Page 8 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

The sweet perfume of night-blooming jasmine wafts through the arbor, nurturing this moment of peace amid the chaos of war raging outside this canopy.

We lie on the soft grass beneath a bower of old trees, Jadon’s strong hand finding my uncertain one in the dim light.

The soft light of the nightstar casts silvery streaks in his dark hair. His blue eyes glow bright as pearls.

I whisper, “Jadon? What—?”

“Listen.” The one word he speaks is soft as the scented air. “I shouldn’t have lied to you, but don’t ever doubt my love. Don’t ever doubt my heart.” His eyes shimmer with devotion as he adds, “I can’t do this without you.”

“Do what without me?” I push away from him to stand. My leather breeches creak and squeeze my thighs—they no longer fit. I’m too big for my breeches.

Jadon also stands and tightens the buckles of his breastplate. The rune on his right hand—fire, water, ice, earth, each within a circle—sparks with faint light as his eyes search the sky. “Is that a ‘yes’?”

I blink at him and shake my head. “What are you talking about?” I reach for my amulet—my pendant no longer hangs from my neck. “Where—?”

I peer at the ground and search between the blades of grass. The earth rumbles beneath our feet.

Jadon draws his greatsword, Chaos, from thin air. That wide silver blade looks dull and dry, ready to soak in the blood of enemies. “Are you ready?” he asks.

“Ready? For what?”

Red-and-gold moths sweep up from the grass, crying out as they whirl around me.

“Go now, Lady!”

“You’re in danger, Lady!!”

“Lady—!”

BOOM!

The land beyond this grove explodes, flinging dirt and stone into the air.

A giant aburan, a beast in the shape of a bear that glares at me with the eyes of a man, claws through the hedges that protect this bower. Above the canopy of trees, a scavenging gerammoc—its beak crackling with lightning—soars on wings that hide the nightstar.

“Are you ready?” Jadon asks again.

I reach for Fury— Shit. My scabbard is bare. “Where’s my sword?”

The ink on Jadon’s hand flashes like the gerammoc’s lightning. “Time is life,” he shouts.

I nod. “Yes, I know, but—”

He moves closer to me, his eyes bright. “For love, for change, for all that yet breathes.”

With trembling hands, I hold his face and say, “Fight.”

He kisses me—he tastes of iron, sugar, and blood.

BOOM!

Our arbor explodes, and the ancient trees that served as protection catch fire, raining burning leaves down on us.

Jadon’s marked hand also catches fire, but he smiles as smoke rolls up his arm and billows across his chest. He shouts, “Stand fast,” as his lips flicker with flame.

We kiss one last time, fuck the flames , and my face—

…

It’s too early in the morning to be shouting at the top of our lungs at each other inside a stupid tent. And no matter how many rooms there are, this is still a stupid tent .

I stand with my arms crossed and my gaze locked on Zephar.

He pulls on his breeches and storms to the other side of the room. His golden eyes burn bright with frustration and his beautiful face twists with…

Hate? No.

Disappointment? No.

Rage. Yes. At me, at my words.

“All this time,” he growls, “I’ve been waiting for you and planning for this moment to destroy and restore the next city—”

“I know—”

“And now you wanna back out?”

I force myself to not look away even as guilt claws at me.

This means so much to him, and he’s right—in our time together, he’s never asked much of me.

But the realm is different now. A greater threat looms, one far more dangerous than a desert town with bandits who attack traveling merchants and troublemaking adolescents who burn down wheat fields.

“Please listen to me,” I say, my hands steepled against my lips.

“We are so close to losing this realm, and I’m not being hyperbolic, Zee.

Danar Rrivae is at our front door, and my life is at stake here, and so is yours, and so is the life of this realm.

This is not in the near future. The threat is now . ”

He will understand. He must understand. He has understood in the past. Like when he was charged with destroying the realm Sadaadea.

Both the mortals there and the terrain were uncontrollable.

In a moment of exhaustion, Zephar had wanted to flee this first campaign of destruction that he’d led.

I convinced him that he could do it, that he had to do it, that this task was worthy of completion.

He understood the urgency and the assignment, and the craggy peak of Sadaadea is now inked in the middle of his lower back.

“I’m not backing out,” I say to him, softer now. “I’m thinking about strategy. Shelezadd can wait. Danar Rrivae and Syrus Wake can’t. If we don’t stop them—”

“I don’t care about Danar and some fucking emperor-puppet!

