Page 108 of Scorched Earth

Agrippa scrubbed a hand through his brown hair, then shook his head. “Worried. I think it’s safe to say that tenders have the power to cure the blight, but she has no idea how to do it, as her previous attempt yielded nothing. There’s always trial and error, but that takes time we don’t have.”

“And you’re worried that she’ll be harmed in the process?”

He eyed her for a long moment, the intelligence that he usually hid behind sarcasm, insults, and jokes peeking out. “Yeah. Malahi says that the blight can’t harm the marked, but…” He shrugged. “She says the library in Revat has the largest and oldest collection of books in the West, so it might have answers. But having done my own fair share of library research while at Lescendor, that’s going to take time, even if the Gamdeshians help. Needle in the haystack, and all that.”

“You have a better idea?” she asked, the visual of him sitting in a library doing research odd to her even though she knew all legionnaires received more education than just how to kill.

“No. Those are the two options; I’m just acknowledging that both are shitty and that the odds are not in our favor.” He gave a soft laugh as she scowled at him. “You’re far too easy to provoke, Lydia. You really need to work on that if you want to be my friend.”

“I don’t.” She crossed her arms. “And I didn’t come here to hear your opinions on my character.”

“I’m not waking up Malahi. She’s exhausted.”

“I’m here to talk to you. Specifically, about how for a moment in time, you looked around ninety years old and ready to breathe your last, and I was able to return you to a man of…”

“Twenty years,” he supplied. “Thank you for that, by the way. For all my grand speech, I’m not actually looking to die right now. I’vea fair bit to live for.” He glanced back into the room, then his eyes returned to Lydia’s. “Ceenah seemed a bit put out to be referred to as corrupted, though they are the only ones I’ve ever seen use their marks to both heal and kill. And when they did heal, it was never their own lives that they used. They always took from someone else. Rufina forbade the practice.”

Lydia perked up at that reminder, because Derin’s queen did little without reason. “Did she give a reason why?”

“She wasn’t in the habit of explaining herself, but I always figured it was because she wanted her minions fully committed to the Corrupter. Though in all honesty, sucking the life out of a prisoner in order to heal the injuries of a soldier willing to pay was plenty corrupted.”

On that count, she agreed. “Did you ever see one of them take life out of a person but not keep it? I don’t mean pass it on to someone else for coin, but just… dump it out into the world?”

Agrippa barked out an incredulous laugh. “Are you joking? They’re all addicts, Lydia. You know that. That’s the last thing one of them would do.”

“Well, it’s what Ceenah did, and it’s why you’re still good-looking enough to interest Malahi.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” He smirked, but then his brow furrowed in thought. “If you could learn to do that… Lydia, if you could learn to take life in the defense of your own without getting all punch drunk on murder and falling back into bed with the Corrupter, you’d be a force to be reckoned with.” He smiled, and this time it was genuine, with not a hint of mockery. “It’s been an age since I lost a fight, but I lost to Anukastre’s queen sure and true. You should really talk to her.”

“I was planning on it.”

“Good.” He stepped back into the room. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go make good use of my second chance at life.” Agrippa shut the door in her face.

“Ass,” Lydia muttered, not remotely willing to admit she was becoming fond of the ex-legionnaire in the way one might feel about a particularly irritating brother. Then she started down the corridor, searching until she found a servant, who inclined his head respectfully. “Marked One.”

Nerves flooded her, making it hard to speak. If Ceenah refused to see her… Lydia shoved away her insecurities, and said, “I would like to request an audience with your queen.”

39KILLIAN

Killian didn’t like the palace.

It made sense that the building could be shut in against the sandstorms, but with every window and door sealed, not an ounce of natural light to be seen, it felt to Killian like a tomb.

The Anuk gave him wide berth as he passed, eyes full of equal parts distrust and dislike, which he supposed was fair. The blood between Mudamora and Anukastre had been bad for generations, and while it was primarily heated between them and the Rowenes family, Killian had made his own reputation. Some of that had been lies and deception perpetuated by Malahi’s cousin, Ria Rowenes, but not all.

He’d let his own darkness take hold of him in those endless weeks spent defending the border. Angry about Lydia’s choice to join Hegeria’s temple. Guilty about not being there when Malahi was taken by Rufina. He’d been harder because of it. Crueler when he’d fought. Only Sonia and Finn had kept him from crossing the line, and it was the latter who now consumed his thoughts as he searched the sprawling palace for Xadrian.

He trusted Sonia. She’d served under his command as one of Malahi’s bodyguards, then remained at his side as his lieutenant when he’d traveled to Rotahn to guard the Rowenes gold mines. She would do her best to keep Finn safe, but the orphan and self-styled king of Mudaire’s sewers wouldn’t make it easy on her. Finn was used to going his own way. Though Killian had made him his squire, he’d left the boy behind when he’d ventured into Derin, and Killian remembered the hurt on Finn’s face when he’d left. How long would he stay with Sonia before going back to his old habits of crime and life on the streets? Streets that had to be even more dangerous than when Killian had left Mudamora, because he had no doubt that the Corrupter’s influence had only spread.

Please keep him safe,he silently prayed, picking up the sound of clashing blades and following it.Protect him, especially from himself.

Turning down a corridor, Killian stopped in front of an open door, watching Xadrian spar against two men and a woman. The prince had discarded the garments the Anuk wore to protect themselves from the desert, head and chest bare, and Killian marked him at fifteen. Killian was only five years his senior, yet watching the skinny boy fight, he felt old.

Xadrian disarmed all three of his warriors, but rather than seeming pleased about the win, he threw his practice blade across the room with an angry shout. Only for his eyes to finally fall on Killian. “You’re supposed to stay in your rooms.”

“Then you should’ve locked me in.”

The prince scowled as Killian entered the room and picked up the wooden practice blade. The soldiers all tensed, but Xadrian only said, “What do you want?”