Duskfall (59 page)

Then Winter looked at Astrid in the distance, covered in blood. Astrid snarled at the encroaching monsters, but all Winter saw was the little girl, who cared though she tried to hide it.

Winter’s gaze shifted to Lian, dead on the golden steps. Whatever Lian had told her in the blackness did not matter. Winter chose not to believe it. This was her friend, who had remained with her. Her friend who had saved her, after all.

Winter looked down at Knot. She knelt and touched his face. She bent, kissing his cheek.

“I love you,” she whispered, and she had never meant anything more.

Everything inside of her screamed not to do what she did next. She knew it would destroy her. It would destroy her when she had only just found hope.

And then she realized a difference. Every time she took
faltira
, every time she slunk through alleyways and slipped frost while no one watched, she did it for herself. She did it because she wanted to feel the burning ice.

This was different. In this moment, Winter knew. She belonged with these people.
They
were her home. And, to protect her home, she had to give it up. Looking at the people she loved, Winter knew this was not for herself. This was for something greater.

This was for them.

Reaching into the pouch, she took a
faltira
crystal and placed it in her mouth.

Then she took another.

And another.

And another.

Winter swallowed every last
faltira
crystal. The power came more quickly than ever, surging through her, familiar and strong. Then it multiplied, searing her veins, burning her marrow. Then it multiplied again, and she gasped, her eyes rolling back into her skull. Again it multiplied, and again and again, until Winter threw her head back and screamed.

Sealing off the portal was easy. It was similar to a
tendron
, Winter realized.
Go for the link.
She did as Nash taught her, attacking the source rather than what the
tendron
-like thing held, the strange connection to their world. Just like that, the shimmering shadow blinked out of existence.

Winter reached out her
tendra
and ripped four massive pillars from either side of her away from the wall. The dome shook. The great monster, the last monster that had emerged, looked down at her hungrily. It knew.

Winter smiled. The power no longer flowed through her. It no longer burned her, no longer caused her pain nor pleasure. All of that was gone, insignificant.

Now, she
was
the power.

W
HEN THE WORLD WAS
quiet once more, Astrid looked up and saw the stars. They were no longer visible only through the sky-windows in the throne hall’s massive domed ceiling; now, she could see them everywhere.

The dome was gone. Winter had shattered it, sending half of it flying out into the night. The other half she’d somehow collapsed into the chamber, killing the remaining Outsiders. Of course, that was after Winter had beaten the giant monster to death with four of the massive pillars, crushing the beast into the marble floor again and again. She had consumed the daemons in a great whirlwind of rock. Astrid had never seen anything like it in the long years she’d walked the Sfaera.

Now Astrid made her way through the rubble and bodies as quickly as she could, carrying one limp form over her shoulder. She could only save one, and she had known all along who it would be. She didn’t have much of a choice. Winter must be dead; no one could survive taking in that much power. Lian was already gone. Hardly a choice at all, really.

Astrid clenched and unclenched her jaw as she climbed the massive mountain of debris, trying to get up and over the palace wall. She cursed herself every step of the way.

If only she had gotten there sooner, things might have been different. If that bitch of a priestess had let her go earlier, had allowed her more time to heal from the torture. Even thinking about the previous night filled Astrid with horror. Astrid had wasted all of the daylight hours waiting for the nightsbane to leave her body and regaining her strength.

If only she had gotten to Lian before he died.

Instead, Astrid had failed. Now she was picking up the pieces.

Knot stirred over her shoulder.

Astrid stopped immediately. She set him down, looking into his eyes.

“You there, nomad?” she whispered. He coughed, his eyes clouded. She let out a long breath.

Knot’s eyes flickered. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Astrid felt a tremor in her chest. She had to be honest with him. If she wasn’t, he would never forgive her. Perhaps he never would, anyway, but she had to try.

“She’s gone,” Astrid said. “I’m sorry, Knot. She’s gone.”

Knot shook his head, unintelligible rasps escaping his throat.

“I am sorry,” Astrid said, wishing she knew how to comfort him. He pushed her away, trying to rise to his feet. “Wait,” Astrid said. “You’re not strong enough.”