” Zephar shouts, shattering the quiet. “I care about you dismissing me, talking to me like I’m some boy .

I waited for you all this time…” He runs his thick fingers through his hair and closes his eyes.

“There’s this distance between us now.” He lowers his head and whispers, “Do I still matter to you?”

His question is like a blade to my gut.

“Of course you matter to me,” I say. “Do I still matter to you ?”

“Yes.” His eyes open but stay fixed on the rug.

Does mattering even matter when the world is about to end? Like…for real. Danar Rrivae is at the threshold of Vallendor, preparing to take her from me.

The dim light of pre-dawn casts long shadows across the tent’s walls.

Zephar’s shoulders heave as he turns away from me, his jaw clenched.

I want to apologize, but the words die in my throat.

Instead, I say, “I can see that you’re done talking for the moment.

I’ll leave you to think about all that I’ve told you. ”

He doesn’t speak, just keeps glaring at the tent’s canvas wall, his back rigid with anger.

I linger, hoping that he’ll say something, anything that might bridge this chasm forming between us. But he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even sigh.

Wearing only my bandeau and breeches, I leave the tent.

Out here, the valley enjoys perfect peace.

Over in the pavilion, embers flicker in the hearth.

A few Mera sit in those low chairs, heads back, eyes closed, swords at their feet.

Shari rests at the entrance to our tent, and she lifts her giant head.

I kneel and scratch her ear. “Did we wake you up with all that bullshit?” I kiss the top of her head. “Sorry for the disturbance—the Warden of the Unseen Step deserves better. Let’s go for a walk, yeah?”

She yawns, stands, stretches, and trots beside me until we reach the perimeter of the Sanctum. That’s where she sits.

“I know: you can’t come,” I say, nodding. “I’ll be back this time. Promise.”

The mountains are cool this early in the day, and I welcome the crisp air, which chases away the fog of anger and guilt clouding my mind.

It’s still early, but it’s never too early for otherworldly.

That’s when I realize that I left my swords in the tent.

I gaze at my empty hands—empty, though, doesn’t mean powerless.

I reach a ridge that overlooks Gasho and the desert plain. There’s the Temple of Celestial. There’s the canyon I escaped yesterday.

The skin on the back of my neck prickles. I look back over my shoulder.

No one’s there—no amber or blue glows of the living creep behind me.

And I don’t believe that.

I’m being watched.

Holding my breath, I continue my trek, my steps seemingly casual.

My mind, though, isn’t resting. I study the terrain, thinking through ways to capture my stalker.

After taking a few more steps, I spin and circle behind a cluster of boulders.

I grab the neck of the figure crouched there.

“It’s too early in the day to kill someone,” I say cooly, “but if I must…”

“Please, Lady Megidrail,” he says, wheezing as my hands press down on his windpipe. “It’s me. Avish.”

Avish? He’s the lyricist who wrote my favorite song. The dawn will find you as my love draws near…

I squeeze his neck one last time before releasing him. “You weren’t at the Sanctum when I arrived last night.”

He grimaces as he rubs the new welts forming on his skin and stands, swaying still on his feet.

One of the slighter Mera, Avish still towers over all mortals.

The color of his eyes looks closer to hazel than gold, and his chest is covered with markings of the three realms he’s helped to destroy under my command.

But all he really wants is to write.

I’ve supported that desire by letting him write the speech I gave at Yoffa in defense of the realm’s destruction. He wrote the blessing I recited at Separi and Ridget Eleweg’s wedding. The proclamations of kings and queens of Vallendor—all were Avish’s words.

“Why are you following me now?” I ask, leaning against a boulder, my hands prepared to resume strangulation if needed. “You need help penning another song? And I thought you’d abandoned us.”

“Not abandoned,” he says. “I’ve simply… relocated . I see folly in Zephar’s path, but you are clear-minded.”

“Folly?” I tilt my head and peer at him. “That’s a dangerous word to choose when speaking of Lord Itikin, your commander, my partner, my betrothed. Thought you knew words better than this.” My hands burn—his disrespect would’ve taken him to Anathema’s porch, yet he still stands before me.

Avish’s face flushes so much that he blends into the red dirt of the desert. “It is folly, Lady, but please know that I still believe in you and in the path you’ve chosen.”

“And what path has Lord Itikin taken?” I ask.

“Ignoring the peril of the realm and focusing on this small town that, ultimately, won’t matter,” Avish says.

I squint at him. “And what path do you think that I’ve chosen?”