Ruthless Vows (Letters of Enchantment, #2)(119)

“Keegan,” Marisol said, a sob breaking her voice. She covered her mouth with her hand, but the name slipped between her fingers again. “Keegan.”

It was the only word she could say. Her wife’s name, for within it was everything Marisol loved and dreamt of. It was strength and comfort, safety and wildness. A past and the present and the future.

Keegan pulled her close. Marisol pressed her face to her chest, where Keegan’s heart pounded. She felt the stars pinned on her uniform bite into her cheek, but Marisol welcomed the pain as she closed her eyes.

Once, months ago, Marisol had dreamt of life returning to normal after the war ended. How life had been before the war. She had thought their days could eventually return to such an era, as if they had never been touched by this storm. But as she felt the ground tremble, Keegan’s arm tightening around her, she knew how na?ve she had been.

Some scars might fade in time, but others never would.

Marisol would never forget that day in the Bluff. How it had changed her. Left a mark on her soul.

And she would never forget the day Oath fell.



* * *



Forest held Sarah’s hand, crouched behind a parked motorcar in the street. He had found her at the Gazette and she had wanted to return home for her father before they met up with the others, as he had predicted.

But Forest hadn’t expected the streets to be overflowing, chaotic. The trams had shut down, and Sarah lived a good distance from Broad Street, toward the southernmost part of the city.

The bombs had started before they could reach her neighborhood.

“We’re almost there,” Sarah whispered, but he could feel her trembling. “Just a few more blocks.”

Forest swallowed. His adrenaline was like fire in his blood, but he could also feel the nausea and fatigue settling into his bones. He hadn’t taken his medicine that morning, and his side was aching.

He needed to get them to shelter, but he wasn’t familiar with this part of the city. He had also given away the Gazette he had been carrying to a hysterical father with three daughters.

Forest dared to look over the hood of the motorcar. “We need to—”

A bomb exploded on the next street over. Bricks and shingles arced through the air. Splintered wood and fragments of glass and pieces of furniture spilled onto the road. Sarah cowered and screamed, but Forest never closed his eyes. He never let go of her hand, and through the smoke, he saw a clear path to a house with an open door.

He didn’t care if it was ordinary or enchanted. They needed cover.

Forest drew Sarah up and began to run, keeping her as close to his side as he could.

He glanced down at his shadow, spilling across the broken cobblestones and debris as he sprinted. He watched as his shadow grew two long wings, until it was not his shadow at all but that of something else, blocking the sun as if the moon had eclipsed it.

A cold shiver rattled his spine. He quickened their pace, looking up again, his eyes on that open door.

“Forest,” Sarah panted. “Forest, my dad!”

“We’re almost there. Keep running, Sarah.”

They were three strides away from the door when there was a startling bright light, as if a star had fallen. A pressure in his ears, a boom that he felt in his chest.

Even then, Forest never let go of her hand.





{50}

A Lullaby for Doomed Lovers




Roman had been sitting quiet as a statue for some time now, his eyes closed as the eithrals’ wings beat the air overhead, when he heard the distant note of a flute.

It startled him. He couldn’t keep his arms from jerking, the chains clanging in response.

One of the eithrals spotted the movement.

It swung down and landed directly before him with a screech, the ground shuddering beneath its clawed feet. The sulfur pools on either side of Roman began to rise, threatening to bubble over and burn him.

He couldn’t breathe past the fear, but he stared at the eithral. The creature opened its mouth, revealing bloodstained teeth and rotten breath, and let out another screech that made Roman’s heart falter. He winced, clapping his hands over his ears.

The eithral was lunging for him, ready to snap his body in two, and all Roman could think was I’m not ready for this. But the impact never came. More notes claimed the air, shimmering like rain in the sun. A spell had been cast. A command given by flute.

The creature stopped suddenly, flinging its head up in resistance. Roman fell backward, sprawling on the stone, trembling. He watched as the eithral spread its sinewy wings and took flight, following the sound of the flute as more notes were given.

Roman lay like that for a while, feeling like his bones had melted. He stared up into the drifting steam, and he listened as the notes continued to ring through the under realm. Eventually, he sat forward with a groan, and he saw something strange in the distance. A pillar of sunlight, breaking through the shadows.

It was the steam vent, he realized. It had opened, and the eithrals were flying out.

The bombing had commenced, and a surge of scalding anger overtook Roman.

He screamed, hoarse and desperate, yanking on his chains. He pulled until the shackles cut deeper wounds at his wrists and he bled again. He screamed until his strength dwindled and his lungs felt small and tight, his heart broken by anguish.

Roman slid to his knees, kneeling among the skeletons.