Lightfall, p.48
Lightfall, page 48
And did he even deserve to be? He’d lost Pippet. He’d nearly lost Thorne last night. And he felt himself losing Maleck already, pieces chipping away at the horror of his brothers’ return.
“We’ll go west,” Mira broke into his thoughts. “Hana, Kendar, and me. There’s a place called Holmlond, known only to a few medicos, Vassora, and elites. I intend to hide Saychelle and Iri and as many other visnprestas there as I can. Something tells me we’ll be in desperate need of them soon.”
“And in short supply, if the Bloodwights have their way.” Aden let his eyes flutter open, taking in Mira’s wan face. “We’ll be sorry to see you go. Yours is the sort of help we’ll need in the days ahead.”
“Not mine.” She shook her head. “Yours.”
He snorted. “That, I doubt.”
“I don’t.” She twisted toward him, planting one hand on the grass. “Aden, do you realize how precious and rare men like you are? Men who know both battle and honor, who know what it is to fight for their survival day after day, who have not grown complacent since the war?” Her lips thinned as she stared off at the red-ribbed horizon. “I watched the elites try and fail to fight last night. They’ve grown too soft, too sure of things in our unbreachable city. I fear for what will happen to those who haven’t kept their minds and weapons sharp. They’ll need men like you to lead them.”
“You think me capable of that.” He meant to tease, but the words emerged honest and quiet. Stars help him around women like Mira and Ashe, who always reeled the true heart out of him.
“I do,” Mira said. “You are a pillar, not a burden. You must be their strength like your father once was yours.”
His hand drifted to the compass pendant around his neck—Cistine’s parting gift, a farewell and a promise from a princess worth waiting for. “I’ll do what I can.”
“That’s all any of us can promise in the days to come.” Mira pushed herself shakily up from the hill, and Aden helped her straighten. “Look ahead, not behind. Not to the things you didn’t prevent. The only way we survive this is if we keep our eyes on the horizon.”
Aden gritted his teeth as heat flooded his throat and ebbed into his eyes. It still hadn’t become real for him yet, that Pippet was gone—that he couldn’t simply turn on this hill and see her cheering up the survivors, couldn’t give the summoning whistle they practiced so often in training and see her come running to spar or duel or wrap her arms around him.
Was she trapped in that city, begging the gods for him to find her? Did she think he’d abandoned her like he walked away from his cabal five years ago, bound for Siralek?
Mira touched his arm, drawing him out of himself, faith bright in her eyes. “Look after your friends. And Sander. And yourself.”
That much, at least, he could do. And he told her so.
They walked back to the hilltop together and found the assembly broken up, Chancellors and Tribunes scattering. With a nudge from the hip, Mira went to find her valenar, and Aden veered off toward Thorne.
His cousin had taken up post at the farthest-forward hill; the foul, hot wind dragged his hair and clothes, but he was otherwise motionless, hardly breathing while he watched Stornhaz burn.
Aden halted beside him. “Orders?”
Thorne’s shoulders lifted and fell in a deep breath. Inhaling the warrior; exhaling the elite. “Most of the Tribunes are dispersing to the territories to spread word. Others will watch the Vey. The rest will lead these enemies on a chase.”
“A chase to where?”
“There are more Bloodwights than these, Maleck is certain. That they aren’t here suggests there’s more to their strategy than just taking the city. We need to flush out their support wherever it lies.”
“Do we travel to our own territories, then?”
“Not you and Sander. You stay with me.”
He didn’t explain his reasoning, nor did he need to. Thorne, balanced and mindful, who withstood a lifetime of abuse and betrayal from those who should have loved him better, even Aden himself—he couldn’t bear another farewell. Not with his augment pouch lighter by one, his last act of love to send his selvenar to safety while they stayed and fought.
So Aden said, “I’m with you, Thorne. Whatever comes.”
Thorne’s head bobbed. “We travel to the northern mountains first, spread rumor of Cistine’s movements there to keep the Bloodwights off her trail.”
“To the north it is.”
