Page 1 of Between Despair and Hope

Chapter 1

Dewalt

Inthemidstofbattle, time flowed differently. It sped up and slowed down as hearts raced and blood soaked the earth. I had always compared it to the space between breath. Quick gasps between a lunge and a defensive block—time moved faster when I didn’t have a spare moment to think. It was after the battle, time changed. When blood stopped rushing through my veins, the sound deafening, when all I could hear were moans of the dying and shouts of my remaining men chasing after the adversary, that was when time slowed down. When I could hear the last bloody gurgle of a man’s existence. That was when time was cruelest.

Soldiers lay dead on the ground around me, their blood slowly seeping into the earth. The Folterrans were retreating, and it didn’t make any gods damned sense. They still outnumbered us—though barely. Rainier was gone, and I hadn’t seen Emma since she’d rifted out, trying to find her daughter. An hour ago at most, I felt the ground shake and saw a flash of light, but it wasn’t as if I could go explore it. I had hoped my people were alright, but I was busy. Now, though, with all the soldiers dead or pulling back, I had the time.

My divinity was tapped, and the headache behind my eyes was there in force—the bond between Lavenia and me had grown taut, telling me I needed her to share the load. But she was probably elbow deep in gore, and I needed to find someone,anyone, who might know why the retreat was called, the horns issuing some sort of message. I picked my way through the corpses as I walked back toward the fortress. Good men—mymen—lay dead before me, scattered amongst the mercenaries. Mercenaries were the worst type of soldiers, ones without conviction, and I was glad to see them dead. But for my men, Vestian men—some I’d even trained myself—I would return, and Rainier and I would bury them. We’d always done things this way. He would open the earth, creating graves, and then between the two of us, Raj, and Brenna, we would lay our soldiers to rest. Rainier and Raj had made the agreement over a decade ago. We did it to show our soldiers that leadership weighed their lives in high regard. It was how we did things.

I needed to find my people. Rainier, Emma, Raj—I didn’t know where they were. I threw a hand up to block the sun as I searched for anyone I knew. I thought I saw Brenna near the fort, her slight frame crouched down close to the ground. Perhaps whispering the sacred words to the gods, sending one of our soldiers on their final journey. She was a captain as I was, and yet she always made the time when one of our soldiers needed guidance. When my boot kicked a body and it moaned, I glanced down to make sure it wasn’t one of my own. But then I saw the Folterran soldier—not a mercenary—open his eyes. I crouched beside him while I refastened my hair at my nape.

“Tell me why you’re retreating.” Unsure if I had enough in me, I didn’t bother using my divinity to compel the truth out of the dying man and was surprised when he answered.

“The king is dead.”

My breath caught in my throat, hoping he meant his own king. Rainier hadn’t been crowned yet. The Folterrans might not even know Soren was dead, so the odds were good he spoke of the Bone King. Even so, I asked, “Dryul is dead?”

The man licked his lips as he wheezed. Because of a wound to his gut, he was bleeding out slowly. I didn’t care. “Yes, Dryul is dead. Water?”

Ignoring his request, I stood and left, heading toward the fortress at a quick jog. Maybe I’d find more information there.

Who killed the King of Bones? Was it Rainier? Emma? Where the fuck was everyone?

The mercenaries I had dispatched moments before hadn’t realized their brethren were retreating, and I had weaved a vision causing the dozen men to turn on one another, thinking they were Vestian forces. By the time I finished, the battlefield was empty of Folterrans, and my remaining men were handling whatever mercenaries lingered. Now, as I approached the missing gate, I didn’t see any living opposing forces. Eventually, I spotted someone who could give me answers.

She stood high above me on the battlement, shoving a severed head onto a spike above the gate. Always one for barbaric theatrics, Thyra. I didn’t realize whose head I was looking at until I stood just below them. Stopping and holding one hand above my eyes as I looked up, I squinted at the display. I’d seen him putting on a hell of a fight against some of my better soldiers. She’d killed her fucking father. I felt a grin spread across my face as I called up to her.

“Did you make it long, drawn-out, and painful?”

