Page 9 of The Cruel Dawn (Vallendor #2)

Avish meets my gaze. “Danar Rrivae is a threat. Shelezadd is not. What’s the point of destroying a stupid city if Vallendor falls? You know that. And so does Malik.”

I blink at the man before me. “Who?”

“Malik—remember him? He has a temple on the other side of this hill erected by his believers,” Avish says. “He wishes to see you again. He agrees with your reasoning: Danar Rrivae must be eliminated so that Vallendor may prosper.”

I study the poet, searching for any signs of deceit.

He has spun words into beautiful song and powerful speech.

He can wield that same gift—no, weapon —to also spin beautiful lies.

If I find out that he’s lying, he’ll meet my hands again.

I should trust him, but just yesterday, my own warriors held their swords to my neck. For now, I’m questioning everything .

Avish and I travel quickly through the mountain pass. The pathway grows stonier the higher and farther east we walk. We finally reach a plateau—it’s hard to imagine that believers climbed this high, like goats, to erect a temple.

We move beneath the pines, and a sprawling low temple emerges from the mist. The sleek dwelling’s white stone-and-glass walls gleam in the new morning light.

Lush gardens of yellow, white, and red flowers surround the structure.

All of it is a stark contrast to the oaks and buckeyes, sagebrush and wild grape growing around the sleekest damned building I’ve ever seen.

No fussy parapets or colonnades. Just a series of white-washed, hollowed-out boxes stretched across the clearing.

There is more glass than stone, and a rectangle-shaped pool in the courtyard.

Single story, open-hearted. No mosaics. No domes.

“Is this a house or a temple?” I ask Avish.

The poet grins. “It is whatever you need it to be.”

As Avish and I approach the dwelling, a tall Mera warrior with long brown braids and a battle-ax emerges. She gazes at me, stern but respectful. Then her eyes flicker with recognition, and the edges of her lips lift into a smile.

“Dyotila?” I ask, surprised.

She bows and takes a knee. “Lady.”

“What are you doing here?”

Just standing here instead of flanking Zephar or me is treason—and by the way her eyes bounce from me to the ground to Avish, she knows this is true.

But something is happening here.

“Lord Malik Sindire,” she says. “He is raising a new army that can challenge the traitor and win. And he wants you to lead that army to victory.”

I keep my gaze moving as I follow Avish and Dyotila through large walnut double doors. I spot no other Mera or Eserime, or mortals. No one lounges beside the glistening pools. No one sips wine beneath the towering oaks. No one sits on the sofas.

This temple feels more like a country estate, and I like it.

We enter a room of vanishing glass walls that blur the outside from the inside.

Standing there barefoot and bathed in amber morning light is a short, round man, draped in a yellow robe.

“Lady Megidrail,” he says, his voice as smooth as the glass around us.

“It’s been several springs since we’ve enjoyed each other’s company.

It was an honor then, and it’s an honor now to be in the presence of the one who prophesies speak of. ”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Prophecies? Since when do gods listen to the fever dreams of mortals?”

“When they, too, say that you will change the course of this realm.” His eyes, a wild mix of Mera gold and Yeaden black, twinkle with amusement.

I glance back at Avish and Dyotila, and even her face shines with hope. I turn back to Malik Sindire, my mind dancing again.

Change the course of this realm…

Stopping Danar Rrivae before it’s too late: that’s more than changing the course of this realm.

Malik Sindire smiles as he takes my hand in both of his soft, small ones. “Do you remember me, Lady?” He nods back at Avish and Dyotila, and both leave the room.

I study my host, flipping the pages of my memory. Nothing presents itself. “I’m afraid not, sir.”

“I visit Vallendor every seventy-five seasons or so—you were just a youngling last time I came.” He flaps his hand.

“Your father and I have been friends since Supreme formed us from nothing.” His feet make no noise as he pads down a corridor filled with light shining down through the glass ceiling.

“I established this dwelling ages ago—my followers did, since I do not lift hammers. There are no closed gates here because all are welcome. You know this, but I’ve been told that you may not remember the details of your many visitors nor your realm.

Who can blame you? Most things and most people are forgettable. ”

True.

Malik Sindire laughs, and his laughter sounds like bells. “ Anyway. I’m back! To my followers’ great joy. Or disappointment. Both!”

“If you know my father,” I say, “does that mean, then, that you know—?”

