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Back Into the Dying Light Save as PDF
Chapters (72)
  1. Copyright Notice
  2. Dedication
  3. I
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. BEFORE
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. BEFORE
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. BEFORE
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. BEFORE
  25. II
  26. 18
  27. 19
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. 31
  40. 32
  41. III
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. IV
  52. 42
  53. 43
  54. 44
  55. 45
  56. 46
  57. 47
  58. 48
  59. 49
  60. 50
  61. 51
  62. 52
  63. 53
  64. 54
  65. 55
  66. 56
  67. 57
  68. 58
  69. AFTER
  70. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  71. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  72. Newsletter Sign-up

If he was to beat Lethia—not just win the battle, but truly beat her, and begin to heal the fractures she had exposed—he would have to accept the parts of himself that were like her.

“All right,” he said at last. “I’ll do it.”

40

JUDE

Waves crashed against the pier as Jude landed on his knees beneath it. The sharp cry of a gull pierced the air.

Around Jude, the others staggered to their feet, leaning on the pier pilings as the tide washed in at their toes. Jude took stock of them—Illya, Hector, Ephyra. Anton. They didn’t appear to be harmed—the god must have transported them here from the temple. Or rather, Beru had, in her few short seconds of control.

He watched as Ephyra climbed to her feet and then froze, a gasp of horror escaping her throat. Jude followed her gaze, looking up at the City of Faith. The city Jude had once believed held his destiny.

Now, like his destiny, Pallas Athos was stained with blood. It was drowning in it, its white streets overflowing with thick, red rivers. Jude, watching from the barren beach, drowned with it.

He turned away from the sight, fury and hopelessness tangling in his chest. He had failed. The Wanderer was dead, and he had failed. The anger built and built until finally he turned and slammed his fist into the piling behind him.

It wasn’t enough, so he did it again. And again. And again.

“Hey! Easy!” Hector yelled, wrapping an arm around Jude’s shoulder, holding him back.

Blind with rage, Jude summoned his Grace to throw Hector off him.

Nothing happened. Where Jude should have felt the swirling storm of his Grace, he felt emptiness. It was like those awful days after the lighthouse, when all Jude could feel was the ache of the Godfire scars.

He sucked in a shaking breath and slumped back against Hector, all the fight leaving him at once.

“Hey, you’re all right,” Hector said soothingly.

“My Grace,” Jude said, pushing out of Hector’s arms to look him in the eye. “It’s gone.”

“What?” Hector asked. His eyes widened, and he looked suddenly stricken. “I—I can’t feel mine, either.”

“It’s happening to me, too,” Ephyra said.

Jude turned and saw her standing a few feet behind them, the blood-red tide lapping at her feet.

Hector shook his head. “Did the god do this somehow?”

“No,” Ephyra replied. “What Lazaros did with the Godfire—he must have destroyed the Relics. And if the Relics are destroyed … that destroys the source of our Graces.”

“How do you know that?” Jude demanded.

“It’s something a lorist once told me,” Ephyra said. “It’s why the Daughters of Mercy didn’t just destroy the Chalice when the Necromancer King reigned. She said it was the source of their power—that destroying it would destroy the Grace of Blood entirely.”