Page 37

The Way

My best friend faces down his father, his hands fisted at his sides.

Cainis grunts. “You are not zariph yet.”

“I’m not arguing about this, Father.”

“Good. Neither am I.”

Ledenon steps between them. “It might be better to discuss—”

“Shut up,” father and son both snap at the zariphate’s second-in-command.

Ledenon holds up his hands, backing away.

“Do not make this move,” Cain says.

Cainis scowls. “Stand in my way and face the consequence.”

Neither is being specific about the move being made, but they clearly both know what they’re talking about. Which means they’ve discussed this before already. Maybe a lot.

And Cain never said one word to me about it.

Why? Did he think he could sway his father and stop it before it got to this? Clearly that was a huge mistake.

“If you refuse to abandon this path,” Cain says in a dark voice, “you won’t remain zariph for much longer.”

“You think you can defeat me, whelp? Give it your best, because if you come at me, you’d better kill me.”

Wanderers have their own laws, and what Cain just said is as close to a direct challenge as it gets. A challenge that will determine who controls the zariphate and who dies.

“Is that what you really want?” Cain demands. “Are you so hungry for power that you’d kill me to get it? You’ve already disowned Pella. You kill me and you have no one to inherit your precious legacy.”

Regret flashes in the zariph’s eyes as he looks at his beloved son, but he quickly shores it up behind stony determination that goes as high and impenetrable as our glass walls. “This is our way. We can’t have a zariph and a zariphson or zariphdaughter on opposite ends of a decision this important. If you don’t stand with me, then you’ll have to take the zariphate from my cold, dead hands.”

“Cain, don’t,” I say, voice low.

The decision wars across his features, his brown eyes nearly black with pain. This is tearing him apart.

“Not for me,” I say quietly. “Not for this.”

I’ll do it. Yet another traitor in our midst. He deserves to die. He deserves to bleed in front of his people so they see the consequences—

I cut off the thought, putting a hand to my stomach to hold in my gasp. That wasn’t the Shadows this time. Where the hells did that come from? That’s not me. That’s not who I am. Or is this who I’ve become?

I sneak a peek around, but everyone is still focused on Cainis and Cain. Except Reven. Reven is watching me, shoulders tense.

Oh goddess. He saw that.

“This isn’t about you,” Cain says to me. His quiet words are just as determined as his father’s. “There is a right way and a wrong way to do something.” His eyes go obsidian hard, jaw clenched. “I won’t stand by and watch the wrong way.”

Without warning, Cainis lunges for his son with a shout, a wicked-looking blade already in his hand, seemingly out of nowhere. Taking the decision away from Cain.

Reven grabs me by the waist and swings me against him, a hand coming up to cradle the back of my head. I can’t tell if he’s protecting me from watching my best friend fight for his life, or if he’s keeping me from joining the fray.

I grip his arms, holding on to him—just for now—and watch as the pair go at each other in a battle of skill that is so evenly matched, you can see the ways in which the father has taught the son. But that means that neither of them has the upper hand here. The metal of their blades flash, their fists swing and connect. Those of us watching have to scatter several times as the fight ranges around the room.

I don’t want Cain to die. I would never want that. But killing his own father, his hero, would gut him. I don’t want that, either. No matter what I was thinking a second ago.

Cain executes a spinning move on his knees, ducking under his father’s blade, and Cainis’s grunt tells us all that his son struck flesh. But as Cain comes back to his feet, his father does the same move, spinning into Cain.

I don’t need to hear Cain’s hiss because I see the way Cainis’s blade strikes true, sinking into his son’s thigh, a bloom of red immediately visible in the sandy color of his clothes.

They both come to their feet, faced off. Cainis even lifts his shirt to check his belly, but the wound Cain inflicted isn’t deep, barely trickling. He drops his shirt, then deliberately wipes the blade of his own knife off on his pants, leaving a streak of red.

“Come on, old man,” Cain growls.

When they launch at each other again, though, Cain can’t hide his limp.

More impressive maneuvers on both sides, more flashing blades, more tension-filled moments as my muscles clench and unclench in time to their movements, their attacks, parries, and retreats. At one point, Reven grunts. I’m clutching his arm so hard it’ll leave a mark.

But…gradually…Cainis starts to breathe heavier, sucking in harshly, and his strikes turn less controlled, wilder. I think everyone is starting to realize who will win this.

Including Cainis.

Which is when, as the zariph circles the room, he lurches away from Cain and yanks Tabra up against his chest, using her as a shield with a knife to her throat.

I see in the split second that Tabra’s gaze searches out Achlys, her fear and her soft heart on display for anyone looking, before she squeezes her eyes shut.

But then Cainis chokes suddenly, his eyes bulging and it’s almost like he tries to pull away, but then his expression goes creepily peaceful. Like bliss.

“Do it,” Pella says.

How did I miss her dropping to the ground at his feet? She has her hand wrapped around the bare skin of his ankle, purple light sneaking out between her fingers. She has to be using her ability to manipulate his emotions. She can only do that if she’s touching skin. Hakan stands close behind her, ready to protect her if he has to.

“Do it, Cain!” her voice wavers mid-shout.

Cain looks from his sister to his father’s face, then with a cry of a son’s world tearing in two, he plunges his knife to the hilt, right into his father’s heart.