Did our people appreciate her enough?
I turn away from them, break the chains holding the man to his death seat, and hold him in my arms.
Mrath let this happen.
The suffering sings in the air of this bedchamber. I care not if the filth left over from his human vessel gets on my clothes. Let the world know that this treatment of my wife’s people ends today.
Thorne says nothing as we move down the house. He disables every ward, and we exit through the front door, which slams behind me.
My chest is rising and falling as my blood boils. The power I keep a tight hold on stirs in my veins, overheating my flesh and calling to the channels of molten heat deep below.
When Niht spots us, he looks utterly confused as to whereThorne came from, and why Ulla is crying. Thankfully, after one shake of my head, he is silent.
“Ra'Salore!” I bellow. “Dig a hole.”
The stone bender obeys immediately.
He kneels down, legs crossed beneath him, eyes closed and hands on his knees. The ground before us lifts and starts to rearrange itself. I listen to the sound of the moving dirt.
When the grave is ready, I kneel down.
Ulla starts to sing, her voice laced with grief.
I close the man’s eyes, and say, “Far away, there is a place where there is no slavery or death. Go now, and tell the gods of what a wretched thing it is to live.”
Stepping back, I raise my hands, feeling the dirt thread through my fingers as I weave him a shroud of earth and stone. I only wish to protect his body from further defilement.
The pounding under my skin doesn’t subside. So I call on more power, reaching deeper and deeper to places that the forest doesn’t know of, in the molten core of the earth. I sit with the angry heat for a moment, and then with a tortured growl, I pull it all up. The house behind us is engulfed in lava within seconds.
The Enduares do not flinch or try to leave. They watch as that awful house is reduced to a shower of sparks and ash.
When it is finished, I weep for the man dead in the ground and the woman tugged around on a leash. For the children murdered before they had a chance to grow up and for fathers who ask their sons to sacrifice more than they should.
The world has fallen—so I will burn it to the ground and remake it.
When I finally bring myself to stand, Thorne looks at me with burning approval and guides us back to the entrance of the enclave.
The air is heavy when we reach the wooden door with a great, beautiful face and green eyes.
She speaks in old elvish, and Thorne bows before her.
“Oscailte?1.”
“Bím i gcónaí ar fáil duitse?2,”the door responds in a low, lilting accent.
With the groan of heavy wood, the door starts to open slowly, revealing the way into the enclave.
Thorne continues to watch Ulla with a strangely intense gaze. His confusion is written on his face. I’m not the only one who notices.
Niht steps in front of her, blocking Thorne’s view with one of the damned birds who has nestled into his hair.
This time, we are shown far more access to the entrance of the place than before. I take time to study my surroundings, from the rows of rooms with wooden doors to the hallways made of interlocking evergreen branches. It’s impressive how everything works similarly to our system of tunnels in Enduvida. It succeeds in pulling my thoughts away from the exhaustion of murdering in cold blood.
Emptiness swirls through my mortal vessel, carrying me forward until we reach a place where there is a perfect view of the first streaks of dawn.
As I look up at the stars, celestial rocks in the sky, I think of my earthly star and whisper another prayer for my love. A woman now chained by the progeny of my own abuser.
I recognize the arching dome of trees above us making up the meeting hall’s roof.
