Page 172 of The Call of Crimson
“Minimal when the poison isn’t used.” Darian’s navy eyes dull, and he runs a hand through his short chestnut locks. “But when it is… nearly thirty percent.”
My chest deflates. Thirty percent is catastrophic.
“And their casualties?” Ayden asks.
Darian’s jaw clenches. “Not nearly enough. As best we can tell, maybe a fifth of our own.”
My mind does the calculations, my stomach dropping at the severity of the situation.
Six percent.
For every one of their soldiers that fell,fivePrudian soldiers fell in their place. This wasn’t sustainable.
“Is there any difference in the attacks when the poison is present?” I ask abruptly.
Darian shoots me an irritated look. “Not that I’m aware of.”
My brain whirls, trying to puzzle out why they would only be using the poison a quarter of the time. Either the supply was limited, which seems unlikely, or there was something different about the locations they were attacking with the poison.
Charlie starts to ask a question, but I cut her off. “Show me.”
Darian cocks a brow at me. “Show you?”
“Yes. Show me on the map where the attacks with poison happened.”
“I don’t see why the location matt—” Charlie starts.
“I thought you were supposed to be clever, Charlotte.”
She rears back as if I had physically struck her.
Shooting to her feet, a look of disbelief covers her face. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused.” I turn back to Darian. “Now show me. Theremustbe a pattern here somewhere.”
“Sit down, Charlotte,” Lord Talon chides, shooting me an encouraging look. “Let the generals work this out.”
A vexed huff leaves Charlie’s lips as she drops back down, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.
Darian unfurls a map across the table in front of me, marking various spots around the kingdom with an X for the attacks where poison was used, an O for those where it wasn’t.
“These are the locations of every attack over the last year. Now tell me what pattern I’m not seeing,” Darian demands, but it lacks his usual bite.
“What about prior to the last year?”
A darkness swims in Darian’s eyes, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t have records of those,” he grits, anger and something far darker lacing his tone.
Ayden clears his throat, drawing my attention to him. “Those records exist only in the memory of my previous general.”
I read between the words Ayden is and isn’t saying.
The previous general is dead.
It’s something I should have known, having been in conflict with Prudia for far longer than the last year, but I had missed something.
“We’ll work with what we’ve got,” I concede. Darian’s posture relaxes, and I store that information away.
I study the various marks on the map, looking for something, anything at all that will provide a pattern for me to work with.