But neither of them moved. Thorne went on staring at the City of a Thousand Stars, the crackling cinder of a home they dreamed first of changing, then returning to, the brighter future they fought to build consumed now in flames. The only hope left was its people, what they had proven they could accomplish together—and still would.
Footsteps brushed the grass, and the rest of the cabal joined them. Every step was familiar, from Quill and Tatiana’s tandem strides to Ariadne’s steady march, Ashe’s feline grace and Maleck’s shadow-softness, Sander and Mira in lockstep, gripping hands behind them.
“We heard what you said,” Quill rasped. “North, Allet.”
“Then we fight,” Ariadne murmured. “To the last breath, to the very last of us.”
Aden gripped Thorne’s shoulder. “We will stop this, Thorne. We will.”
Gently, Mira’s fingers slid into Aden’s as she stepped up shoulder-to-shoulder with him. On her other side, Sander still held her hand. Then Ashe took his. Then Maleck. Ariadne. Tatiana. Quill. A silent, unbreakable chain, the cabal watched their home go up in smoke and listened to the echo of thunder, of cracking roofs and sundering stone ringing across the plains like the beating of bone drums.
Like a song summoning the world to war.
End
A GUIDE
TO OLD VALGARDAN
Words:
Allatok – Heathen
Slynar – Bitch (roughly)
Bandayo – Bastard (roughly)
Nahdar – Uncle
Allet – Brother
Malat – Sister
Tajall - Infant
Storfir – Big One
Stornjor – Great Love
Banjor – My Love
Yani – Sweet
Sillakove - Starchaser
Selvenar – Blended hearts
Valenar – Blended blood
Creatures:
Atrasat (CEPHALOPOD)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
WORDS CAN HARDLY express the unique journey of LIGHTFALL’S becoming. I always knew it would be a turning point in the story, but over the course of the hardest year in my life, it went from being a draft I skimped on and hated, to a full rewrite, to one of my favorite books ever!
First, as always, to God: for answering my prayers and showing me the story I always needed to tell, and for healing me from the brokenness that made it impossible to tell it right the first time. I am humbled by Your patience with me, letting me tell it my way first so You can prove Your faithful love by teaching me how to tell it Your way. There is no me without You.
To my family: for never asking why I do this crazy writing thing, just rolling with it. To Mom for the proofreading, Dustin for the alpha-reading, Dad for the necessary kicks in the pants, Danny for the endless love and reorganizing the whole kitchen by yourself so I could work on this book and all the others, and JD just for being. You are all my reason. Always. <3
To Cassidy and Miranda: for asking “What if there was Mira?” and birthing the idea of the counselor and confidant, the missing piece the story always needed. Thank you for encouraging, loving, and supporting me through the trenches of bringing this story back to life.
To Katie and Meaghan: for your enthusiasm, your friendship, your love, all the songs (SO MANY SONGS!) and for crying, cheering, laughing, screaming through this whole book, and doing LIFE with me.
To Savannah: for teaching me how to be a better author, a better businesswoman, and a better person overall. Your friendship helped me through the peaks and valleys of this rewrite. I am so grateful for that one Instagram post that brought us together, and all our adventures since!
To Annelisa and Meagan: for the Florida adventures and magical nights when I thought rewriting this would be the death of me, and always being such an amazing support, distraction, and sanctuary.
To my incredible cover artist and partner-in-crime, Maja, for going over round after round of colors on this one to get things JUST RIGHT! We did it—we always do!
To everyone who gave me the Hamilton treatment, asking me why I write like I’m running out of time and telling me to TAKE A BREAK. It was very needed!
To every one of my followers and friends on social media, but especially: to Lina, Sydney, Dani, Katie, Kay, Stephanie, Piper, the Brittanys, Allie, the Hollys, Heather, Sammie, Gee, Stephanie, Sania, and every other person who has made an impact. I wish I could list you all, but I would take up a whole book with it! My love for you knows no bounds.
