Dying Wish: A Novel of the Sentinel Wars Read Online Free

him.
    But there was someone else who still had a chance: Cain.
    Iain couldn’t save his brother’s soul, but he could sure as hell slow its death.
    The black ring burned his hand with cold as he carried it through the hallways of Dabyr—the fortified compound that protected nearly five hundred humans and Sentinels. He could have shoved the ring into his pocket, but the pain reminded him of the danger of what he was about to do. One false move, and he and four other men—men he considered brothers—would be sentenced to death.
    The Band of the Barren was the only refuge for soulless warriors, and Iain was the only man who knew who was in it. He’d recruited them all. And now there was one more he had to recruit, before it was too late.
    He found Cain in the antechamber outside the Hall of the Fallen, staring at a worn sword mounted on the wall. A delicate band of shimmering gray was woven around the well-used grip.
    Angus’s sword. Gilda’s luceria.
    The couple had died a few weeks ago, and while Iain was beyond feeling any sort of grief for his friends, he remembered what grief felt like—how it crushed the breath from a man’s body and sapped his will to live. He remembered feeling like that after his betrothed had died at the hands of the Synestryn. The pain had been much worse than anything he had experienced in his long, long life, and yet somehow it hadn’t killed him.
    For years, he’d wished that it had.
    A sliver of the man he’d once been yearned to feel like that again, if only because it would mean some minuscule part of his soul was still alive. But the only emotion he seemed to have left was rage—the only thing that had survived the death of his soul.
    Cain lifted his dark head in surprise as Iain entered the place of mourning and remembrance. The room was silent except for the crackle of a fire. The dark walls, soft carpet, and comfortable furniture were designed to make the room welcoming, but there was no happiness here. No hope.
    Cain’s deep voice was gravelly as if from a prolonged silence. “I’ll leave so you can have time to mourn alone.”
    Iain kept his expression neutral, hoping the other man would take it for some form of grief. He couldn’t let Cain know his secret—not until he was sure of what his instincts were telling him. “I was looking for you.”
    Cain was a giant of a man, even among Theronai. Years of battle had hardened his body and etched themselves into his very skin. Small scars dotted the backs of his hands, as well as a few places on his face. Muscles bunched under his turtleneck as he shifted to face Iain.
    A turtleneck was a bad sign among their kind. Each Theronai warrior’s chest was marked with a living image of a tree. As they grew, so did the lifemark, branching out and growing stronger each day as the magic inside them swelled—magic that could be accessed only by a female of their kind. A couple of centuries ago, their enemy attacked, killing nearly all their women. The men were left alone, struggling to contain the magic that continued to grow inside them with no outlet. As the power they housed grew, their souls began to weaken and die. Leaves fell from their lifemarks, each one marking a loss of what made them who they were.
    The warriors became darker, angrier. The pain was too much for some, and they took their own lives.
    Iain had considered doing the same more times than he could count, but one thing kept him holding on: He was the answer to the prayers of his brothers. He could save them.
    He’d found magical artifacts that slowed the decay of their lifemarks and allowed them to cling to their souls for a few more years. His efforts hadn’t saved everyone, but he’d saved Madoc, who was now happily united with a woman who could wield his power and take away his pain. Nika had saved Madoc’s soul, but Iain had made it possible.
    He hoped to offer Cain that same chance for survival.
    The signs were all there. Cain had grown darker over the