Page 11 of Kept

Elissa stared hard at Given. “I invited you here out of respect for my husband. That is all I have to say to you.” She turned to Crasor. “Prelate, please begin the service.”

Crasor faced the pyre. The lords and ladies of Sithistra did the same. The Green Guards stayed facing forward, their eyes locked on my knights. Distrust and tension were thick in the air as the Green Guards positioned at the corners of the pyre touched their torches to the bundles of wood.

As flames crackled, Crasor lifted his hands to the sky. “Oh, Lord of the Mir, we beseech you to receive the soul of your servant, Rolund of Sithistra. King of the Holy Kingdom of Sithistra. Devoted husband to Elissa and Lidia. Beloved son of Baylen and Amantha. Father to Cathrin and twelve others you saw fit to call home early.”

Beside me, Given looked toward Elissa. The First Queen stood ramrod straight, her black veil sweeping nearly to the ground.

My shoulder brushed Given. I slipped my hand into hers and spoke in her mind. “You showed her kindness. Her hatred is a choice, as well as a weakness. She can’t direct her disappointments toward their proper targets, so she has chosen to hurl them at you.”

Given looked at me, her eyes sad and accepting. She gave a slight nod and squeezed my hand.

The fire climbed, licking up the sides of the pyre. Smoke curled toward the sky. After several minutes, Lord Rellan turned around, his brown eyes finding Laurent. “I believe we’re finished here, Your Grace. I bid you a safe journey across the Rift.”

Unease raised the hair on my nape. My heart sped up, thirty years of soldiering supplying me with the certainty that something was wrong, wrong, wrong. The Green Guards were still. There were no weapons in sight.

And something was wrong.

We were in danger.

As alarms screamed through my head, Laurent spoke meaningless pleasantries to Rellan. Instinct urged me to intervene—to order my knights to rush our party to the Rift and get Laurent and Given as far away from the humans as possible. But barking orders would throw everything into chaos. My men had no weapons, and we were right on top of the fucking Green Guards.

Laurent turned Given toward the Rift. My knights reformed around them, and we advanced toward the chasm. Jordan and Petru walked side by side at the front. I brought up the rear, my unease blooming into cloying, sticky panic. When we were halfway to the Rift, I caught Radu’s arm and spoke in a voice only he could hear.

“Look sharp. I have a bad feeling.”

He nodded, a thousand battles in his eyes as his expression hardened. The Rift loomed. Behind us, Crasor continued his prayers. The heat of the pyre caressed my back.

Maybe I was wrong. I was being paranoid. Biased by a lifetime of despising the South, I’d been against this meeting from the beginning. Of course I imagined a trap. But my unease continued, and by the time we reached the Rift, my heartbeat filled my ears, each thump a deep, shivering beat of a drum.

The Deepnight faded. A few steps later, the sun blazed unchecked. As one, my knights pulled up their hoods. I left mine down, letting the heat sear my skin. We passed the long line of Sithistran swords thrust into the ground.

At the mouth of the Bleak Pass, Jordan stopped suddenly, forcing the knights behind him to halt. Jordan turned, a frown on his face. Flames from the pyre were reflected in his blue eyes.

The ground beside Petru burst open. A Sithistran soldier leapt from the dirt like a corpse escaping a grave. In a blur of movement, he seized Petru and slit the High Priest’s throat.

Laurent lurched forward, his mouth opening on a bellow. Radu seized his arm and hauled him back.

Knights shouted.

Everything slowed down.

The Sithistran’s blade flashed, severing Petru’s beard. The grizzled, bloodstained hair fell to the ground. A breath later, the Sithistran flung Petru into the Rift. The High Priest flailed, his black robes billowing, and then plunged out of sight.

Laurent’s anguished cry split the air.

Two of my knights sprang into action, falling upon the Sithistran and hurling him into the Rift after Petru.

Sound behind me.

I whirled, dagger in hand. Men poured from the base of the pyre, flaming bundles of wood flying as they flowed from the burning structure like a swarm of hornets. Bright light flashed, seeming to come from a dozen different directions. For a second, confusion held me immobile. Then I realized the men held mirrors. Angled just right, they reflected the newly unveiled sun.

The Sithistrans charged us, light bouncing as they ran.

A beam hit me in the neck. Fiery agony streaked through me. My skin blistered, smoke and the smell of charred flesh swirling around my head. Steps away, a knight screamed as a beam caught him. He doubled over, his cloak swinging forward. A chunk of bloodied flesh fell from his face and turned to ash before it hit the ground.

“GO, GO, GO!” I bellowed, swinging back to my knights. “Get the king and queen across the Pass!”

Chaos. Light flashed everywhere. Thick beams bounced off the ground and seared my skin. I couldn’t look back at the pyre. One glance at the mirrors could blind me—maybe permanently. I stumbled to the screaming knight, threw him over my shoulder, and sprinted toward the Rift.

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