Breath of Life (Godstone Saga 2)

Caelan sucked in a deep breath and placed his hand on the door handle, and Rayne roughly grabbed his wrist, fingers biting into bone and flesh.

“Wait!”

His heart skidded to a stop in his chest and stumbled on its way to its normal rhythm. He looked over his shoulder to see Rayne breathing heavily, his face lined with terror.

“Are you sure about this?” Rayne demanded.

For only a second, he thought his advisor might be asking about bonding with the Godstone, but no, Rayne was worried about Caelan’s other plan to give Rayne some of the goddess’s power.

“What-what about Eno?” Rayne stammered. “He’s strong and brave. A good leader. Or General Morgan? She has dedicated her life to Erya.”

Caelan placed his hand on Rayne’s and lightly squeezed. “I don’t know of anyone else who is as smart, resourceful, or as dedicated to the strength and prosperity of Erya as you. Your compassion could save so many.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to the top of Rayne’s head. “If I’d had an older brother, I would have wanted him to be just like you.”

“I don’t want this, Cael,” Rayne admitted in a broken whisper, an echo of the very thing he’d cried into his pillow as a child.

“And that’s why it has to be you. Of everyone, you recognize the weight and responsibility.”

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Rayne released his hold on Caelan’s hand and Caelan straightened. He had no intention of dying soon, but it was better to know there was someone prepared to step into his shoes should the worst happen.

Pushing on the handle, Caelan shoved at the door that resisted moving. Debris blocked the path, forcing him and Rayne to put their shoulders into it. Brutal wind slammed into them as it rushed past and down the stairs.

Caelan squinted against the bright sunlight and violent wind as he looked around. This floor had only contained the Godstone room at the end of a long corridor. But now, half the walls were missing, giving a dizzying view of the entire city and the two remaining towers that rose up another ten floors above them.

Hesitating, Caelan took in the sight of the fight happening at the end of the long drive leading to the Royal Towers. Tomas and his men. In the east, he could see black smoke billowing up and the thunderous hammer of more fighting at the Armory. They were buying him time, but he still needed to act quickly. Every minute he lingered was another man who died for him, and he was sick of New Rosanthe’s slaughter of his people.

“Oh gods,” Rayne cried in a choked voice that was nearly whipped away by the wind before Caelan could catch it. He turned to follow Rayne’s line of sight to see that the massive doors to the Godstone, as well as the walls, were completely missing.

Somehow the black marble floors were now dark red. He took an unsteady step closer, his heart hammering in his chest while his brain screamed to go back down the stairs. The deep-green crystal suspended in the air sparkled brightly in the sunlight, but there was a mar across the front. Handprints. Bloody handprints smeared over the smooth surface.

His feet were running toward the room and Rayne was shouting at him, but he didn’t slow. As he reached the room he’d spent countless hours in over his lifetime, he skidded to a stop. He didn’t recognize it any longer.

The walls were gone, but they’d left behind rock and powder that had been soaked in blood. Even after all the rain had drenched the city, the blood remained as if the Godstone had shielded the remains of the room. Everywhere his eyes landed, there was blood. His mother’s blood. Hagen’s blood. They’d made their final stand here. Fought the Empire here. And died.

But there were no bodies. Had they fallen from the Tower? Or just been incinerated by the blast of the Empire’s weapon?

The room was spinning, and he couldn’t see clearly. His mother had died here. Fought and died and he’d not been there to save her. He couldn’t think, couldn’t fucking breathe.

He reached out to catch himself and his hand landed on the cool, smooth crystal in the center of the room. Blinking away tears, he looked down to find that his hand was resting right between the two bloody handprints. Even smeared, he could see they were smaller than his own.

Queen Amara had stood right where he was standing in her final moments. Had she begged the goddess to save her? Begged her for protection? Or just begged Tula to protect her only son?

Rage surged up from the depths of his soul, and Caelan stopped caring about Erya and the Empire. There was only one thing repeating in his brain and threatening to choke him.