And of course, to you, reader: for experiencing, for adventuring, for loving. I hope you found peace and power in these pages. Thank you for reading the books of my heart and also sharing your heart with me in turn.
See you in the next one! <3
Read On For a Sneak Peek at
THE STARCHASER SAGA
BOOK V
CHAPTER ONE
IT MIGHT HAVE been a lovely day, bright, full of thawing spring sunlight and birdcall melodies. But inside the princess’s mind, it was always smoke and scarlet skies, a warmth which did not belong in winter and sickness festering in the air.
This is one of those moments. One I’m going to remember the rest of my life.
Me, walking away from Valgard?
You, walking toward me with love in your eyes.
A kiss that blinded. Shadows that consumed.
I would’ve loved you for a hundred years. Two hundred. However long the gods gave us.
They had none of that time. Because she had walked away—because he begged her to.
Anything for you, Starchaser.
Wildheart.
Wildheart…
“Cistine?”
She jolted, head rising from her fist, focus returning to the Citadel’s council chamber. It was indeed a bright day, the meeting table splashed with gold dapples tumbling through the glass roof, and a league of councilors stared at her—lords and ladies of Talheim from estates far and near. Plainsmen and desert dwellers, fishers and mountaineers.
Cistine felt like she’d been all of them, in another world her mind stole away to whenever she wasn’t careful. On days like today, the heat of the room’s twin hearths and the monotony of the reports lulled her back to a dream where there was never too little to do; when she was the fulcrum upon which meetings like this hinged. When it was only her standing for Talheim’s interests—not her and her father, whose voice drew her back to this meeting.
Cistine sat away from the table, smoothing her hands down the scarlet dress spilling across her knees. It was still difficult to wear gowns like this, even with long sleeves and high collars, at a table full of men; but each time she did, it was to honor Mirassah, her bright-eyed and sharp-witted counselor. She could only imagine how Mira would smile to see her now, dressed in trousers under a full dress, a tiara woven into her hickory hair…conducting royal business like the future queen she was. How proud they would all be. How Thorne—
The thought of him was a blade driven straight through her, wrapped in vines of slick darkness, dread and despair and illness tunneling deep into the very bones of the world itself.
Nazvaldolya.
Clenching her molars against a surge of bile that never lessened no matter how many times that sensation came and went, Cistine forced a smile. “I’m sorry, the warmth has me drifting. You were saying about the southern border forts, Lord Petr?”
The elderly lord flashed her a cautious smile. “That there’s been no sign of unrest. So far, King Jad remains within Mahasar’s borders.”
“He’d be a fool not to.” At Cistine’s left, King’s Cadre Warden Rozalie Dohnal cinched her arms and tossed her honeyed hair over her shoulder. “I think we proved well enough in Middleton we won’t stand for provocation.”
“Be that as it may, we keep the watch on the southern border.” Queen Solene Novacek leaned against the table’s edge, the softness of her face not in the least belying her piercing green eyes. “We don’t need Jad seeing a lapse in our attention as an excuse to start prodding again after the harsh winter we had.”
It had been harsh, the worst Cistine could ever remember. She wasn’t certain if she was simply too distracted to notice them before—wrapped up in books and tea and suitors—or if the vicious snowstorms and shortage of game and plants was a creeping down of the blight from the north, an echo of far more perilous dangers beyond their borders. Whatever the case, she’d spent much of the last three months helping ration out supplies to the neediest towns in Talheim…when she wasn’t researching fortifications and sieges, or writing in the tooled leather journal tucked into her belt, never far from reach.
She traced the dimples of horses artfully etched into the cover now, and her heart clenched. If the boy who gave it to her were still alive, he’d either take faint at the words within, or beg to be part of everything she was plotting. Perhaps she was better off not knowing which it would be.
King Cyril Novacek cleared his throat, bringing every eye at the table to him—including Cistine’s, to whom he spoke: “Suggestions?”
