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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

Anton was trembling, his lips pale blue from the cold rain that fell around them. “What if it was real? What if it was our future?”

“It wasn’t,” Jude said, too sharply. “You know that. You know we don’t have a—a future.”

Jude’s heart pounded, that same innermost part of himself warring against his words. It was a part of him that was deeper than thought, deeper than emotion. It was pure will.

Anton reached for him, laying a cold palm against Jude’s cheek. “But what if we could?”

His gaze held on Jude’s, and Jude felt it reach behind his ribs and brush against the tender thing that beat within his chest. Jude stared back, transfixed by those eyes, that face, the sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of his nose, so dear to Jude, his heart’s true north.

Bet on me, Anton had said once.

He remembered standing on the parapet of the lighthouse as it fell. Remembered leaping after Anton. Remembered kissing him above the river in Endarrion. Remembered taking his hand and slipping away from the Paladin Guard.

He took Anton’s hand once again, moving it from his face and drawing the soft underside of Anton’s wrist to his lips. Anton’s answering smile was like the rising sun.

It was simple. It always had been.

There was no place Anton could go that Jude would not follow.

51

ANTON

Anton stood on the ruins of the lighthouse, the Oracle Stone clutched between his hands. The last time he had scried into the past, he’d been guided by the Wanderer.

Now, he had only himself.

He reached for his Grace, closing his eyes. He breathed in and as he exhaled, he sent his Grace rippling out, spooling through the complex array of esha that flowed through the world. Searching. Following. He held the memory of the other Prophets’ esha, how it had rung through the Circle of Stones, and let it carry him.

He held their names in his mind. Tarseis. Behezda. Nazirah. Endarra. Keric.

His Grace called out.

And something answered.

Anton opened his eyes in the center of a familiar circular stone platform. Five figures surrounded him. Anton recognized them instantly from the first time he had scried into the past. When he’d watched them slay the god.

The Prophets.

But unlike that time, they were all looking directly at him.

“Good,” Behezda said, tossing her thick mane of dark curls. “We were wondering when exactly you’d show up.”

Anton was so startled that he almost fell over. He glanced around, just to be sure Behezda wasn’t speaking to someone else. But there was no one there. She was talking to him. Looking at him.

At her left, Keric beamed. The scruff on his chin aged him, but his eyes were young and bright. Something about them made Anton want to trust him. “Welcome!”