Maz’s gaze filled with dread, but Sigrid clenched her jaw and fixed her eye patch. “Let’s start in the square then.”
“I’ll help you look,” I said quietly.
The warriors still standing were already picking through the fallen on the beach. Jek and Vorkahn carried bodies a safe distance from the fires. And slit the throats of any Wolves still twitching.
I turned from the grisly scene, memories of an even worse massacre pecking at my mind like crows.
There had been so much noise at first in that Pravaran field. The thundering hoofbeats of a thousand war horses. The metallic clanging of the soldiers’ armor and weapons. The screams of the rebels—farmers and fishers, really—as Dracles’s men cut them down by the hundreds.
But the silence afterward had been worse. The stacks of silent bodies. No voices left to mourn the dead because they were among them.
And instead of joining their number, I was cast into a pit of darkness with the worst parts of myself for company.
But here, the cries had already begun. I steeled myself as I followed Maz and Sigrid back into the smoldering village.
A few buildings still stood, scorched but strong. Others had collapsed into piles of embers—like the one that had cut me off from Kiera. I rubbed my chest. The fear that had filled me, knowing I’d never reach her in time, had frozen me in place.
I heard her voice. Renwell all but confirmed it. She’s still alive. She has to be.
But the village—like its people—would continue to die through the night. Such was the aftermath of battle.
Our footsteps quickened as we reached the square. My throat tightened at the carnage that filled it.
Maz gave a hoarse shout and sprinted toward Yarina, who was curled over a body on the ground.
My heart jerked, and I stumbled. My vision darkened and narrowed.
Fucking Four, not Kiera. Please, not Kiera.
But she was with Yarina last. Which meant she was . . . she was . . .
A thousand memories raced through my mind. Kiera unchaining me, then stealing the key from me. Kiera fighting off a Shadow-Wolf for Ruru. Kiera eating biscuits atThe Weary Traveler.Kiera laughing. Playing Death and Four. Bathing. Dancing like a golden goddess. Kissing me. Wrapping around me in the woods and whispering such beautiful things I forgot every bit of darkness that’d haunted me my whole life.
My vision blurred. A storm raged in my ears.
It’s not time. We weren’t finished yet. I need?—
A single whisper calmed the storm. “Aiden?”
I twisted around to see Kiera standing in a charred doorway, clutching an armful of bottles. Blood and soot streaked her clothes and skin, but she was still here.
“You’re alive,” she breathed. Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it, as if to hide it.
Without a word, I strode over to her and swept her up in my arms, bottles and all. I buried my face in her smoky hair. Her body trembled against mine. She didn’t let go of the bottles, but she tucked her face into my neck with a sigh I probably wasn’t meant to hear.
We stayed like that for a few moments. Just a few breaths of peace were all we could have.
She pressed out of my arms and stepped back. Her amber eyes were lined with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. Even though her cheeks were streaked with their trails.
I frowned and gently cupped her cheek where a wicked cut dripped blood.
She stepped further out of reach. Pain rippled through my chest, but I let her go.
“Davka’s dead,” she said in a gritty voice, like charred wood scraping over stone.
I grimaced and glanced to where Maz was huddled with his sisters, weeping.
I bowed my head.May the gods find your soul, Davka.
