air freshens now with the scent of renewal.

I feel the pulse of the land throughout my body.

This fight is not just for those who walk upright but for all the beings that call Vallendor home.

I must win this fight for them—if I don’t, the most awful power will win, though his victory will be short-lived.

Short-lived because the Mera will destroy him, but then they will destroy all within this realm—from the High Lord of the Mera all the way down to the smallest worupine, minulle, and scorpion.

“Please tell me,” I whisper to Elyn, “that you bedded Calyx before the abbey exploded with sickness and death.”

She tosses me a tiny smile.

My eyes bug. “You did !”

“Ssh!”

“And?”

She puckers her lips. “I’ll tell you the details later but… Obviously, it was good because he’s got me out here fighting to save the realm.”

I shriek and laugh. “Like that?”

“Kai…” Elyn pats her cheek. “He made me feel… silver .”

My cheeks flush. “Wow.”

“Yeah.”

We reach the flats, and I lift my hand to halt our advance.

Up ahead, I spot a camp with banners fluttering in the wind. The dual leopards of Wake’s regime have been embroidered on those flags, their sleek forms emblazoned in gold on deep red, their eyes fierce and unblinking.

A cry cuts through the silence.

Here we go.

Soldiers from our right and left charge toward us, their eyes burning with bloodlust. The camp quickly becomes a living, writhing thing. Soon, I hear nothing but the sounds of clashing steel, shouted commands, and the shrill cries of fighters and beasts.