Fallen City by Adrienne Young - 44

I stood with both feet planted on the bloodstained stone as the gates of Isara opened for the first time in almost six months. But in my mind, I was only thinking of Maris.

I traced each memory, following them back to the moment I first saw her. The way her dark eyes had been so open in the garden that night. The way she’d looked me in the eye. I didn’t like to think about what she might see there now. I wasn’t the man she’d given herself to. The one she’d taken vows with. And that had never been clearer than now.

The pulleys clicked and groaned as the great iron gates slid open. In the distance, the golden grass that covered the hills folded beneath the wind, and the setting sun cast everything in a violet haze.

The boots of patrols echoed up on the walls as I scanned the hills in the distance. From so low a vantage point, the army of Valshad was nowhere to be seen. But they were there, like a sleeping dragon. I could feel the rumble of its breath beneath my feet, making the ground unsteady.

The breeze caught my cloak as I walked out from beneath the archway and the sun hit my face. My boots sank into the soft earth and Vale’s footsteps landed in tandem with mine as the land widened around us.

Vale lifted a hand, motioning for the line of legionnaires marching behind us to halt. Their steps ceased in unison and Vale and I continued on, our two shadows stretching across the ground as we walked. The air grew cold and thin without the sound of them at our backs, and the disorienting expanse seemed to suddenly go on forever. After so long within the city walls, where our world had been divided by a single river, we were standing in the middle of nothing. Nowhere.

When a figure appeared on the crest of the hill ahead, we stopped, and my fingers wrapped around the hilt of my sword. It was useless in the face of what was actually waiting for us, but I couldn’t help it. I was a man who spoke only the language of death now.

The gleaming gold helmet of Valshad’s Commander glinted in the sunlight as the morning crept across the land. He was a tall, broad man, adorned with ornate ceremonial armor and a silver-studded bow strung across his chest. The young woman at his side had the same weapon, but it was clutched in her hand, as if she were hoping she’d get to use it. Long blond hair was pulled back from her face, spilling over her shoulder like the tail of a horse, but she wasn’t dressed for ceremony. She wore an ash-stained tunic and muddy boots that were likely the ones she’d fought in the day before. She was a legionnaire.

When they made it to us, the General reached up with both hands, carefully pulling the helmet from his head. His angled face was set with dark eyes, and the fair hair that was cropped short on his head was as pale as that of the woman beside him.

“Viria,” his deep voice grated, bellowing out in the space between us. “General of the Valshad legion.” He tucked his helmet beneath his arm.

“Saturian, Commander of the New Legion of Isara. This is Centurion Matius.” He gestured to me.

The General’s eyes ran over us, and I could almost hear the conclusions he was drawing. That Vale was too young to be a Commander. That we had no idea what we were doing and that this was going to be the quickest battle he’d ever won. The Magistrates had thought the same things, but they’d been wrong.

“So, it’s true.” The woman beside him had her eyes fixed on me. Her gaze flicked up to the arc of gold over my head. “You have been gifted.”

I said nothing, not breaking her gaze.

Viria took a step toward us. “I’d like to speak to the Consul.”

“The Consul is dead.” Vale’s voice didn’t waver.

That seemed to catch the General off guard. He frowned, glancing up at the city gates in the distance. “Then I’d like to speak to the highest-ranking Magistrate.”

“He’s dead, too, I’m afraid.” Vale’s words were flat and lifeless. “We took the Citadel last night.”

Viria looked to the woman beside him, who was staring me in the eye. Her gaze sharpened as she studied me, but she said nothing.

“Then who has taken control of the city’s leadership?”

“I have,” Vale answered.

An unmistakable look of dissatisfaction crossed the General’s face.

“I made a deal with the Consul.” Viria’s tone turned impatient. “If you’ve accepted his responsibilities, then I expect you to honor it.”

“I have no intention of honoring the promises a traitor made to the man who’s put our city under siege.”

The glint in Viria’s eyes grew brighter.

“If you’ve come to slaughter the city for its grandfather’s sins, these hills will be painted with your army’s blood,” Vale continued.

“We’re not beasts .” The woman finally spoke again, her voice venomous, each word sharpened to a point. The implication was clear. She was talking about Isara. The legion had decimated Valshad in the Old War and left its bones to be picked clean by scavengers.

“Then what is it you want?” I replied.

Her head turned, looking to the city that lay behind us. “The Priestess. The one who has godsblood in her veins.”

So, that was what the Consul had promised them. He’d raised a flag of surrender, inviting Valshad to come and take advantage of our broken city. And in exchange, he was going to give them back the one priceless gift no one else could. But I’d seen the Priestess’s body myself. The only godsblood left was smeared across the stone floor.

“And what will you give us in return?” Vale said.

The woman beside Viria stepped forward, eyes moving between us before dropping down to my chest. “Nothing. We grew the wool that made that tunic. Grew the grapes that made your wine. We even mined the ore you use to build and wage war. And do you know what we did with all your coin? We made arrows to pierce your legionnaires’ armor. Swords to strike down your Centurions. Boots to march on this forsaken city. The wealth of Isara was built on the spoils of war. Our gold, our jewels, our magic. And now the gods have punished you for it.”

The truth was a painful one. That look in the woman’s eyes had been forged in the ashes of that war. Valshad had waited a hundred years to find its revenge, and now it was within their grasp.

“Tomorrow, we’re opening the gates for anyone who wants to leave the city. You will allow safe passage to the Isarian people, or we will kill your Priestess,” Vale said.

I blinked, trying not to show a visible reaction. There was no Priestess to give them, but that knowledge was the only scrap of leverage we had to wield. It was our only chance at sparing Isara more bloodshed.

“You wouldn’t risk the gods’ wrath,” Viria sneered, disgusted.

“Look behind me,” Vale said hollowly. “The gods aren’t here.”

Vale and the woman looked at each other for a long moment, the tension growing taut. It wasn’t until the General turned in her direction and something unspoken passed between them that I realized she wasn’t a tribune or something else like it. She was missing the decoration of a high-ranking soldier, but she was important somehow. I could feel it.

The wind picked up, catching her long flaxen hair, and she gritted her teeth as if biting her tongue.

Viria turned toward us again, his tone formal. “We will allow the safe passage of your citizens through the gates.” His voice deepened. “And when they open again, it will be the day we take this city.”