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Wraiths.
They creep among shadows impossibly long under the rising sun. Wearing sleek black clothing and large hoods, their features stay hidden. Any patch of skin that might get exposed—hands, wrists, faces—is wrapped with loose strips of black fabric. The air itself brims with tendrils of darkness as they encircle the cemetery, cutting off any route of escape.
“Gyro, Sahyr, bring me the girl,” Rev orders.
One has a scar splitting his face in two, the other has a burn mark above his ear, and both sport a mean look, making anyone who might face them think twice before fighting them. Muscles bunching, hands gripping the swords on their hips, they move in stark synchronicity.
“What are you going to do to her?” Damen asks, baring their passage.
Two Wraiths appear at his side. One second, they were standing at the edge of the ceremonial ground, the next, the air seemed to distort itself to grant them passage. A trail like a shroud of blackness lingers no more than a moment along the path they’ve taken.
“Don’t entangle yourself in matters that might inconvenience you and your temple, priest,” Rev says before the Wraiths can reach for Damen.
“You don’t scare me, for I carry the will of Evanae. The warriors blessed by her twin’s touch won’t stand in my righteous path.”
“Very well,” Rev says and steps closer to Damen until their faces are but inches apart. “Dead or not, she has to pay for her transgressions. She will be taken to the palace and put into the ground. She has made her choices and now will never enjoy the eternal rest.”
“No.”
“No?” Amusement flares in Rev’s eyes, but Damen straightens his back until his gaze is even with the captain’s. “Your order is to leave with one rebel, am I right?”
“You are, Priest.”
“Better to have one who’s still alive.”
Numair grabs Damen’s arm, but the priest disentangles himself with a practiced move of a trained soldier.
“What are you doing?” Numair growls.
“What I was always meant to do.” Tearing the scarf from his shoulders, Damen reveals the tattoo of the rising sun on the back of his neck. “Be it in life or death, I’m protecting my people.”
Rev shakes his head as a wicked smile grows on his lips. “Your kind confuses bravery with stupidity.” With a swift punch, the priest’s head is knocked to one side, sending splatters of blood on the sand. Rev leans next to the Priest, but his words carry far enough for me to hear them. “I’ll enjoy speaking to you where Evanae’s light won’t protect you.”
I can’t stop the shudder breaking over my skin, as I watch Sahyr and Gyro lock Damen’s arms behind his back, dragging him out of the cemetery.
Rev picks up the still-blazing torch and sends it flying onto Lara’s body, awaiting her eternal rest. The pyre roars to life, climbing higher, reaching for the skies it will never attain.
“I accept this trade. For now. The next time I come, it will be for the one they call The King of Rebels, and his prisoner, The Lost Jewel of the Empire of Usmad.”
I watch him leave from over Valdus’s shoulder. The Wraiths linger for a moment before joining the march, leaving trails of darkness behind their cloaks. The last of them stops and glances over his shoulder at our sad reunion, and I gasp.
He could cover his face with as many layers of clothing and shadows, but I would have recognized those eyes anywhere.
“Bonar,” I mutter.
Valdus tracks my gaze to the hooded figure, but Bonar has already turned away, merging with the rest of Rev’s procession.
A growl of pain pierces the silence hanging over us, and I know that somewhere along the way Damen has started struggling, and Rev repaid him in the only way he deemed acceptable.
The void of grief inside my chest bursts only to let in gnawing guilt. I’ve caused all of this. If only I never came to this town… Valdus wouldn’t be hunted by a man stronger than any force of nature. Damen would still be a priest and not a prisoner. Lara—my sweet, giggling friend and confidant—would still be alive.
I untangle myself from Valdus’s hold and dash away. Someone cries my name, but I only let it chase me deeper into the desert. I don’t know where I’m going until my gaze lands on a caravan peeking over a ridge of stones. I climb inside, shutting the door behind me. The lock slides in place just as Valdus appears next to the door. He calls my name, bangs on the door, begs me to come back outside, but I fumble with gears and tumblers, searching for a way to start the engine. Metal creaking and squeaking under Valdus’s binding makes me thump on the wheel, sending a wave of energy with it.
The metal beast rumbles to life and lurches forward. There’s no sheltered destination or safe harbor in mind. Away from hearing my name as a tender caress on Valdus’s lips. From all the tragedy and pain. From the lives I’ll keep on ruining just by my presence alone.
Just away.
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