“But it will still be more than nothing at all,” he ground out, not appreciating his decision being questioned. If he had something to say to Lucian, he damn well knew better than to air it publicly. The Triumvirate and the Guardians were supposed to be a united force. How could they expect these people to put their trust in them when they seemed divided?
The robed figure shrugged. “For all the good they’ve done us.”
Lucian clenched his teeth. The bastard wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t make him right. “If we abandon them, then all of this,” he held out his arms and moved in a slow circle, “has been for naught. What was the point?”
“Perhaps we’ve placed too much importance on the prophecies and not enough where it actually matters.”
It was too much. After all that had been lost, to be told that what he’d spent the last few centuries of his life safeguarding wasn’t actually worth anything after all . . . Lucian’s fragile hold on his temper snapped.
He crossed the short distance between them in two swift strides and grasped him by his robe, pulling his cloaked face forward.
“You want me to strangle you, is that it?” he snarled.
“Try.”
“Your runes won’t protect you from me,” Lucian bit out, slamming him against what was left of a bookcase as if he weighed no more than a sack of feathers.
“Perhaps not. But your vow will.”
Lucian let out a roar of frustration that bounced around the few remaining walls.
“Luc, let him go,” Kael murmured, placing a warm hand on his shoulder.
Lucian shrugged him off. “Why should I?”
Kael’s answer was immediate. “These people need a leader they trust now more than ever.”
“What good have any of the Triumvirate ever done for anyone?” he asked, lifting him a little higher off the floor.
“We have always done what we needed to.”
“Luc,” Kael said again, his voice firm.
“Or have you forgotten?”
Blood pounding in his ears, Lucian lifted his other arm and slammed his fist into the bookcase. The last of the wood boards exploded into dust as Lucian pulled his hand free of the wall. “I have forgotten nothing.”
Letting go of the man’s robe, Lucian spun and stalked away.
“The Triumvirate and the Guardians will present a united front. Together we will lead our people to safety.”
Lucian’s shoulders tensed as he heard his early thoughts thrown back at him, but he did not slow down. He needed to get away. There were too few of them left for Lucian to risk anyone being the next thing he hit. Because the mood he was in? Whoever he hit wouldn’t survive the blow.
“Luc? Where are you going?” Kael called after him.
“Do not follow me.”
He didn’t let out the breath he was holding until the sound of footsteps behind him faltered. His chest was so tight it felt like someone was currently using it as a hilt for their sword. The pressure didn’t lessen as he moved away from the citadel’s pavilion and back out into the devastation of the city.
The sky was black and orange, the few lingering flames casting their grotesque light on the thick clouds of smoke. A few of the Chosen gifted with Air and Water were doing what they could to bank the last of the fire and push the smoke away, but it was a task for many and there were only a handful of them still standing.
Lucian moved slowly, still not wholly able to process the extent of the destruction. Just a couple of days ago, he’d walked down this street with Effie on his arm. Now it was almost impossible to tell where the street had even lain. If he hadn’t walked this path so many times before, he may not have been able to find his way now.
He wasn’t aware he’d had a destination in mind until he came to a halt outside of the little art shop where Effie had fallen in love with his paintings. Desda, the shopkeeper, had been the one to convince him to put his work on display. For Lucian, art in all its various mediums had always been a way of purging the soul. There was so much he’d seen that he couldn’t speak about. Art gave him the voice to tell his stories, no matter how dark or terrible.
With a sigh, he opened his eyes and stared at the smoldering shop. It hurt to see that part of him destroyed, but not as much as the thought of Effie locked away. He’d never had the chance to tell her he was the one who had made both the castle deck and the small leather-bound journal she’d fallen in love with. Or how much it meant to him to see something he’d created so lovingly cared for by another. Now he might never be able to see the look of shock on her face when she learned his secret.
Lucian’s fingers skimmed the small pack he’d tied around his waist. He’d made a point to grab the deck and Effie’s journal before joining the fight. Just in case. He hoped he’d have an opportunity to return them to her.
He started to turn away.
“Lucian! Thank the Mother you’re okay.”
He spun as Desda stepped around the corner.
“Des . . .”
She rushed over to him as fast as her bowed legs could carry her. Tears shone in her eyes as she pressed her gnarled hand to his cheek and grinned. “Guess the Mother didn’t want these old bones just yet.” Her smile dimmed as she eyed her shop. “I’m so sorry about all of your beautiful work, Lucian.”
“Don’t be.”
“I’ll just have to rebuild,” she said wistfully.
“You know we can’t stay here.”
Desda shrugged. “So I rebuild somewhere else. The world needs to be reminded of the beauty and wonder that surrounds us. Especially after such terrible times.”
Lucian shook his head at her unflappable optimism. “What people need right now is a roof over their heads.”
“And I’m sure you already have a plan to make sure they get one.”
“I might.”
She squeezed his hand. “So where will we go?”
“The Broken Vale.”
Desda’s eyes widened, and she crossed herself.
Lucian lifted a brow. “I didn’t realize you were so superstitious.”
“Everyone knows it’s a cursed place.”
“Right now it’s our best shot at survival.”
She fell silent and looked around them. Straightening her shoulders, she gave a little nod, as if coming to some sort of decision, and glanced back up at him. “If you say this is our path, I trust you.”
“Gather up what you need. We leave at first light.”
Desda held out her arms and gestured to her singed boots and threadbare dress. “This is all I have left.”
Frowning, Lucian removed his cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. “That will have to do until I can find you something more suitable.”
She tightened his cloak around her frail body and smiled up at him. “I could not love you more if you were my own flesh and blood, boy. Your mother would be so proud of the man you’ve become.”
Her praise shamed him. He didn’t deserve it. Not after such a spectacular failure. If he’d done his job, she’d still have her shop and all her earthly possessions.
“I’d be so lucky,” he murmured, his voice gruff.
Desda pat his cheek again. “In every way that matters, Lucian, you’re my family. I will follow wherever you lead. Now, let’s go. Best we focus on building our future instead of crying over our past, hmm?”