Page 71 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

I tap at a cocoon hanging from the splintered doorframe.

The husk wriggles with new life. My eyes cloud with tears as I glimpse the forge in the dead garden.

Jadon had gifted me Fury there. That large wooden tub—we’d kissed there as I bathed.

Inside the cottage: the bedroom that had hosted me as I’d healed, and a hearth that had been tended by a generous old man who’d taught me languages, alchemy, and patience the moment I opened my eyes—at birth and near death.

I will make this place better, for Veril, for me. A nice place to stay as I rebuild Vallendor.

“Any news on Jadon?” I ask as Elyn and I lift the front door.

Elyn shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him since Mother and the Eserime Spryted him to the abbey and Agon.”

I say, “Ah,” and swallow my tears.

He couldn’t have any visitors—given how serious and dangerous his condition was. No one knew if he’d live—or be allowed to live, given his heritage, an irony I understood much too well—my own life had been threatened because of who my mother was.

Maybe I will hear something tomorrow . I’ve said this for twenty-one dawns now, with the hope that silence means I can continue to hope.

After making repairs, Elyn and I change into soft, suede breeches and airy tunics as the evening settles in.

The cool breeze carries the scent of healing forest, and the twilight’s softness flickers through the cracked windows.

Before resting, we sweep away battaby skeletons scattered across the floor.

The bones clatter, and I remember the horrors of their attack that day.

Soon, the warm kitchen smells of rosemary and peppercorns as Elyn prepares roasted vegetables and I tend to the hearth-fire.

“Hey,” I say. “I’m sorry for my outburst back at the aerie. I shouldn’t have treated you like the enemy. I shouldn’t have mistrusted you, and I shouldn’t have thrown those delicious pastries out the window.”

Elyn says nothing for a moment. “They were the best pastries ever made, you fool.”

I snicker. “I’m stupid sometimes.”

Elyn shakes her head and looks back at me. “You had every reason to be suspicious, and…you weren’t feeling well. I accept your apology, Kai.” She places her hand atop mine.

I close my eyes and shake my head. “Zephar…I tried hard to get him to see…”

“To see what ?”

“To see me? To see who Orewid Rolse truly is? To see through the big lie?” I shake my head.

“The last thing I wanted was to kill my ex-boyfriend. Did I want to make him miserable? Yes, absolutely. But did I want to kill him?” I didn’t, even though he thought nothing of killing me for being the product of my parents’ love.

Zephar faked it. Not just his “love” for me but also his “respect.” He pretended to see me as worthy of my order, but in truth, he held his breath, repulsed by my touch, repulsed by the curl of my hair, by my mother’s nose in the middle of my face.

Any time we drank too much, Zephar and I would name our future children: Susan and Ronald, Lonnie and Mary, Joe and Joan, mortal names that made us laugh until we couldn’t breathe.

He’d play with my hair and he’d call me his love and he’d lie across my thighs and fall asleep.

Now looking back, our coupling was not too different from the “celebrations” of Gasho.

All politics and no love. Favor, yes, but no heart involved. The strongest wins.

He made a complete fool out of me as he and the other Diminished snickered behind my back, knowing that it was all a joke, a ploy to convince me we were in this together.

He nurtured my natural tendencies to question and wonder, stoking them beyond my intentions, fostering rebellion in my heart, and I let him because he got me.

I thought he understood me when few others did. He had my back, and I had his.

I try to smile at Elyn, but I can’t hold back my tears. “You know…I was incredibly envious of you. Angry with you. Confused by you. You’re so smart and so perfect—”

“I am,” she says, winking. “Don’t forget that I’m also breathtaking.”

“I take a lot of breaths, dearest,” I say with a smirk. “You’re all those things, and yet I’d strayed so far from who I was—”

“No,” she says. “Even though you became so dangerous that I’d sentenced you to death, you were becoming who you were meant to be.

Questioning. Loyal. Compassionate. Frustrating.

Driven. There are none like you, Kai, and in your own way, you came around to see all of who you are.

The beings of this realm, in this complicated world under tremendous threat, they needed a champion like you to make it this far.

The Grand Defenders of those destroyed realms are no longer here, but you are.

And hope begins in the dark—didn’t you say that?

You are hope. You are the dark. You are the dawn. You are all those things.”

We talk about her budding romance with Calyx; about the next realm she must visit; about those times as girls we’d run through the field of bluebells on Ithlon, the daystar Sandall high above us, the wind in our hair, and the freedom of the open fields stretched out before us.

The daystar soon drifts even lower into the western sky and paints the horizon in shades of burnt orange and deep purple.

Elyn stands with sadness in her eyes and takes my hands in hers. “Will you be all right here?” she asks again.

“Are you still worried about Orewid Rolse?” I ask. “All the Crusaders in Vallendor are dead.”

“I know, but…” She bites her lower lip. “But I didn’t see Rolse on the battlefield or among the dead.”

I shrug. “Running away and dodging fights is what he does, right? Fucking coward.”

“The Eserime are waiting for you at the Sanctum,” she says. “With all this lovely quiet, remember that you have work to do.”

I nod. “Don’t worry—I’ll join them soon.”

We hug, and I tightly squeeze the woman I’d hated for too long.

