A few grunted responses came from the table.
And so did a pang in Arawn’s heart.
Ezer.
They’d all voted weeks ago, when she was in runed stasis, that she would become its Minder.
And now it was expected, as Kinlear had hoped fromthe beginning, that Ezer would be the one to fly Six across the Expanse. And Kinlear along with her.
He wasn’t surprised that his brother wanted to do it. He wasn’t surprised his father had allowed it, either, because Kinlear was expendable. And ever since Soraya...
Kinlear had given hiseverythingtowards something that wasn’t sarcasm or drinking. More than he had ever done, even with Eagleminding. Perhaps it was because he knew he would die soon, for when his illness flared, it took longer for him to recover than it used to. Whatever the reason was, his brother’s attention was locked in on making a difference in the war.
...even though there was a real chance his plan didn’t work.
And Ezer would die.
Arawn blew out a breath, trying his best to hide the squirming feeling in his veins. The chair shifted beneath his weight, the ancient wood groaning as if it could give words to its impatience when Arawn could not.
A Crown Prince would never dare complain. Especially not in the presence of his father.
He set his attention on the enormous wall of windows instead, as a flash of golden wings soared past.
Not the Descent, for that happened much higher up in the Citadel, and took place at the dying of the light. It was still several hours away. No, this was a regular scout keeping watch over the body collectors as they headed out the Snow Gates to scoop up the dead.
Always, more dead.
It was an effort not to think of Soraya on that final day...her legs broken, her blood an oily black.
At first...he’d been in mourning for her.
He’d felt the loss of her love.
But these days, when he did...furytook its place. In the end, Soraya was a betrayer. And now he battled with feelings ofhatredevery bit as much as he battled the loss of what once was.
The Sacred should have trained them as children, on how to deal with death. Because now that he was older, now that he’d experiencedit... it was the kind of opponent he wasn’t sure he’d ever compete with.
He wasn’t even sure it was possible, to face it and win.
So, he’d spent the last many months trying not to hate Soraya... but a part of him, admittedly, did. His eagle was dead. His magic was gone.
And it was all because of her.
No,Arawn’s conscience laughed.The fault is yours, and the hatred should be directed at the man in the mirror.
And then the wiser, less heated part of himself, added,there is no hatred for a Sacred.
You’re failing again, Arawn Laroux.
His head felt like it was going to explode.
From Soraya to Ezer to the emotions that bounced between the two...
He almost wished he could be in a runic sleep like Kinlear, too. At least then, he would have no coherent thought.
Instead, he did what a healer in the south taught him, on his recruiting journeys.
He closed his eyes and imagined a castle made of white stone. Powerful and runed at every corner...and he shoved every image he’d ever had of Soraya inside...the good and the bad...and slammed the gates shut.
