“Good night, Sol.”
The bed creaks as I rotate to my side. “Good night.”
I drift to sleep with the soft mattress beneath me, the flickering of the nearby torch, and the man sitting on the other side of the tent.
ChapterSeventeen
Asky thick with clouds guides us closer and closer to Tarra. Praxis talks about seeing his wife and baby again. Luc teases him. Though, I wonder if he doesn’t think about the wife he buried, or even Kassandra. The gods have been unnaturally cruel to Luc.
I exhale when my back brushes against Hector’s chest. Last night was the first time I slept well in days. He looks like he slept well too. The dark shadows have disappeared. The lines near his mouth have softened. He even smiled this morning when he was getting dressed.
Hector left my hands unbound, but he made sure to tie threads of bloodstone around my wrist. I glance down at it and frown. My fingers itch to rip it free, but I don’t. Without it, I wouldn’t be able to heal.
The sky darkens and turns fiery red, casting an ominous glow over everything. My skin prickles with goosebumps, and my heart races as alarm floods through me. It’s as if the air has taken on a life of its own and is screaming out warnings I cannot hear.
“It’s Tarra,” Luc says as he encourages his horse to a gallop.
Hector and the rest of the Bloodstone follow his lead. Faster and faster, Hector guides his gelding as the wind rips at my clothes, my hair, my skin.
Sunlight breaks through the trees as we round the last bend, and Hector pulls up hard on Hale’s reins.
Ruin lies before us. Every house. Every building. Every shop. Angry, horrifying flames devour the structures, destroying what once was. All those hopes. Those dreams. The lives the Bloodstone people built here.
Bile rises in my throat at the sight of the bodies lying strewn across the ground, their clothes torn and bloody, their eyes vacant.
Olah, have mercy!
It appears the Malachite attackers didn’t spare a single person. They plunged a flag with their coat of arms in each body—leaving behind proof of their treachery.
Praxis leaps from his horse and runs down the street toward a smoldering cottage. His shouts pierce the air, sending an icy shiver down my back. Near the front door, he drops to his knees and clutches his dead wife and child to his body.
Horror floods Everly’s eyes as she shifts to dismount but halts when Cenric raises his hand.
“No. Stay here.” He slips from his horse to join his brother.
Her mouth tightens, but she listens to him.
I let out a shuddering breath and turn away—unable to watch Praxis—unable to face the grief churning inside me.
Olah, help us.
Please help us.
Unspeakable sorrow emanates from Hector and glints in his eyesas he turns to Hero and talks in a raw voice. “Make it rain.”
Emotions smolder behind Hero’s gaze. Anger. Grief. Sadness. They boil from him as he dismounts his horse, spreads his arms wide, and speaks in the ancient dialect of his people.
As the words fall from his mouth, the sky opens and pours rain over us—fat drops that extinguish every fire.
Hector addresses his commanders, who have gathered on their horses around him. “I want Leah, Aston, and Gray to check every cottage. Every possible hiding place. Luc, you’re with me.”
Hector gently squeezes my hip and orders into my ear. “Stay here with Hero.”
A sob lodges deep in my throat as I manage a nod. A sob for Praxis. For the people slaughtered here.
Hector and Luc slip from their horses’ backs and disappear around the back of a burned building.
I lean forward, clutching at Hale’s saddle, hating the cruelty of this world and people like the Malachites who did this. They didn’t have to murder these Bloodstone people. Especially the children.
