Page 216 of The Kingdom's Reckoning
However, the label didn’t sit right on his tongue. Not because she was not worthy enough to be a god, nor because she was less than one, less than the immortals who had granted her the ability she possessed. But because it simply wasn’t enough. It didn’t encapsulate everything she was and everything she could do.
Kalisandre was more than a warrior, more than a queen, more than a goddess. She was beyond explanations and labels. She was a woman who had finally found herself, who finally trusted herself.
And Graeson, somehow, by the grace of the Fates, was her soul bond, and he had never felt prouder to be anything else.
They both had monstrous parts and pasts that writhed in the shadows of their minds. He knew how nearly impossible it could be to accept that darkness, to conquer it. But Kallie had. She had accepted her darkness. She hadn’t let it consume her and bring her to her knees. Instead, she had risen above it.
The bull king had raised Kalisandre to be a monster, to manipulate, seduce, and kill for power. For so long, Kalisandre had thought that she was full of darkness, that she only brought destruction upon those she cared about. But as the clang of metal came to a halt, Graeson realized the truth: she was the kingdom’s salvation.
Chapter 93
MYRA
Myra satwith her head in her hands, her body heavy with exhaustion. Her hands had only recently stopped shaking after sitting by the fire. But the moment someone began cooking, a knot of nausea twisted in her stomach. How could anyone eat when there was a battle going on?
On shaky legs, she stood. When she teetered, Phaia grabbed her by the elbow.
"Shouldn’t you be resting?" Phaia asked, concern tugging her mouth into a frown. "The healer said?—"
"I’m fine." Myra shook off Phaia’s hand. She was better than those suffering grave injuries from the ongoing battle. Certainly better than Dani, who still hadn’t woken up.
Yet Myra would be felled by the smell of roasting meat? Ridiculous.
She made it only two steps before a disturbance erupted at the edge of the camp. A horde of people gathered, their raised voices a loud chorus as mangled cries pierced the air.
"What’s going on?" she asked, trying to see over the crowd. When she leaned forward on her toes, her legs shook and shenearly collapsed. Phaia was at her side in an instant, holding her steady.
"I don’t know. I—" Phaia swallowed, her trepidation spilling into Myra.
She glanced at Dani’s tent. The Pontian healer was still inside, and most of the soldiers guarding the tent had abandoned it. If it wasn’t Dani, then who?—
The crowd parted, and Graeson emerged, shirtless and bruised. The moment Myra’s attention dropped to his arms, she lurched forward on trembling legs. Draped across his arms was Kallie, her arm hanging limp over his.
Phaia hobbled alongside Myra, wrapping her arm around Myra’s waist. They hurried over to the other side of the camp, and Myra did her best to tamp down her fears. Soldiers and strangers ran across their path, but Myra kept her gaze on Kallie, afraid that if she looked away, she would lose her—if she hadn’t already.
As those who stayed back helped the injured over to the provisional infirmary, Myra locked eyes with Graeson. And though his expression was dreary from the battle, he gave her a small nod in reassurance.
Myra collapsed against Phaia, clinging to her shirt as if it were a lifeline.
"She’s alive," Myra croaked.
"How do you know? Are you sure?" Phaia asked, tightening her hold on her.
Kallie shifted in Graeson’s arms then. She lifted her arm, tucking it against his chest. Both women sighed in relief.
When they reached Graeson, he said, "She’s exhausted and drained, but she will be fine."
"And the war?" Sylvia asked, meeting them.
"It’s over."
"Did we…is everyone…" Myra swallowed her question, afraid to know the answer.
Graeson exhaled a heavy sigh. "We will not know the damage until it is done. Terin and Moris are relaying the news now."
"What news?" Sylvia asked.
Overhearing, the people around them halted, the camp going quiet.