Then, at the base of the huge mountain of rubble, Astrid heard voices. She put her finger to her lips. She didn’t know if Knot could hear the soldiers below, but he had to be silent for both their sakes.

Knot had enough sense to stop struggling, and lay still.

Astrid poked her head up over the rubble. At least a score of soldiers rummaged below, and Astrid thought she could see other shapes moving towards them in the distance.

“Canta rising,” one of them said. “The entire dome…”

“You said there were others,” another said. “Where are they?”

“Saw them going up that way.”

A few of the soldiers moved towards the rubble.

“We need to leave,” Astrid whispered. “They’re going to find us.”

Knot looked at her for a moment. Then, he shook his head. “Winter,” he mouthed.

“No,” Astrid said. “She’s gone, Knot. We need to go. It’s what she would have wanted.”

His face hardened, and he shook his head again.

Knot’s cold eyes and set jaw left her no choice. She punched him hard in the head, and he collapsed back into the rubble.

“Let’s go,” she whispered to him, lifting him back up on her shoulder. “We don’t have much time.”

By the time she reached the crest of the massive pile of debris, the soldiers below had spotted her. They shouted, and a crossbow bolt whizzed by her ear. Astrid swore.

Below her was the palace wall, flush with a low cliff that jutted over the sea.

Astrid squinted. A small fishing boat, out either very early or very late, was not far from the cliff. Perhaps half a mile. The water would be cold. She did not know whether Knot would survive.

But if she did not jump, neither of them would.

Astrid cursed. She hated swimming.

Another bolt whipped past her. Then she leapt.

* * *

The voice that spoke was deep, like a rush of fire wreathed in darkness.

“Awake, Daval.”

Daval Amok, one of the High Lords of Izet, sat up in bed. He had never heard the voice before, but the Tokal-Ceno had described it to him. Daval had dreamt of it, hoped for it, all the long days of his life.

Daval’s bones creaked as he twisted, placing his feet on the warm hardwood floor. Servants kept him warm throughout the night; they knew how irritable Daval became when he had to walk around in the morning on cold floors. There was no warming his feet if they weren’t warm in the morning. And if there was one thing that Daval despised, it was cold feet.

Daval hesitated. He had heard a voice, had he not? Perhaps he had only dreamt it.

“I am real, Daval. As real as the stars. I require your assistance.”

A wave of mindless fear swept through Daval. Just as the Tokal had described it, the fear was insanity and death rolled together. Daval trembled from excitement as much as terror.

“My life for you, my Lord,” Daval whispered. His chamber was dark; too dark to see anything.

Was the Master here with him? Was Azael in Daval’s own bedchamber?

“The Tokal is dead. He accomplished the work I set for him, and his sacrifice will not be forgotten. But I require a new mouthpiece, Daval. You were the Tokal’s second. Now, you shall be mine.”

Daval blinked. “My Lord, I… I am honored.” Daval hesitated. Could it be? “The Tokal was successful, my Lord? Do you mean…” Daval fumbled for the candle and tinderbox next to his bed. His hands found the box, the flint and steel, and he struck the two together. Daval felt the grind of them in his hands, felt the heat of the sparks as they leapt from the flint.

He felt it, but he saw nothing. There was only darkness.

“Yes, Daval. After thousands of years, the Ritual has been completed. The Tokal-Ceno ushered in a new Age. The Rising has begun.”

Daval tried the flint and steel once more, heart racing. Again, there was only darkness, but that did not matter. A chuckle escaped his lips. Daval was living through the Rising. He would be on the Sfaera when the Nine took mortal form. He would stand witness.

“That is… that is wonderful news, my Lord,” Daval said, setting down the flint and steel. He did not need such things. Azael would provide. Instead he put his hand on the dark green robe he kept near his bed at all times. Daval smiled, despite the fear.

“Indeed it is. Are you ready to begin, Daval?”

“Begin what, my Lord?”

“Your transformation.”

Daval nodded slowly. “If you seek to create, let yourself first know destruction,” he quoted.

And then, in the darkness, Daval Amok, High Lord of Izet, screamed.

* * *

Cinzia and Jane stood on the rooftop of the inn, looking at the palace as the sun rose over the imperial dome.

Or, at least, what remained of it.

