Page 114 of Captive of the Stolen Empire

“None.” She stroked my cheek. “Was Warren successful with his magic?”

A hint of bitterness soured on my tongue. “Yes,” I sighed. Warren had turned up the ground in portions of the forest, creating natural barriers to provide us with a stronger defensive position. I couldn’t use my magic to help, not yet. Illusions wouldn’t aid us unless the enemy tracked us down. I’d had only my physical strength and mind to lend to our planning tonight.

Her brows creased. “You’re worried about Warren?”

That too.I nodded. I’d never seen him use so much magic at once. He was wobbling on his feet by the time I’d helped him to his room. He insisted he was fine, of course, but I wondered.

“He seems to be doing well, though Elin was worried.”

My lips twitched. Elin. Warren had found himself an admirer. “Did she tell you how she reacted when she found out her farm boy was a captain?”

Ilya’s gaze darted away before she bit her lip and nodded. “She cried.”

“What?” I nearly laughed. “Warren said when he took off his mask after leaving Zhine, she berated him and stomped off.”

Ilya smiled. “Oh, she knew before then. She didn’t tell me until tonight, but she figured it out when we were still in Zhine.”

I raised my brows as Ilya continued.

“She’s more perceptive than I’ve given her credit for.”

Both of us. A wry smile tugged at my lips.

Ilya sighed. “I hope Zurina was right about the rebel positions and they can close in quickly. If Ryszard finds us before they do, we’ll have little chance.”

The weight of so many lives crushed down on me. “We’ll do the best we can to prepare.”

“And if he comes with the other captains?”

Ilya plucked out my greatest worry, the one I’d hoped to not tell her. “We’ll fight if we can’t run. Hopefully, it will make enough difference to grant the rebels success.”

Her nose twitched. “You don’t sound optimistic.”

How could she see me so well?

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow. Tonight, there’s something I want to show you.”

Chapter51

Ilya

Lucien stood, all rippling, carved muscle as he pulled his shirt over his head. I watched in rapture as he moved, savoring the sight I thought I might never see again. Dark hair brushed his ears. Stubble coated his strong jaw. A dusting of hair trailed down his chest, disappearing below the waistband riding low on his hips. Old scars marred his skin. The muscles there teased me, angling down toward regions still hidden. All elements of the man I loved.

He was alive. We both were. And he’d forgiven me.

Whatever came with the dawn, we’d face it together.

“You wanted to show me yourself?” I teased.

He smirked. “Yes, but something else too.” He returned to the edge of the bed, the warmth from his skin leaping the narrow distance between us. “I want to erase the sadness in your eyes. To show you something beautiful.”

“With magic,” I whispered. “But you might need it.” If Ryszard’s forces closed in on us, if they found us before the rest of the rebels could gather and march on Zhine, he would need every bit of strength and power he could muster.

“I can spare a little. For you. Let me do this, Ilya.” He stroked my face, sending up a mess of butterflies within me.

My bare toes dug into the sand. Waves crashed. Water lapped at my feet. Sun kissed my skin.

I gasped and pulled away from Lucien to look out over the sparkling blue sea. We no longer sat in the small, musty room in the dilapidated mansion of his youth. Instead, I was home, sitting with Lucien on a smooth rock on Sorrena’s shores. The air held the taste of salt. A bird cried above.

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