She looked down at me, a surprising expression of boredom on her face. That wasn’t what I expected. She nodded toward the stairwell, and I met her at the base of the steps a moment later. “He wanted warrior death. I made sure not to give it to him. He woke from the queen putting him to sleep like baby, and he died right after, shitting himself. Also like baby.” Her smile was tired, but I knew she felt relieved the bastard was dead. I clasped her on the shoulder and nodded, our friendship requiring little in the way of words.

A rift opened nearby, and I spun to face it. I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.

Emma was on the ground, wailing and covered in blood. So much blood. And there was a body beside her.

Oh, fuck.

Thyra and I ran, closing the distance as fast as we could to get to her. Cursing myself, I hadn’t even realized Emmeline’s Second wasn’t with her. But I wasn’t with Rainier either. Those fools were too similar. I watched in horror as Emma pulled the body—the body of a girl—into her lap, and she screamed, an endless hoarse moan I knew would haunt my dreams. I slowed as I approached, not sure what to do. We needed Rainier. I was uncertain, not knowing if sending an impulse would endanger him, but I did it anyway, doing my best to summon my friend.

“Take her to Mairin. Now!” Her voice was a croak, and I was afraid to question her. She had to know Mairin couldn’t do anything more than what she’d done herself. I knelt down next to her and put a hand on her knee, trying to calm her before I took the body from her arms. I couldn’t even see what the girl looked like, there was so much blood. “She’s not dead, you fuck!” Emma’s voice was a shrill cry as she pushed the body toward me, and I cradled it. She was still warm, and I saw the imperceptible rise of her chest.

“Shit!”

I ran.

Soldiers cleared out of my way; two even ran ahead to hold the doors of the keep open. I started shouting for Mairin the moment I crossed the threshold, and she was running toward me by the time I reached the dining hall. Somehow, the woman paled to an even lighter shade as she pointed toward a pallet on the ground. It was filthy, and I tried not to think about why it was abandoned. After I gently lowered the girl—Elora, I reminded myself—I took a step back and looked at her.

It was hard to tell with all the blood, but she looked so much like Lucia. Still, there were minor differences, just enough to set them apart. Her hair was curly, and her skin was the color of warm sand from the northern coast. But the similarities were enough. Though her eyes were closed, I knew they belonged to her mother and aunt. The white hair caused a striking resemblance. With her eyes shut and face slack, barely alive, she looked hauntingly familiar. I backed up, unable to handle the memory colliding with reality. Headed for the door, I paused when Lavenia called out behind me.

“Where’s the blood even coming from?” I stopped to watch as the two women assessed her body. The blood was the worst under her neck, and I could see the slightest line starting below her ear. “Divine hell, her throat was slit! Emma must’ve healed it.”

I spun and strode off toward the courtyard. If Emma had healed an injury like that, gods, her own daughter’s throat, she would have been depleted, especially if she’d had to fight off Dryul too. As I came out into the courtyard, I saw Thyra through the rift, half-dragging, half-supporting Raj, while Emma kept it open. By the time I got there, the captain had collapsed on the ground next to Emma. When she didn’t make any move to assess him, still holding the rift open, I looked at her in confusion.

“Dryul and Cyran’s bodies are out there. Probably outside the thorns, I don’t know. Bring them to me,” she said, hollow and without emotion. Her eyes were bloodshot, thin lines of red filling the whites, and her face was wan. I hurried through, knowing she couldn’t have much divinity left.

When I had glanced through the rift before, I hadn’t understood what I saw. But now, on the other side of it, I realized she had somehow built an orb around her and Elora. Thorny branches rose from the ground, tall, before they curved inward. I’d never seen anything like it. I picked the spot that looked thinnest and started hacking away with my sword, Thyra joining me with her ax. We didn’t speak as we worked, and my mind went to Rainier. Where was he? Had Emma faced Dryul alone? Did that mean Rainier was with Declan? If that little shit was dead—I couldn’t bear the thought of it. My best friend was many things, but he wasn’t weak. If his divinity was tapped though—I wouldn’t let myself think about the possibility.

Finally, Thyra and I burst through the thorns, working our way around the orb in opposite directions. I hadn’t gone more than ten paces when I heard a quiet moaning. I saw nothing until I turned inward, towards the branches thrusting up from the ground. There, amongst the thorns, lay Cyran. Alive.

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