[20 Chapter Preview of 2021 Edition. 2025 Edition coming soon to Amazon]
Fearing for Will's life, Alex crosses the Rim to save him from the Rhean monarchy, but the dark truths awaiting her will make her question everything.
...
Before us stood an empty and unattended threshold marking the entry to a world of beasts and carnage. The giant metal gate hung wide open, just as it had ten years ago.
"Suspicious," Mason murmured.
I nodded, narrowing my eyes at the vacant entrance. The three of us hid in the pines, surveying the area beyond for patrolling demons. But there wasn't a guard in sight, and even the ramparts above appeared deserted.
"The Pans must not be expecting company," Harmon reasoned. "Their spies would have informed them if our troops intended to reclaim Belgate, and they've likely written off smaller parties. Only fools would storm a demon stronghold alone."
Mason shot me a withering look. "Well that's reassuring."
"No, I think he's right. A small party wouldn't concern them very much, not when they're preoccupied with that." I pointed to the beam of black shadows and red light piercing the sky—a sister portal moored to the heart of my city.
"We'd best avoid the marketplace then," Harmon said dispassionately, and he pushed through the trees toward the gate.
Mason made a distressed sound, and I sighed, snatching his arm and dragging him with me.
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We crept along the river with stolen canned goods, jerky, and clothing.
It felt wrong wearing the woolen socks and knitted scarf of a potentially deceased person, but I tried to convince myself it was better than leaving them for the rats—or the demons who killed them.
As we moved through suburbia, we used the slopes of the levee around us for cover, and I was beginning to think my idea ingenious. But that's when I smelled it: the rot.
Mason choked behind me. "Do you sm—"
"Yes," I replied, my heart sinking.
The further west we wandered, the worse the putrid odor became, and I bumped into Harmon when he abruptly halted along the muddy shore. Wary, I peered around him, and my throat constricted at the obstacle he'd encountered.
Bodies.
Scores and scores of bodies, all frozen in their decomposition cycle. They littered the riverbank and the thorny shrubs around us, unrecognizable mounds of dried flesh and scavenger pickings. Some lay face-down in the low-flowing river; others stared up at the ashen sky. I wouldn't have even been able to identify the body next to me if it weren't for the wooden prosthetic sticking out of his decaying kneecap.
Bile rose in my throat, and I tore my gaze away, tearing up. Frost didn't deserve a death like this—this mass grave, this exposed burial ground. None of these people did.
The men who'd died defending the town made up only a fraction of these molding skeletons. The others were too small, too frail, too young. Too many bodies belonged to demographics that served no use to Godric's army. And I couldn't stomach the sight.
