Page 139 of Mother of Death and Dawn

AEFE

Ela’Dar’s army was ready to fight. A shiver of anticipation rippled through the soldiers, lined up in their armor, weapons ready—it was obvious even in Meajqa, who rode with the warriors, too. In the wake of the losses we had sustained on behalf of the humans, we were eager to shed some blood for our own people.

We rode to Niraja through Zagos, our soldiers pouring through the streets like a rising flood. Still, the death we distributed in the city was efficient, not vicious. Caduan was clear: our objective was not to destroy Zagos—not yet—only to get to Niraja as quickly as possible.

Zagos was a strange city, and it overwhelmed me—too many lights, too much movement, too many people. But we cut through it fast, moving north swiftly as our horses trampled over those congested streets. Soon, we reached the northernmost boundary of the district. Above us, the peaks of a grimly silent palace loomed in the distance.

The hairs rose on the back of my neck. I knew this place. Just as my broken home had, it made me feel like a walking ghost.

Before us, piles upon piles of shattered stone blocked any further advancement. Caduan raised a fist, and with that single movement, an entire army halted in silence behind him.

He examined the obstruction before us. I often wondered how Caduan’s mind worked—now, it seemed to be carefully dismantling the barrier, piece by piece, and putting it back together in a thousand different variations. Then he extended a hand to me. “Help me.”

I was confused. “Help you…?”

“Help me.”

I took his hand. I had learned to recognize so much in the sensation of Caduan’s skin—one touch, and I felt so connected to him.

“What do I do?” I whispered. I was oddly conscious of those behind us, watching.

“We practiced this.”

We had practiced, yes, but nothing like this. I’d practiced creating flowers and leaves and vines in my hands, manipulating the warmth of light to the beat of my heart. None of those things were powerful enough to destroy a wall of stone.

I looked at it hopelessly.

“I am not strong enough,” I muttered, bowing my head close to him so no one else would hear. “This is not like… like making a flower.”

“What makes you think you are not strong enough? You created life from nothing with those flowers and manipulated it to make them grow. Such life is everywhere here. In the plants. In the soil. In the stone itself. In me. And within you.” His warm fingers slid up my hand, pressing on the thrum of blood beneath the tender skin on my inner wrist. “I will help you.”

Somehow, those four words made things seem so much more manageable.

We will be better,I told myself.

I closed my eyes. Caduan’s magic reached for mine, an open question waiting for an answer. He was right, I realized. Wehadpracticed this, with every exercise, every late night, every wordless communication we had forged together.

This magic was everywhere, waiting for me to draw upon it. I opened myself to it and wielded it.

Caduan raised his free hand, and with a single sweeping motion, the stone shattered.

The soldiers behind us let out gasps and stepped back. Even I nearly leapt backwards in shock of what I’d just done—that is, until Caduan glanced at me and smiled, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The army was utterly soundless as we rode into the ruins. We traveled through what had once been city streets, elegant townhomes now crumbling into dust. Above us, the shell of a castle stood as a mournful monument. I looked up to a balcony on that castle and drew in a sharp breath.

The memories struck me in jagged pieces. I remembered standing on that balcony and watching soldiers in black overtake this kingdom like ants to a carcass. I remembered the enraged face of a grieving mother and waiting for death at her hands.

I remembered Caduan falling over that railing, a crossbow bolt in his gut.

I remembered screaming.

I tore my gaze away, trying to shut out the images. “You died here.”

“Almost. Or perhaps I was born.” Caduan lifted his chin towards a rocky ravine near the foot of the palace. “That is where Ishqa found me and told me that you were dead.”

The anger hit me in a breathtaking wave.

If Caduan had known that I lived, what would he have done? Would he have been able to rescue me? Instead, Ishqa told a single lie, and Caduan grieved while my soul was slowly ripped away from me, bit by bit, over five hundred years.

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