Page 110 of Thunder's Reckoning
But inside, grief and fury burned like a second fire.
The slam of the door reverberated through the chamber long after he was gone.
I stayed upright for as long as I could. My knees locked, my spine rigid, the posture of obedience he demanded. I stared at the symbols carved into the wall, at the faint soot smudging the grate, willing myself not to collapse.
Then my legs gave out.
I sank to the floor, my back sliding against the cold stone until I curled on myself. My arms wrapped tight around my stomach, not for comfort but to keep from shaking apart.
The smell of him still lingered in the air, burning my throat. I pressed my hand over my mouth, choking down bile.
Tallis.
The name hit me like a blade. My chest squeezed so hard I couldn’t breathe. Tallis’s quiet nods. The way he moved like a shadow, unseen but always present. The single night he whispered to me,Hold on a little longer, Sable.
And now he was dead. His loyalty twisted into a noose, tied by Gabrial’s words to my disobedience. My fault. My sin.
I dug my nails into my palms until pain cut through the grief. I couldn’t let it show. If Gabrial had seen me break, he would have feasted on it.
My body rocked before I realized it, small motions I couldn’t control. Silent sobs raked through me, the kind that leave no sound but wring the air from your lungs.
The grate in the floor stared back at me. I could almost feel the heat of imagined flames rising, see myself kneeling as he demanded, my memories torn out one by one.
“No,” I whispered into my hands. The word shook, weak, but it was mine. “No.”
The note’s words burned in my mind once again:Just obey and be patient.
I clung to them like rope. Help was coming. It had to be.
I forced my breath to slow. Forced my shoulders to still. Forced the trembling into something small enough to hide.
Because I had survived his salvation once.
And I would again.
But this time, I would not crawl out of his fire only to keep running.
This time, I would rise from it, and I would see him burn.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
I DIDN’T MEANto fall asleep.
Didn’t even realize my eyes were closed until I woke up chokin’ on my own breath.
One arm was still stretched across the war room table, my cheek pressed against my cut like it was a pillow. Boots planted on the floor. The only light came from the red glow of the security monitors, castin’ the room in shades of blood. The fan overhead ticked like a metronome, steady, relentless.
My hand shot to my chest. Heart hammerin’. Like I’d been runnin’ through fire. The dream had started like it always did—soft. A woman’s voice. Humming. The faint lilt of a lullaby I couldn’t name.
The smell of Lavender soap.
A hand wipin’ blood from my face, gentle. “Don’t cry, baby. Don’t make a sound.”
Then a gun. Not held. Dropped. Red smeared on the handle. Red on the floor.
Red across a chest.
Hischest.