The direct solicitation no longer made her palms sweat. This was a dance they had mastered by now. Trapping her hands together on the table, she held his stare. “I agree, we don’t give ground at the southern forts. But I think we should offer the Wardens there a well-deserved rest. Pleasant as the southern warmth must be compared the snow we’ve had, I’m sure they’re missing their families.”
Cyril nodded curtly. “Viktor, see to it.”
Viktor Pollack, the acting Commander of the King’s Cadre with Rion Bartos retired back to his estate in Practica, dipped his head and offered a fleeting glance to Cistine from the Queen’s right. She held that stare when she added carefully, “I think it may be time to offer the Wardens at the northern barracks a reprieve as well.”
A hush gathered up the table, as it always did when she mentioned the north. She tried not to blame them—for two decades, her kingdom was mandated to keep silent about Valgard, and none were as comfortable discussing it now as her—but it was an effort not to bristle at those uneasy looks.
“The North has been quiet,” her uncle Filip mused, “aside from that gods-forsaken storm. We’re left weakened at both sides if we rotate our ranks all at once.”
“But the ranks haven’t changed in nearly three months.” At Cistine’s own behest, but Filip didn’t need to know that. “It’s long past time those Wardens saw their homes again.”
“I agree.” The shock at Viktor’s flash of support was nearly enough to rend Cistine’s focus. “Most are exhausted, homesick, and restless, especially at the northern barracks.”
All her doing, because Cistine had insisted they be kept there from the moment she returned to Talheim. She shoved away a prickle of guilt that sizzled in her fingertips, reciting a silent mantra to herself: Wartime necessity. Wartime necessity.
The chant floated like words off a musty page, ink and old paper soothing her frayed senses. When her focus returned, her father was nodding—both to her and to Filip. “I agree, a rotation in the north is necessary. But it’s also true we don’t want to change shifts at the borders all at once. We’ll compromise—move the southern ranks now, the north in a fortnight.”
Cistine fisted her hands in her skirts.
Another fortnight. She could endure it.
When both Cistine and Filip dipped their heads, the King rose, bringing the rest of the table with him. “It’s been a long day, my friends. Let’s reconvene in the morning, and I’ll see about having the hearths stoked less often tomorrow.”
A few chuckled, and Cistine shot her father a dry smile he met with a wink—carefully covering for her distraction.
The room slowly emptied, Solene escorting a flock of ladies to the tearoom with a parting kiss blown to Cistine. She returned it, glanced at her father’s face again, and stilled; he had that look in his eye, the sort that once heralded discussions of successorship and her duty as future Queen. These days, it lent itself far more to conversations she enjoyed even less, because they required too much delicacy of tongue that erred close to lying. And she did not like to lie to her father.
“I really am tired,” she said quickly. “I think I’ll nap before supper.” A meal that would, thankfully, be attended by every lord and lady from across the kingdom, keeping the conversation shallow and cordial.
She feigned ignorance to the King’s heavy sigh when she all but dragged Rozalie from the room, yanking the doors shut behind them. Rozalie offered a grimace while they walked. “That went better than expected.”
Cistine kneaded her temples. “Thanks to Viktor’s support, of all people.”
“I’d rather have the support of a snake sleeping in my bed, but in this case, I think we take it as it is: we’re getting the rotation at the northern barracks. It’s finally happening.”
Excitement veined Rozalie’s voice, and Cistine dropped her hands and met the Warden’s gleaming stare. “Two more weeks. That’s manageable.”
“I’d believe you better if you didn’t have that murderous look in your eyes.”
Cistine stuck out her tongue, and she and Rozalie carried on in silence the rest of the way to the Princess’s rooms—not the same ones where she’d lived for her first twenty years. She’d tried to stay in the chamber of her childhood, its balcony stretching above her beloved inner garden where the comforting scents of winter berries and pine waited to embrace her during these long days. But after so many difficult nights reading and writing in her new leather journal—after restless slumber when she woke in cold sweats, sobbing Thorne’s name into the darkness, aching for her selvenar who was not merely across the hall anymore, but a kingdom away—she found the restlessness was too much, the surroundings too familiar.