“The traitor?” Malik Sindire asks, his lips twisted in disgust. “Yes, I know the traitor, and soon after your father joined the Council of High Orders, he helped make the decision to punish Danar Rrivae for his treason. No matter—Danar Rrivae still moves about the Aetherium wreaking havoc. I hear that he plans to take Vallendor just as he’s taken other realms.”

“But I won’t let him.”

“Because you’re Vallendor’s greatest defender.” We reach the end of the corridor and step into a sunroom.

The ceiling is made of walnut, and the glass walls open to a patio. There’s a pool with a vanishing edge, water extending to the horizon. Beyond the pool, there’s a sweeping view of Vallendor’s western lands, including Caerno Woods and a dwarven Mount of Devour.

Malik Sindire smiles at me, and his eyes disappear into slits. “This is my favorite place in the temple. I love how beautiful it is here.”

The dusky hills are bathed in golden light. Mist wreathes the tops of the trees.

My host settles on the couch and pats the cushion beside him.

“When I first heard that Izariel punished you so severely, I voiced my disagreement.

Your reasoning was sound, Kaivara. Syrus Wake calling himself ‘Supreme’—what god can ignore such blasphemy?

You show that man your strength and ruthlessness by destroying his provinces one by one.

“Really!” he says. “It was a brilliant plan! But ultimately, the plan was not approved by the Council, so here we are, with one of us branded as Diminished, which…” He adjusts the cuffs of his robe.

“Yes, you disobeyed them, but now the Council is glad that you defend this place even if your reasons are selfish and shortsighted.”

I bristle. “I’m neither.”

He laughs and places his hand over his heart. “But it’s true, Precious One. You are selfish and shortsighted, and there are times when the realms require that type of leader.”

But I don’t want to be either of those things.

My mother is no more because I was selfish and shortsighted and destroyed Ithlon Realm with her on it.

My father has yet to visit me on Vallendor or even send me a simple note of encouragement after I was punished and sequestered here on Vallendor because, again, I was selfish and shortsighted and destroyed realms without authorization from the Council.

All of Linione wants me dead—and they sent Elyn Fynal, the Adjudicator, to kill me.

Malik Sindire reaches for a carafe of wine on the table.

He pours wine the color of my eyes into two glasses and offers me one.

“Danar Rrivae is more complicated than many perceive him to be. I witnessed his downfall, as have others, but unlike them, I acknowledge that his motivations have been misunderstood.”

I frown after sipping this delicious wine. “I’m sorry, but… He is not a sympathetic character in the story of Vallendor.”

The old man holds up his left hand, heavy with rings encrusted in emeralds, topazes, rubies, and diamonds. “I didn’t say that . He isn’t simply out to rule the realms. Danar seeks to reclaim his family. A futile act, unfortunately.”

I tilt my head. “He has a family?”

Malik Sindire laughs again. “Oh, dear.”

I bristle again. “Did I say something funny?”

“Every being comes from another, Precious One,” the man says.

“We don’t simply become . Even a weed is birthed from a drifting dandelion seed.

You see, Danar’s family—his forebears, his wife Indis and four children, what were their names?

” He cocks his head, skims his fingers along his jaw, thinking.

“Anyway, they all lived on Birius Realm.”

A realm of savannahs and herbology that had been stripped of its lushness to make poisons instead of medicines.

“Birius is gone,” I say.

Malik Sindire nods. “Destroyed ages ago by both your father and Zephar Itikin’s father, Bezeph. A destruction approved by the Council of High Orders, I must add.”

“If Danar’s family was destroyed along with the others,” I say, my words tight, “where was he? How did he escape that doom?”

“He was somewhere in the Aetherium starting trouble,” Malik Sindire says with a sigh.

“With Birius’s destruction, so came the destruction of his past, present, and future.

But he refuses to accept his family’s end, and instead of discovering new realms, which is his job, he goes about the existing ones, holding them captive until his demands are met and Supreme returns his family back to him. ”

“Which is impossible,” I say.

“Nothing is impossible for Supreme,” Malik Sindire points out.

“At the same time, nothing warrants the return of those who are lost.” He lifts his glass to study the color of the wine.

“Now, do I feel for him in some small way? Yes. But I detest that man, who he’s become, and what he did to Fendusk, Kestau, and Kynne.

And the creatures he’s spawned—don’t get me started on that menagerie. Now, he’s set his eyes on Vallendor.”