Page 104 of Esperance

The tracker smiled then, and it was cold and wrong. “No, I don’t expect it will be. But I won’t break.”

“Everyone breaks,” Carver snapped.

“You didn’t.”

His heart stopped.

The man’s smile curved higher. “Yes, I know all about you, General. There’s a reason I volunteered to kill you.”

“Why?”

The man’s terrible smile faded, and he lowered his voice. “My little brother was captured in Harvari, too. Tortured, just like you. Only he wasn’t rescued by the empire. His life wasn’t valued as highly as yours.” Hatred sparked in his eyes, shattering the coldness there until his dark eyes burned. “Even if I don’t get to kill you myself, Iwillsee you in hell. Because together, we will rise!”

It was the sudden darting of his eyes that gave him away.

Carver released him and rolled, spinning to face the man who’d crept up behind him. He was limping and bleeding, his body sagging. One of the men who’d fought the snake.

He’d thrown his dagger before he’d registered Carver moving.

Instead of hitting Carver’s back, the knife went into the tracker’s chest.

The man gasped as the blade tore into a lung, and Carver leapt to his feet to square off against the newest threat.

But he crumpled before Carver could touch him, and it was only then Carver spotted the blood that stained his stomach. His breath gurgled as he stared up at Carver, the life already leaving his eyes. “We . . . will . . . rise.”

Carver stood in the jungle, a stitch in his side and various cuts and bruises aching across his body. The snake was dead, and so was everyone else. He was the only one standing, and the pounding in his head was making his ears roar.

We will rise.

Rebels.

This had been an assassination attempt—he and Argent were targets. They may even be targeting others.

The attacks had been delayed by the unexpected storm, but this mountain was crawling with rebels.

He needed to find Argent.

He had to find Amryn, too.

He was frozen.

“I know all about you, General.”

Something about those words snatched him back to another time. Another place.

“General . . . That seems too formal after what we’ve been through. After all, my blades are covered in your blood . . .”

That voice.

It was seared into Carver’s mind; burning his ears, running through his blood, making every breath raw. It brought back every nightmare—every memory—that scarred more deeply than any groove carved into his flesh.

He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were locked in a vice. His knuckles screamed as he gripped the dagger too tightly.

Captured. Tortured.Agony.

The bridge. He needed the bridge. He couldn’t be dragged into the past by his demons. He needed a clear head. He needed to breathe without feeling raw. He needed to focus. Not on the nightmare behind him, but the one currently staring him in the face.

Rebels were on the mountain, hunting Argent.