Page 103 of Children of Virtue and Vengeance

“Summon the rest of our soldiers.” Mother turns to Ojore. “We’ll lead another assault while they’re down.”

“No.” I shake my head. “As long as they’re united, they’ll defeat us all. It doesn’t matter how many soldiers we have.” I close my eyes and try to visualize our next moves like pieces on a sênet board. “We need to weaken them beyond repair. Divide, conquer, and then force their surrender.”

“How do we do that?” Ojore asks.

I look down at the bronze piece, picturing Zélie’s face. For an instant, I thought we had a chance to move beyond all this pain. Now I know that day will never come.

“By using the one thing Amari and Zélie hate most,” I answer. “Me.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

ZÉLIE

DON’T BE SAD.

Mâzeli’s voice still echoes in my head. Silent tears run down my face, falling onto the bathroom tiles of my elder quarters. My ribs ache as I cradle my chest, struggling to draw breath. After three days, the world has still lost its color. Mâzeli’s blood still stains my skin.

“Zélie?”

I freeze as Tzain’s voice bleeds through my bedroom door. I clasp a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my strangled breaths.

“The sanctuary assembly’s starting,” he says softly. “The elders are asking for you.”

“I don’t care.” I look away. “Just go.”

With the sanctuary’s location exposed, everyone stays on high alert. But I can’t see or do anything beyond how much I hurt. All we do is fight and fight and fight.

What’s the point when our people only die?

“Don’t be sad.” I whisper Mâzeli’s last words. “Don’t be sad.” My legs shake as I drag myself to my feet to face the copper bathtub that’s spent hours waiting for me. I dip my fingers into the cool water, but the air around me thins. It happens every time I try to wash away the last remnants of him.

Dammit.

My hand flies to my throat as the guilt suffocates me. The bathroom starts to spin. It’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

He could’ve lived. He should’ve lived. It was my duty to keep him safe. But I failed.

Now I have to live with the weight of my mistakes.

Soft knuckles rap against my bedroom door. A painful spasm erupts in my chest when it creaks open.

“Go away,” I wheeze. I can’t have Tzain see me like this.

I crawl across the floor, trying to shut the bathroom door. But before I can, a bandaged hand props it open. I don’t know if I can trust my eyes when its owner walks through.

“Roën?” I whisper.

Black waves hang from the mercenary’s head, clumping along his square jaw. He kneels on the tiled floor and places callused hands on either side of my face.

“What are you—”

“Don’t talk,” he interrupts. “Breathe.”

My eyes water as I fight to inhale. I curl forward when another spasm erupts in my chest.

“Look at me.” Roën brings my face to his, firm yet tender in his grip. But I don’t want to meet his eyes. I don’t want anyone to see how broken I truly am.

“Just look at me.” His voice drops to a whisper. “It’s okay.”

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