“I’ll hurry,” I promised, squeezing Rada’s hand before forcing myself to walk away.
Alma had turned back toward us in concern, and I reassured her with a pat on her flank. Time slowed to a crawl until I had reached the farm and herded the araks inside the barn. As I had hoped, Nacin was already there, snorting and trembling at the entrance. I swiftly secured the animals and dashed back to the house. Thankfully, Rada had left the door to her guest room unlocked after my snooping the other day. I threw the dagger back in the chest and grabbed Rada’s spear from the kitchen where she had left it earlier. It was heavy in my hands as I braved the rain to return to her side.
To my relief, she and Itzi were exactly where I had left them. The arak had calmed, her breaths slow and labored. Rada cradled Itzi’s massive head against her own much smaller form as the soft rain drizzled down on them both. Her red-rimmed eyes met mine, the distress on her face growing as she saw the weapon in my hands. She remained silent, continuing to caress the wounded animal.
“The rest of the herd is safely in the barn,” I said, crouching beside her. When I received no response, I gestured toward Itzi. “Perhaps it would be best if you waited for me on the path leading to the farm.”
To my astonishment, Rada got up at once after pressing her face against Itzi’s fur for a moment and whispering something in her ear, tired resignation in her every movement.
The old Baradaz would have argued with me, would have come up with some improbable plan to save the arak. That she did not told me—more than anything else since I had come to her farm—that Rada had not gone through this war unscathed. She had lost someof her stubborn will and her steadfast belief that good would always triumph in the end.
She was harder, less idealistic than I remembered. Something within her had broken. I fearedIhad broken it. May I be damned to the darkest reaches of the Abyss.
I stroked Itzi’s flank one last time, the arak’s brown eyes disconcertingly trusting. “Farewell, little troublemaker.”
My aim was true. It was over in an instant, one last shudder going through the massive body.
The wet slide of the spear into flesh, the smell of fresh blood—these were inconsequential compared to the strangled sob that rang out behind me. A sound so full of utter desolation, it was painful to hear. Rada had not listened to my advice. Of course not.
CHAPTER
33
Noctis
Rada remained silent as we trudged back to the farm, lost in her thoughts. The storm had finally abated, but its remnants lingered. Gloomy, dim light seeped through the low-hanging clouds, casting an eerie pall over the courtyard. Mud and broken branches littered the ground, a few shingles had come loose from the roof, and the henhouse was missing the two bushes by its entrance, but overall, we had been lucky. Nothing major had been destroyed. Still, the cleanup would be daunting.
“We need to take care of the body,” Rada commented. “It’s too close to the farm. With those Serai still lurking about, it will only lure predators to us.”
Her words snapped me from my reverie. After all these ages, she still had the power to surprise me. I expected her to be pale and drawn, shaken by what had transpired. But her striking face showed no hint of turmoil, only a steely resolve.
I cleared my throat, unable to meet her eyes. “I can do that. You stay here at the farm.”
“No. I will accompany you,” Rada replied immediately, her determined tone quelling any well-intentioned protest I might have uttered. “I will get the Fire stone and the rest of our weapons. The storm might have driven some predators out of their dens. We need to be careful.”
With a resigned sigh, I moved toward the barn to get the rest of the supplies we would need. It was her choice to make. I had long since learned never to underestimate her strength.
Alma stretched her head out of her stall, emitting a mournful groan in greeting. Her eyes drifted to the four vacant stalls adjacent to hers as I made my way to the storage room. The araks’ matriarch grieved our losses as deeply as her mistress.
“You did the best you could,” I murmured, pausing at her stall to stroke the dark fur above her curved horns. “Sometimes that’s all we can do.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Lyrknows it’s more than I’ve ever accomplished.”
After packing the supplies—a saw, a tarp, and a stack of dry firewood—I stepped back into the courtyard. Rada was already waiting for me in front of the house. Without a word, she handed me my scabbard and sword, gripping her spear tightly. When we could delay no longer, we finally set off on the treacherous path through the mud.
“Do you think the storm also hit the village?” Rada asked after a while, deftly sidestepping an upended tree, her brow furrowed with concern.
“I hope not. It seemed concentrated on this area,” I replied, my voice roughened by guilt. I knew I should have told her about the ominous presence I had sensed in the storm, but I hesitated. She had said it herself: my presence threatened everything she held dear. How would she react if she knew her araks had likely perished because my former servants still hunted me? That, once again, it was all my fault?
As we trudged through the aftermath, I had time to ponder the nature of the Chaos storm. While it had latched onto me, it had raged over the hills even before Rada and I arrived. It was as if it had been unleashed with no aim or control. A means to gauge our strength, to weaken us, I realized as my mind raced, connecting all the worrying signs. The attack of the Chaoswolves. The spoiled grain.
Was someone toying with us? Ensuring we would be defenseless when they finally decided to strike?
Icy dread trickled down my spine. One of my servants was especially fond of that tactic, having employed it for countless years in my service to break even the most formidable resistance. Stars, if Deira was nearby…
My gaze flitted to Rada. I had to protect her, whatever the cost.
I was grateful for her presence, though, as we reached the dead arak. Itzi seemed as big as a small mountain, and the prospect of having to cut her up enough to burn her was overwhelming. My little queen truly proved her mettle, resolutely hauling away the pieces I severed with the saw on the tarp, amassing them on a quickly assembled pyre of branches and the firewood we had carried with us.
This was gruesome work. The stink of blood and death hung heavy in the air, both of us covered in gore before long. It wasn’t until we got to the head, the saw clumsily hacking through the thick neck and my harsh curses burning the air as blood splashed across my face, that Rada reached her breaking point. She hastened a few steps to the side and bent over, hands on her knees, dry heaving.
