Page 8 of Mother of Death and Dawn

Ara was at war. When I was in Ilyzath, I understood this only distantly—nothing penetrated Ilyzath’s walls, and that, I supposed, included horrific warfare. But every time the Queen had me brought to the mainland, its marks were visible everywhere.

This time, it was worse than I’d ever seen it. The Syrizen and I walked down cobblestone paths. The Palace loomed to the left, silent and mournful. Two of its knifelike peaks had been snapped off since the last time I was here. Ahead, the Towers loomed. The upper windows of the silver one had all shattered, leaving a fragile-looking silver skeleton to be devoured by the clouds.

Around us, groups of exhausted soldiers gathered in clusters. I slowed my steps, watching them. One of the groups parted just enough for me to see between them—at the monstrous carcass seeping blood on the ground.

Ascended above.

The sight of the thing, even lifeless, made a shiver pass over me. It was perhaps two or three times the size of the soldiers that surrounded it, its form comprised of darkness and too-long limbs. I stared at it, but the boundaries of its shape never quite came into focus, like my mind couldn’t decide where it ended and its shadow began.

I’ve seen that thing before.

The thought popped into my mind without warning. Like most of my thoughts these days, it was unhelpful.

One of the soldiers looked up and met my stare. His eyes went wide before he turned to mutter frantically to his companions.

A sharp nudge jolted me from my thoughts. I nearly stumbled. My ankles were bound, just loosely enough to allow me to walk. My wrists, too tight to let them move at all.

“Let’s get this over with, Max,” the blond Syrizen, who gripped my right arm, muttered. “No time to linger.”

“How many were there?” I asked. “Those creatures. There must have been many of them. More than this.” I nodded to the field, where the soldiers gathered around the carcasses. “Sent by the Fey, right? How far did they get? Did they make it to the top of the Towers?”

The guard didn’t answer, but her lips pressed together in a way that confirmed my suspicions.

“And that was what,” I went on, “a few hours ago, by the looks of things?”

Again, no answer.

I didn’t need one. I knew I was right.

Less than a full day after some of the worst attacks yet, and the Queen was pulling me out. She was doing it now, in daylight—rare that happened, and only recently. At first, it had just been a few scattered outings, always at night, always when there weren’t many people around. I hadn’t figured out why. Only now did that piece click into place, as I watched the soldiers around us all look up to stare at me.

These people knew who I was. Not that I had a clue why.

And for whatever reason, the Queen would prefer that they didn’t think about me. Again, not that I had a clue why.

You killed hundreds of innocent people,a voice whispered in the back of my mind.Isn’t that reason enough for infamy?

An expression I couldn’t read passed over the guard’s face. “Here’s hoping that the Queen is right and you’re our damned savior,” she muttered, pushing me forward. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTERTHREE

TISAANAH

Melina was right. These weren’t exactly tunnels, just hallways that happened to be underground, and they were far from private. We passed too many other people to make me comfortable as we hurried down hall after hall together. Most were other slaves, which was our only saving grace. Perhaps some recognized me—I was, after all, unusual looking—but thankfully, no one stopped us. The further away we moved from the heart of the estate, the quieter the halls grew.

We stopped when we came to a juncture. “That way goes out to the stables,” Melina said, then pointed in the other direction. “And that one goes to the fields.”

“Which is farthest from the main house?”

She paused. “Probably—”

My heart stopped.

“Sh.”

She gave me a curious look, but I grabbed her arm and pulled both of us against the wall. “Sh,” I said again.

There it was—quiet, but if I strained my ears I could hear the voices above.

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