Page 94 of Children of Fallen Gods

The Zorokovs would appreciate the extra cruelty. Removed eyes were an especially favored punishment of the Threllian Lords.

We all stared at it.

“I think that is enough,” I said.

Enough. What a word. It was such an imperfect plan. Enough to buy the slaves in Threll some time. Enough to appease the Zorokovs, if only temporarily. It was better than the plan that I had three days ago, which was to say, no plan at all. Something was better than nothing. This one act might save the lives of dozens of slaves, or more.

Still. I felt sick when we began to return to our room. Sammerin’s silence was not his typical thoughtful quiet, but one heavy with shame. I cast him a sidelong look as we walked together, remembering our discussion from weeks ago — how he had sounded as he told me how difficult it had been to claw his way out of using his gifts for terrible things.

Was this a terrible thing?

“Thank you, Sammerin,” I said, quietly. “I’m—I’m sorry you had to do that.”

Sammerin gave me a tight, humorless smile. “At least she was already dead.”

I failed to find this especially comforting. And something told me that Sammerin didn’t, either.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Max

My back hurt. And my legs. And my left arm, which I’d pulled something vicious the day before. I hurt more or less everywhere.

But none of those aches and pains measured up at all to the one that pounded on the inside of my skull as I watched Zeryth, wearing a crown and sitting at what used to be my father’s desk, lean back in his chair and smile.

It was a grotesque expression, absent of Zeryth’s usual lazy charm. Actually,everythingabout the way Zeryth looked right now seemed grotesque, like a poor mimicry. He had lost a shocking amount of weight since I’d last seen him, and his eyes were so dark that for a split second I had wondered whether he’d developed a sudden affinity for kohl.

I’d needed to hide my shock when I walked into the room. At the sight, Eomara’s words echoed in my mind:Imagine, giving up so much of yourself to drag someone back down with you.

“I have to admit,” he said, “as much as you and I have had our personal differences, no one can deny that you’re good at what you do.”

What I do. How those three words make me want to fuckingretch. What was that, exactly? Fighting? Killing? Warfare?

My teeth gritted. “Have,” I said, drily.

“Hm?”

“Haveour personal differences. I noticed that you used the incorrect past tense. Nothing past about it.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them. There was only so much self-control I could master. My poor social graces, and all.

Zeryth’s expression froze, a shock of anger passing over his face. Then it relaxed, and he let out a low chuckle. “Ah, you got me.”

He stood and turned to the map behind his desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“So then. It appears that despite your excellent military prowess, we have a significant problem.Morwood.”

He stretched out the word —Moooor-wood.

“It’s an inconvenience,” I said.

Zeryth chuckled. “Aninconvenience, he says.” He peered back to me. “How much effort you’ve put into doing thisgently, General Farlione. Into doing thiskindly.You and Tisaanah and your sweet, bloodless war.”

Bloodless?Bloodless? Tell that to all the people I had killed over these last weeks. Tell that to the families of the soldiers I’d buried. Tell that to Moth, who I still hadn’t seen sleep since he killed for the first time.

Fuckingbloodless. Sure.

My words came out between tight teeth. “The more people I kill just leaves fewer to witness your divine rule, my illustrious King.”

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