Page 159 of Sands of Atonement

Ezra stepped onto the platform, and Targon, without any weapon to protect himself, stood there. Ezra slowly turned to his men and gave a curt nod.

Sharp metal pierced the air as the second row of Atrovians stepped forward with daggers in their hands. Before the first row of the traitorous, older Atrovians could move, the daggers were wrapped around their neck, and they jerked their elbows to the side, severing the necks of the traitors.

Heads fell on the limestone floors, blood leaking into the tiny crevices. Ezra’s voice resounded louder than Targon’s,

“I don’t want this life for you all.” Ezra paced in front of Targon’s wide eyes. “It’s not right. It’s not… living. I care about each one of you. I want a better life for you. I want you to experience what living feels like. I want you to know what it’s like to be loved, to be supported, to be seen by others. Not in a prison like the Atrove will become with that man as your leader.” Ezra pointed at Targon, and trembling rage rolled from his broad shoulders. He faced his men again, high and low. They were pulling closer to Ezra as if he were a magnet. Every ear turned to his. He controlled this place by the power of his voice, whether he knew it or not. “I am here to remind you of the strength that lives within you all, to know what is right and wrong, with or without companionship. If that’s what you want, at all, then I would bless it.”

There was an eerie silence that spread across the Atrove. An uncertain tonality pressed among them. There wasn’t a sound or movement besides me stepping closer to the lowest level.

Ezra began pacing once more, raising his voice so that all could hear. “Aren’t you tired of living this way? Don’t you want what your fathers and uncles have?”

Murmurs surrounded me, murmurs of agreement. To be honest, I didn’t really care what they were agreeing to. My full focus was on the lanky man I was approaching. Closer and closer, but I eventually stopped when I had a perfect aim.

The men who slashed the traitor's neck now stood above their bodies, carving a circle and one slash down the center of it.

“It’s about time we changed this for our own lives,” Ezra continued.

“Enough of this!” Targon bellowed, taking a stronger stance now. The veins in his neck bulged out from where I stood. “Fight for your traditions, men!”

An arrow whizzed right by me and landed on Ezra’s shoulder.

He stumbled for a moment before regaining his footing.

A split second went by before the entire Atrove exploded in an uproar.

Arrows began flying through the center, hitting other Atrovians on the other side, sliding metal hitting others’ swords, causing sparks to flicker through the arena. Above me, the floors became total chaos with a division in the Atrove.

Before I could move toward Targon, my body was slammed into, and I lost my footing on the last step of the stairs as I fell forward. My hands and knees smacked on the stone floor. My bow and arrow slipped from my hands, and I searched for them in between black boots and falling bodies.

A large boot crushed my seeking fingers, and I cried out. Without knowing whose side this idiot was on, my hands wrapped around his ankle and yanked on his stability.

He fell right in front of me, and before he could move, I wrenched his sword from his hand. Leaning forward, ignoring the surrounding chaos, I lowered my voice and asked, “Which side are you on?”

“Targon! Alwa⁠—”

With as much force as I could muster, I plunged the pointed end of the blade into his chest, his wide eyes fluttering.

I ditched the sword and lunged for the bow and arrows. Slinging them onto my back, I took the short dagger hanging from the dead man’s hip and kept close to the walls. My eyes trained on Targon, who was on the other side of this bloody mess.

The shouts rang in my ears, and piercing screams of dying Atrovians filled the air as Targon was pulled up the staircase. My eyes fell on Ezra, only to find him no longer on the platform. He was sprinting to Targon, and not a moment went by before I was doing the same. Squeezing myself through men fighting and stepping over the dead inner circle, holding on to my weapons, I rushed to the other staircase. Targon left my vision, but I still could see Ezra as he lunged up three steps at a time.

I sprinted up the stairs, panting, before I glanced to my left and right. They weren’t here. Only white-robed men, clashing their swords into each other’s, and more Atrovians engraving circles and a slash in the middle of chests.

Frantically, I searched until my eyes landed on both of them rushing another floor up. They were on the highest level now. Goddamn long legs. I pushed myself forward, not wanting to get involved in this fight if I couldn’t tell who was loyal to Ezra or not. The only focus I had was on Targon and my revenge.

I was on the third floor, hurrying up to the fourth. Most of the Atrovians had migrated to their deaths on the lower levels, but I kept my hood low, thankful no one had tried to kill me. It wouldn’t feel right to kill someone not knowing if they were loyal to Ezra, even if it were in defense.

Once I arrived on the top floor, Ezra and Targon were slamming their blades against each other. Grunts and metal sparks flew through the air as I lifted my elbow along with my bow. My free hand reached over my shoulder and slid a metal arrow through my fingers, bringing it ahead of me.

His face looked so much like mine. How could anyone have missed the similarity, with him being so close to me my entire life? How could anyone not notice when my brothers looked like my father and then me… not so much. I tilted my head to the side as Ezra shoved Targon even further onto the balcony.

Targon was a great fighter, but Ezra was better. Faster. Younger.

“Coming back from the dead doesn’t sound so nice, now, does it?” Ezra provoked, their blades between each other as he continued to push and push.

“This place is mine. It was always mine!” Targon pushed back with all his might, the veins in his forehead and neck bulging through. “Just like Eshe, she belongs with me!”

In that moment, Targon dragged his blade just enough to push Ezra completely off him. Ezra stumbled.