Chapter One Hundred and Eleven

HECTOR BAYES

The feeling of the dead man’s body as I writhed on top of him had not left my chest as we rode on horseback, into the gates of the mountain city.

“Are you alright?” The green-eyed woman who had been watching me since we passed through the gates whispered, clumps of mud and twigs sticking out of her hair from where she’d brushed her face against mine.

The porcelain of her high cheekbones was ashen with dust and grime, and the sight of the salt streak of tears dried and flaky sent a pang through my frame.

I allowed myself a shallow breath, We had come a long way, the imp and me, and I was almost certain I couldn't have won the war if it weren't for her quick thinking with the sword.

God-freaking dammit, Was I alright? I couldn't tell.

The singed fur of my son’s corpse weighed heavy on my heart. Or It might have been the hole of my soul sword that refused to heal.

I hadn't wanted to kill the boy, the monster, far from it.

Saints! Lord knew Japhtar deserved worse for coming