Reaper(Cradle #10)(71)

Gadrael swept a hand and his barrier vanished. The smoke boiled forward, suddenly unhindered, and Suriel could sense the appetite and corrosive influence it carried. Enough to swallow a hundred planets.

The mundane buckler expanded in an instant, and Gadrael was holding the Shield of the Titan. It was a bulwark of gleaming steel, wide enough to shelter his entire body, and it crawled with red-hot veins like molten metal. She heard a distant roar as its powers activated.

The black smoke crashed over Gadrael in a wave, and her connection to him faded to nothing.

Suriel’s hands curled into fists as she stared into her blank wall, and her Presence had to restrict her strength before she crushed everything in her building with the force of her irritation. With every passing day, worry ate away at her soul.

Not worry for Gadrael. He was the closest thing to invincible, and anyone standing behind him was as safe as they could be.

But he would plant himself like a fortress wall in front of someone, declare them under his protection, and never consider whether there was someone else who might need him more. He relied entirely on Makiel to direct him effectively.

Makiel, the Hound, who had refused to lend his support to Suriel’s efforts.

She’d fail, he said. She had a far greater likelihood of success by waiting for the Vroshir to leave, as her Presence had told her.

Suriel couldn’t accept that.

She had contacted every single one of the other six Judges, and they had all—in their own ways—turned her down. They would be delighted to accept her help, but provide their help to a risky venture when they didn’t need to? Why? Their worlds weren’t under threat.

Suriel was starting to see why Ozriel had left.

[You always knew why Ozriel left,] her Presence said. [He was abundantly clear about his frustrations with the Court.]

She held her hand over her eyes, wondering if she should make herself sleep. Sleep was nothing but a luxury for her now, but it sounded amazing.

She wouldn’t, of course. There was too much to do.

“I thought that when things were dire enough, they would change.”

[That was never likely.]

“What haven’t we tried?”

[Giving up.]

“Other than that.” She downed another cup of tea. It really was good. It had been Ozriel’s favorite.

Her Presence tapped into the power of her residence and teleported another dose of steaming tea into her cup.

[How high of a priority is this request?]

That was an unusual question. Suriel almost responded that it was the highest priority, but her Presence literally lived inside her mind. There was a reason why it had asked.

So she gave the question a moment of thought.

She could point out the number of lives at stake, but that was just as compelling an argument to wait. Every decision she made balanced the fate of innumerable lives. That was what it meant to be a Judge of the Abidan Court.

The Vroshir were coming for Sector 11, which included the strategically significant worlds of Cradle and Asylum. Strangely enough, Asylum was probably safe for the moment. Oth’kimeth, the Fiend inside the Mad King, did not appreciate rivals.

But after the rest of the Sector was destroyed, the corruption would no doubt break open that prison sooner rather than later. It would be a disaster for the Abidan. She could use that looming threat as a card.

In addition, Cradle was the birthplace of the Abidan. The first-generation Court of Seven had ascended from that world.

She had tried to use that as a lever for negotiation already. None of the current generation of Judges came from Cradle, and while they agreed it was a tragedy, the history of Cradle was already thoroughly represented in their archives. They would build it a lovely memorial.

Those were reasons why the Sector might be important to the Abidan, and strategic reasons why the Vroshir had gone to such lengths to surround it.

How important was it to her?

She thought of the worlds in the Sector. Asylum, Amalgam…Cradle.

She thought of Wei Shi Lindon, and of Ozriel. She had always known she would see Lindon die someday. Had expected it, in fact. And while Ozriel had left memories all over that Iteration, he hated the place. He might have even seen the outcome of the world’s destruction and allowed it, though she couldn’t imagine him allowing the rest of the devastation the Vroshir had brought.

“There is no reason to extend myself for this Sector,” Suriel said aloud. It was lost. She’d made her peace with that.

Or she should have.

[No compelling one,] her Presence agreed.

“But I want to.”

It was irresponsible, given the scope of her responsibilities. And far too small in scale. When the entire city burned around you, why try to save one house?

Then again, why not try? The city was already burning.

Her Presence gave her a sigh. [Then go to the Sector yourself.]

They had modeled that, and she couldn’t stop the Vroshir advance. Not that she needed a model; the Mad King had torn through Suriel and Makiel together. She alone wouldn’t even slow him down.

[Sector 11 is not enough of a strategic asset to mobilize the Court of Seven,] her Presence said. [But Suriel is.]

Suriel’s armor flowed around her, and runes spun in her eyes. She looked into Fate; could Makiel see what she was about to do?

Under normal circumstances, he would have seen the possibility years ago. Now, he was watching futures other than hers, and chaos muddied the entire weave of Fate.