Prologue #2
I spot her ear poking out through that mess of filthy, soot-stained curls, my eyes widening at the streak of fine, incandescent thorns lining the shell ...
Aravyn had a second child.
The weight in my pocket grows heavy, forcing my knees to the dirt.
S-save her. P-please.
I drag my hand down my face.
Those words are just as hungry as my curiosity. This tiny Aeshlian ... she’s fossilizing her light, using it as a defense mechanism.
An impossibility.
Is she a crossbreed? Did Aravyn seek warmth in someone else’s bed?
I scour the clearing of wide-eyed corpses for any witnesses. Only the shadows watch, collecting along the tree line that circles the devastation like a noose.
Irilak. Hundreds of them. Some bigger than the Vruk I just slayed, others less than half that size.
The scent of spilled blood must have drawn them in. It’s been a while since I’ve seen so many gather in one spot.
I scan each writhing lump of black. Though I can’t see their faces, their combined attention bores into me, no doubt waiting for the flames to ease so they can dart forward and feast.
They can’t have her.
I sit on my heels, prepared to wait forever for her to drop the impenetrable barrier. I may not know this child, but it took years for her mother to agree to move into this safe house, and now she’s dead.
This child deserves better.
Her mother deserved better.
I swallow my guilt and wait.
Hours pass, and I avoid looking at the willow tree, hating that it’s the only tombstone Aravyn will have. That her body will be a feast for the wreath of hungry shadows just as soon as they get the opportunity to pounce.
The sky is burnt from the rising sun by the time the child’s face smooths out, and her lashes sweep up.
I go very, very still.
Her wide eyes are aglitter with thousands of facets, as if she’s staring out from a sky full of stars that hatched in her soul.
Her chin wobbles.
Patches of that crystal dome begin to melt, dripping to the ground as the overwhelming scent of her anguish strikes the back of my throat like a blade.
She doesn’t move—just continues to sit there, tucked in a ball, looking at me with destitute eyes.
Studying me.
The wind howls and her teeth chatter.
I grind my molars.
She’s going to fucking freeze if I don’t get her wrapped up soon, but I refuse to snatch her from the soil. I need her trust.
Her permission.
“I promise I won’t hurt you,” I say, keeping my bold voice low, fearful of scaring her back into that shell where I can’t help her.
She blinks once ... twice ... then finally unravels, bits of mud and ash falling off her as she pushes to her feet and takes an unsteady step toward me, then buckles.
I catch her before she hits the ground, and even through layers of leather and wool, I can feel how cold and fragile she is.
I pull her close and stand. “I’ll keep you safe. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Charging toward Eyzar, I sweep my cloak around her back to shield her from the wind and the sight of so much death; the motion clearing a patch of thick mud from her right shoulder.
My arm stills. Stride stills.
The blood in my fucking veins stills.
Strange markings tarnish her exposed skin, like vines crept across it and left an inky stamp ...
Something inside me blackens and curls as words canter through my thoughts—words that were chipped into stone by a vile, grisly hand years ago.
Words that settle in my stomach like a rock.
Light will bloom from sky and soil,
Skin tarnished by the brand of death …
I almost touch the birthmark cresting the blade of her trembling shoulder, then snatch my hand back and curse.
I promised I wouldn’t hurt her.
I lied.
None of this made sense before, and now it makes too much fucking sense.
No wonder Aravyn kept her hidden. No wonder the fucking Shulák were here. No wonder this necklace is so heavy in my pocket ...
But she was wrong to pull such a pledge from me. Her hope was blind, set on the shoulders of the wrong person.
The child tips her head and tries to speak, but all that comes out is a rasp.
Nausea spikes up my throat.
She saved herself from three ferocious Vruks who tore her life to shreds, only to crawl into the arms of a fiercer threat.
There will be no glory in this death. No shade of honor. Only the blood of a frightened child on my hands.
Smother her while she sleeps or catch the lethal grace.
She looks up at me, trying to speak through a throat that’s been scraped raw.
“It’s okay,” I lie, cupping the back of her head and easing her close. Her cheek settles on my chest again; a comfort that can only be temporary.
Make it quick.
I press my fingertips between her ribs, feeling the beat of her galloping target. That noose of shadows thickens, like the Irilak are anticipating the warm meal to garnish their banquet.
Fuck.
My neck buckles, face dropping into her soot-stained hair. Floral spice whips up and snatches me, dragging my nose deeper until my mouth is pressed against a fresh wound sliced into her scalp.
Liquid warms my lips, and I jerk back, but carnal instinct has my tongue darting out ...
The taste of her blood is a bolt to my brain.
My heart.
My fucking soul.
My legs give way, and I fall to my knees, pulling sharp slices of air through a constricting throat. Every muscle in my body hardens, veins pushing to the surface, my very matter trying to take up more space in the world that suddenly seems too small. Too cruel.
Too fucking dangerous.
I tip my head, seeking the fading stars through twisted ropes of smoke, teeth bared as if I could leap up and chew the prickles of light until their luster no longer sits in the sky. “ You bastards … ”
I snarl, grip tightening.
No.
Pushing to my feet, I make for my horse in long, determined strides. I climb atop the saddle, bundle the child in my lap, and kick the beast forward—scattering the noose of shadows and my dwindling self-respect in the same ugly motion.
“Go fuck yourselves,” I mutter, severing my sight of the stars by charging beneath the ancient canopy of trees.
The child will not die tonight, but not for the right reasons ...
This act is purely selfish.