Page 68 of Kept

It didn’t.

So I kept going.

Soldiers raced toward me. I flung out my hands. “Eshto.”

Dead.

“Eshto.”

Dead.

More crossed the Pass. I spoke the bly’ad, killing as I walked to meet them. But there were too many now. As I’d suspected, Doru’s gift had limits. I couldn’t kill in thick waves. Maybe that was too much power for a mortal to handle. Maybe Doru didn’t trust me to wield it without becoming corrupted. I set these thoughts aside as I spat the bly’ad as quickly as I could.

But I wasn’t fast enough.

Swords drawn, a dozen Green Guards pounded over the Nor Doruvian mouth of the Pass with murder in their eyes.

“Eshto.”

The one in the front went down. The others leapt over him and kept coming.

“Ricti!” Given’s voice rang out. Two of the Sithistrans fell to the ground, their eyes wide with shock.

I killed them quickly—and then two more. Given appeared beside me, her face pale as she spoke Lega’s bly’ad.

My brave, beautiful queen with Avenor’s sword strapped to her hip. She strode into battle beside me, stilling our enemies and buying me time. We seemed to go on for hours that way, although I knew it was probably mere minutes. Time slipped away as my vision narrowed to soldiers and swords and men’s bodies dropping to the ground.

I killed. With my wife at my side, I killed men with wives and families of their own. I wished I could have spared Given the toll I knew it would take on her. But Fate had dealt us this hand.

And my queen was strong. “She’s stronger than I am, and it’s not even close,” Varick had told me. He’d seen Given’s strength long before I did. They were both so strong. Somehow, I’d convinced them to love me. I wasn’t sure how I’d managed it, but I was not going to lose them. Not ever, and certainly not today.

I charged toward the Rift, power throbbing at my fingertips. The Sithistrans stopped coming. I felt Varick at my back. As always, I felt him even when I couldn’t see him. He marched with his knights, guarding my back in the moonlight. The Sithistrans were weak without their mirrors and the sun.

My lips curved. The night belonged to Nor Doru.

Torches bobbed on the Sithistran side of the Rift. A second later, a white flag waved.

“They’re calling for a truce,” a knight shouted behind me. I lifted a hand, signaling a halt. Given stopped next to me. She’d worn her pale hair in a long braid. It trailed over her shoulder, most of it unraveled. She was wan, sweat beading her brow.

I took her hand and spoke in a low voice. “Go to the rear, sweetheart. Please.”

She gave her head a single shake. “Elissa,” she said, her gaze on the other side of the Rift.

I looked and, sure enough, Rolund’s First Queen approached the edge with Lord Rellan at her side. More figures accompanied them. As they moved closer, I recognized Lidia and Crasor. The Prelate’s gray robes flapped around his ankles. His ever-present mirror bounced against his chest. A younger man in full armor walked beside him. With his reddish hair and passing resemblance to Elissa, this could only be Edwin, Rellan’s heir.

The Sithistrans stopped at the edge and faced us across the Rift, a line of Green Guards behind them. Dead Green Guards littered the Bleak Pass. Dozens of dead Sithistrans cooled on the ground at the mouth of the Nor Doruvian side of the bridge.

I kept my hand joined with Given’s as I stared across the chasm. Varick and the knights from the Wastes were a solid wall of muscle at our backs.

There was a whisper of movement behind me, and then Igrith stepped forward and stood at my shoulder. She trained a hard gaze on the Sithistrans as she nocked an arrow. Jordan appeared on her other side.

Crasor’s gaze landed on them, and his mouth twisted with disgust. “Humans standing with the devils! You are traitors to your own kind!”

The ground shook, the tremors less violent this time. I tugged Given backward anyway. On the other side of the Rift, the Sithistrans moved back too. Rocks tumbled from the edges of the chasm, pebbles breaking off and sliding down the jagged walls.

The trembling stopped. Everyone seemed to hold their breath. Just as they appeared to collectively release it, a voice rose from the Rift. It spoke a foreign tongue that echoed off the walls and spun into the air.

It was a pleasant voice—deep and rich and strangely compelling.

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