“You’ll visit?” I ask.

She walks down the pathway, and red cardinals immediately flutter around her. Two more sentinels wait at the foot of the walkway.

“Of course,” she says, walking backward. “I helped save this place. I have to make sure you don’t mess it up again.”

“And we’re visiting Sianiodin together, yes?”

She nods. “Right after Calyx and I…”

“Read every book in the abbey?” I ask, eyebrow cocked.

“Is that what it’s called now?” Elyn says, smirking.

I wave and blow her a kiss.

She blows a kiss back.

Sister.

Friend.

…

Veril’s amulet now hangs over the entryway to the sitting room. A new fire burns in the hearth, and the room smells of cinnamon and pine. The wooden floors sparkle, and outside the cottage’s windows, the halved nightstar hangs against the violet sky.

Once word spread that I preferred living in these woods instead of the Sanctum above Gasho, the people of Vallendor started to make pilgrimages here.

Now, Raqiel sentinels stand at the bottom of the crooked walkway that Veril had once hidden.

I hide that walkway any time I tire of being Lady of the Verdant Realm.

Tomorrow, I will join the Eserime, Mera, and Renrian council of Vallendor, and we’ll discuss our plans for ongoing restoration.

King Exley will request to lead this task, and Queen Alinor will request trade routes be rebuilt.

Gasho and the new priests and ancresses have already asked that I attend their upcoming celebration.

Shari awakens from her nap in front of the fire. She stands and bounds over to the door.

Someone knocks.

I frown. It’s too late in the day for visitors. I open the door.

He stands there with his right arm wrapped in pristine bandages. He pulses with a blue glow. His skin looks clear, the color of healthy eucalyptus bark. His eyes shine bright lavender, their color at his birth. He smiles and says, “Hey.”

My heart stumbles in my chest and my knees buckle. I sink to the floor, whispering, “Jadon?” A sob bursts from my chest.

“Kai,” he murmurs.

“Please say that you’re really standing here,” I say, “and that I’m not dreaming.”

Shari’s tail wags as Jadon pats her head.

Yes, he’s standing right in front of me.

There is a bag slung over his left shoulder.

He wears suede breeches and a thick cream sweater to guard against the cold.

The cable knit of his sweater tells the story of his journey across the realm—the son of a king, the town blacksmith, his life, his death, his life again.

He winces as he helps me stand from the floor.

Plumes of amber flare around his injured arm and the space where his right hand used to be.

“I’m sorry.” I pull away from him. Wide-eyed, I touch his arm, and it pulses blue again. “Are you okay?”

“I’m better now that I’m standing here with you.” His voice remains deep and intoxicating, like a smoky rum.

I sweep that stubborn lock of chestnut hair from his forehead. “Can you—? Will you—?” I take a breath. “I don’t even know what to say.”

He touches my cheek. “I have something for you.” He reaches into his satchel.

My mind races, my pulse hammers, all of me vibrates, and I can hardly think one thought at a time.

“I brought this for you.” He holds out a large light-green flower with spiky stamens that resemble crowned cranes. The berries inside the flower are yellow and tinged pink. Nestled inside the bloom: a bee, her yellow-and-black fuzz flecked with pollen.

“She’s a rare breed,” he says, “and she makes honey on a tiny island south of Hamor. She and her hive feed on rose apple blooms that only grow on that island, but Agon told me that you can plant these flowers here and they won’t disturb the blooms that naturally grow in these woods.”

“Hello, there,” I whisper to the bee. “Welcome to Verilwood. I will name you…Lyrabee.” I smile at Jadon and say, “You remembered.”

“That you wanted to keep your own hives for honey and use beeswax to make candles?” He nods. “And…” He reaches into the bag again, and this time, he pulls out a small canvas pouch. “Another gift.”

I pull apart the drawstrings, confused by what could be in an empty bag. I shake that nothing into my hand and…

Seven brown seeds tumble onto my palm.

“Crabapples,” Jadon says, his gaze sweeping across the garden. “Maybe… there ?” He points to the spot where Veril’s old crabapple tree once stood, heavy with fruit. During my recovery, Jadon and I had spent quiet afternoons beneath that tree.

“One more gift,” Jadon says as he leads me past the garden.

I squeeze his hand. “I would like to say, ‘You didn’t have to,’ but I’ve never been that type of god.”

He laughs. “Nor will you ever be. Which is why…”

Out in the meadow, the soft green blades tremble in the breeze as a brown cow grazes on new clover. She looks back at me, her large eyes peaceful, unbothered.

Shari rushes out to greet her new sister.

I laugh and spin around to face Jadon. “Really?”

He grins and shrugs. “What do you give a lady who has everything, including her own realm?”

I finally— finally! —throw my arms around him. “You give her a cow and…you bring her yourself.”

And tomorrow, I will wake up to a kiss instead of a kill.

Yes, Jadon will fit in nicely here at this cottage in Verilwood and in the new Vallendor. And so will Lyrabee and Clover, the Cow of Cottage Kai in Verilwood, now and forever more.

I kiss Jadon Wake Rrivae, and his lips are so soft, and sweeter than any rare honey in this realm and beyond.

His kiss makes me feel… silver.