Page 106 of Scorched Earth
“Can’t he go without me?” she asked.
“No.”
“You’re an asshole,” she muttered.
“An asshole on a schedule.” Marcus mounted his new golden mare. “Quintus, if it’s to be a march, take one of the horses. Otherwise, safe travels. You’ll receive word when we’ve taken Emrant.” Then he dug in his heels and trotted his mount after Felix.
She touched the miniature ship that brushed her cheekbone, swallowing hard. She’d told Astara that the legions were her weapon to wield to free her people, and she’d soon discover how deep that weapon cut.
The legions flowed out of Aracam with all the precision and discipline the Cel were known for. What had moments before been a harbor market teeming with angry legionnaires was now empty except for the few hundred men from the Forty-First who would remain to hold Aracam.
One of them approached with a horse, holding out the reins to Quintus. Mounting, he held a hand down to her. “What do you want to do?”
She stared at her friend’s calloused hand, part of her wondering what the point was in marching with the legions given that she could not affect the plans nor control the outcome of the war thatshehad set in motion. That part of her wanted to scream, to throw herself into the surf and rage at Madoria for setting her on a path too steep to climb. A path that seemed destined to destroy her.
Yet the other part, thestrongerpart, curled its lip in disgust, because in all her life, Teriana had never once given up. She’d faced insurmountable odds before and persevered, and she refused to concede now. So she grasped Quintus’s hand. “I’m sorry. I need to see this through.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.” He pulled her behind him in the saddle and heeled the horse into the fading glow of the setting sun.
38LYDIA
Baird’s warning about a coming storm proved to be accurate, for as soon as they exited the underground caverns, Lydia heard the wind. Servants ignored the mess that was the throne room in favor of hurrying about the palace to pull shutters into place over the narrow windows, casting the whole building into darkness broken only by the lamps on the walls. They were led to a series of neighboring rooms. Baird disappeared into one, Agrippa and Malahi into another. The servant directed her and Killian to the last, the man clearly of the belief that they desired to share.
With what had happened between them during the sandstorm at the base of the escarpment, Lydia knew there was no lack ofdesireon either of their parts, yet both of them stood outside the door, the awkwardness so intense that Lydia’s cheeks burned. To cut the tension, Lydia blurted out, “I want to talk to you about what happened with Agrippa.”
“About how he can’t keep his gods-damned mouth shut?” Killian muttered.
“More about the part that he’s not an old man.” She reached for the handle, and opened the door.
The large bedroom was beautifully appointed, with a floor set with tiles of rich amber, gold, and terracotta laid in a pattern that resembled the dunes outside the oasis. The walls were decorated with vibrant tapestries depicting the six but her eyes went to the large bed. Low to the ground and made of sandstone, it had silk covers of a bright azure blue and pillows embroidered with golden thread, the mattress beneath plump and inviting.
“The spoils of war,” Killian growled. “I can’t begin to tell you how much gold they’ve stolen from Rowenes mines. It makes me wonder how much of Ceenah’s murmurs of peace are just talk, because without plunder, they have no economy.”
“They may have other resources we don’t know about.” She took a seat on a low cushion before an equally low stone table. It had writing tools on it, along with glasses and a carafe of water, and she drank from it greedily.
“That could be poisoned,” he muttered.
“Poison doesn’t really seem like Ceenah’s first choice.”
“The best choice is the unexpected choice.” Killian dragged over another large cushion and sat down awkwardly. “They still haven’t returned our weapons.”
“Would you?”
He sighed, then poured a glass of water. “I saw what happened with Ceenah and Agrippa. She aged him like a corrupted would, but her eyes didn’t change. Which is interesting in and of itself, but more interesting is that you aren’t supposed to be able to put life back into a person who has had it stolen, yet Agrippa looks the same age as he did yesterday.”
“Because she didn’t keep the life she took out of him,” Lydia explained. “She just dumped it into the room. I could see it floating like a cloud, and I was able to draw it in and give it back to him.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Killian rubbed his chin, stubble having grown into a short beard during their travels. “But when Agrippa paid that corrupted in Deadground to heal me, the man took some of Agrippa’s life to do it. Acted like a conduit. Agrippa said something about Rufina forbidding the practice, but that many of the corrupted bent the rules for gold. We can ask Agrippa if he knows more.”
“That’s almost exactly what Ceenah did.” Lydia traced the design carved into the tabletop with her finger, noting that her gloves were getting worse for wear. “It seems that by using her mark as a weapon to protect herself rather than for personal gain, she doesn’t invite the Corrupter in.” Giving a sharp shake of her head, she added, “That seems too insignificant a loophole to pass the scrutiny of the gods, though.”
“Is it?” Killian sipped on his water, brown eyes thoughtful. “I use my mark to defend myself and others constantly. Have used it to injure and kill countless people. We’ve seen Malahi turn plants into a weapon and Baird do the same with the weather. Why shouldn’t you be able to use your gift to protect yourself?”
“I…” Lydia swallowed hard, feeling incredibly overwhelmed with the possibility. The ability to defend herself had become almost an obsession in her mind, but she did not want strength to come at the cost of being a monster. If there was another path… Her eyes burned, and she squeezed them shut before tears could spill down her cheeks.
She heard Killian move next to her, then his arms were around her body, pulling her against his chest. “I know what this means to you,” he said. “You don’t need to hide that from me, because it means a lot to me as well.”
A sob tore from Lydia’s lips, and she twisted to bury her face in his neck, feeling the prickle of days away from a razor as his chin brushed her forehead. His hand moved up and down her back in wordless comfort as she cried. The revelation of hope for Mudamora, and for herself, was somehow more overwhelming than all the horror they’d faced.
