Page 22 of Scorched Earth
Nic was reading the last record, his expression grim. “Marcus arrived but was unconscious. The centurion sent a messenger to Aracam requesting medical aid from the Thirty-Seventh, as well as reinforcements. He noted his intent to transport Marcus to Aracam on the heels of the messenger. That’s the last record.”
Tears burned in her eyes. “Where is he? Did the corrupted take him?”
Had the corrupted been Ashok?
The Thirty-Seventh had hunted the corrupted who’d kidnapped her but never found a trace of him. Except not for a heartbeat did she think he’d abandoned Arinoquia, and there was no doubt in hermind that if Ashok had been given the opportunity to take revenge against Marcus, he’d do so.
“The attack may have come after Marcus left with the escort charged with transporting him,” Pullo said. “It’s rained since, so any tracks on the trail leading east were washed away.”
“What do we do?” It was a struggle to breathe, because this was all so much worse than Teriana could have predicted. Marcus not just sick, but potentially in the hands of one of the corrupted.
“We know the Thirty-Seventh is in Aracam.” Nic snapped the ledger shut. “We bury the dead, then we march to meet them.”
10LYDIA
As dawn lightened the sky in the east, Lydia rolled onto her side in her bedroll, the thick carpet of moss soft beneath her. Frogs croaked in the nearby stream and the air was thick with moisture, though it was not half as oppressive as the swamps surrounding the lake. Everything here was alive, birds chirping in the trees and a woodpecker creating a racket as it attacked a tree. It might have been peaceful, but Lydia sensed Killian’s eyes upon her from where he was preparing breakfast, so tension sang through her. He didn’t speak, and neither did she.
But the tension said everything.
It had grown every day since they’d left the ruined cottage in the swamp, making their way south during the day and seeking the deepest cover during the night. She was afraid to sleep, terrified that if she let down her guard the urge totake take takewould overwhelm her. It was the cruelest fear, because she loved Killian. Desperately wanted to go back to that moment before they’d entered Helatha and he’d kissed her. Memory filled her mind with Killian’s voice.From the moment you walked into my life, my heart, my soul, belonged to you, even if my sword did not. And I’d say that I felt torn in two because of it, but that would be a lie, because every moment I’ve spent with you has felt right.
If she had her way, every moment forward would be spent in his arms, but instead she was considering asking him to tie her to a tree at night so that she could get some rest.
Unless you want to spend the rest of your life trussed up, you’ll learn to control it. Or live with the consequences. His chastisement filled her head, his tone shifting from grief to frustration to condemnation with each passing day. Though she knew it was her subconscious and not Killian saying the words, Lydia still felt as though she were failing him.
Part of her wished that itwashim repeating the words. That condemnation would turn to hatred and that he’d put his sword through her heart, ending her misery.
For misery, this truly was.
Though the air was temperate, she was plagued with nausea and sweating, barely able to eat, lethargy taking turns with hyperawareness. All her energy went toward both keeping up with Killian and keeping herself from killing him. Keeping herself from killing the horse she now rode. Keeping herself from killing every living soul they came across.
Which was mercifully few.
A terrifying mercy, for the absence of civilians had them both unnerved. They passed endless towns and villages devoid of human life, meals abandoned half eaten, laundry half hung on the lines. As though everyone who’d lived in them had dropped what they were doing at the exact same moment, with no evidence as to where they’d gone. Few animals remained, and Killian always took the time to set free those trapped in barns and stables so they could make their own way.
In one of the abandoned homes, Lydia had found a pair of spectacles that modestly improved her vision, as well as new clothes. Dark wool trousers and a white blouse, the only thing she retained of her stolen garments the leather corselette and her boots. Being mostly free of the trappings of one of the corrupted had made her feel more like herself until she’d found Killian examining a water glass with black sediment on the bottom. He straightened as she came in. “Look at this.”
Every part of Lydia wanted to believe it was only grit from well water, but as she examined the glass, there was no denying that the black wasn’t particles of dirt, but something that shifted and moved. Sentient and terrifying.
Blight.
“Rufina’s killing all her people, isn’t she?” Lydia whispered softly. “Building another army?”
“We’ve seen no evidence of blight in the land here.” Killian bent closer to examine the swirling blackness. “Which means it’s beentransported from Deadground. Put in well water purposefully.” He shook his head. “Explains why the animals won’t drink from the troughs. They can smell it.”
“Where are the blighters?” she asked. “How is it that we’ve seen not a one?”
Killian didn’t answer, only went outside and walked to the edge of the town, pointing to the faint tracks. “They’re heading south.”
Neither of them spoke, but sickness of understanding filled Lydia’s chest. An army, yes. But an army built for a specific purpose.
Catching Malahi. And catchingher.
That had been more than a day ago, and they’d still seen no sight of blighters or their companions.
Coming around the fire, Killian set a bowl of porridge on the ground near her rather than handing it to her directly. “Eat quickly. I’ll get the horses ready.”
Lydia stared at the bowl, knowing that his behavior was a reaction to her own. Every time he came too close, she recoiled, and she could only imagine how that felt. Especially after what he’d said to her after Hegeria’s battle with the Corrupter.I’m with you to the end. No matter what the end.