The massive dome was gone; during the night, Cinzia and Jane had awoken to a thunderous crash, and ran up to the roof. They did not know what had happened, but they both suspected that Knot, Winter, and Astrid had been a part of it.

And, of course, the Voice from the night before.

“The sun rises, but dusk falls,” Jane said. “The Rising has begun.”

“It is not the Rising we were hoping for,” Cinzia said.

“No. Nine Daemons are no substitute for the Goddess. But we must do what we can. There is still hope.”

Cinzia nodded. She was only sure of two things, now. The first was that Canta was real, that the Goddess loved her and had a plan. That much was well and good. But the second was that something else was out there, too. The Nine Daemons. Other things. Cinzia still did not know whether she believed in Jane’s visions. But she did believe they had work to do. Someone had to protect the Sfaera from what was coming.

It might as well be them.

Cinzia hefted her pack. They had gathered all their belongings last night, and rested as much as they could. They had placed Kovac… Kovac’s body… covered, underneath the bed. Hopefully they would be long gone before he was found.

Cinzia held back tears. That horror still seemed distant. She could not believe her Goddessguard was dead. But the time for mourning would come.

“It feels as if nothing will ever be the same,” Cinzia said.

“Nothing ever will be,” Jane said. “The world will be different now. We will watch it change, for better or for worse.”

Cinzia was not sure what that meant, but she had no energy left to ask.

“Are you ready?” Jane asked. Cinzia felt her sister’s hand on her arm.

Cinzia took a deep breath. “I am ready,” she said.

* * *

Deep in the dungeons of the imperial palace in Izet, Enri Crawn slipped a bowl of water through a slot at the bottom of a large, iron-enforced door.

He didn’t know why this new prisoner had been brought down to him, but he didn’t much care. It wasn’t his job to ask questions.

There were more interesting things going on, anyway. Supposedly, the imperial dome of the throne hall had been completely destroyed. Enri didn’t know what kind of force could cause a disaster of that kind. Some people said it was faulty building work, in which case Enri didn’t envy those involved. Anyone who had renovated, painted, or even cleaned the throne hall in the past decade would probably be dead, soon enough. Or down here, keeping him company. Perhaps that was why the girl was here, although he doubted a tiellan could have had anything to do with the destruction. Why the girl hadn’t been killed on sight was beyond him.

Word had spread that the emperor and the Tokal-Ceno were in the throne hall when the dome collapsed. Some said they were both dead, others that they were in hiding; and others still said the collapse was the work of Khalic assassins. Enri didn’t know the truth of that, but he did know that the Ceno seemed to have taken charge.

Standing on tiptoes, Enri peered into the cell. The occupant was still there, unmoving. As far from any occupied cell as possible. Enri didn’t ask questions, of course, but he did find that order odd.

Enri peeked through the bars at the young tiellan girl inside. She didn’t seem conscious. For all Enri knew, she was dead.

Suddenly, the girl’s eyes snapped open. She stared at Enri, and Enri gasped, backing away.

He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily. What in the Nine Daemons was wrong with this girl? She’d scared him half to death.

Slowly, Enri rose on his tiptoes once more, peeking into the cell. The girl seemed to be sleeping again, her eyes closed.

Enri shivered. A strange girl, that one. No wonder they’d driven the tiellans out ages ago. They were an odd lot, and just unnatural-looking. Enri marveled at the girl’s peculiar features—elongated ears, black hair, black eyes, dark as midnight. Enri was of half a mind to ask his wife if she had heard of such a thing; he had never seen black eyes before.

But he knew he wouldn’t. He would go home, eat the burnt dinner she’d made for him, put his feet up, and smoke a pipe. That’s what he always did.

After all, Enri never asked questions.

F
IRST OFF, THANKS TO
my agent, Sam Morgan, for not laughing at me when I completely botched my first pitch to him. Somehow he saw through my uncannily awkward social skills and a bumbling, all-but-incoherent description of
Duskfall
, and decided to take a chance. He hasn’t stopped fighting for me since, and his storytelling acumen (see what I did there?) has helped me make this a much better novel. Thanks as well to Joshua Bilmes, Krystyna Lopez, and the whole JABberwocky team for their input, praise, criticism, and of course top-notch representation. You folks do incredible things.