Page 111 of Scorched Earth

Drawing in a slow breath, he said, “I… I know that you don’t want to be protected, Lydia, but standing back and watching you risk your life makes me feel sick. It makes me feel powerless and useless.”

Any anger she might have felt at his protest faded away. “You can’t fight this battle for me, but I can’t fight it without you with any hope of victory.” Closing the distance between them, she slipped her arms around him. “I should say that it’s for the sake of Mudamora. For thesake of defeating Rufina and the Corrupter. Except the truth is that I want to win this battle forus.”

His hands closed around her waist, pulling her closer, and heat flared in her core.

“I have your back,” he said, drawing her over to the bed and pulling her down. “But right now, I think we both need some rest.”

Rest wasnotwhat Lydia wanted, but she kicked off her boots and rested her head on the pillow. Killian lay at her back, arm wrapped around her waist and the heat of his breath on her hair. “I spoke to Xadrian.”

Lydia wrinkled her nose. “He’s obnoxious.”

“It’s an act, I think,” Killian said. “He’s worried. He feels the threat, the same as I do, and it has him on edge.”

“He said that?”

“No, but I can tell. It’s why he can’t sit still and is looking for a fight.”

Unease pooled in her stomach, and she rolled so they were facing each other. “Rufina? The blight?”

“Undoubtedly.” Killian stroked her spine. “Yet this feels like something else. It’s hard to put into words, but it feels like there has been a shift and a threat is rising.”

Her tongue felt thick with sudden fear. “The Empire?”

Killian’s silence was all the confirmation Lydia needed, and she pressed her forehead to his chest. “Teriana is in the thick of it, and there is nothing I can do to help her.”

“She’s resilient.” His hand continued to stroke up and down her back. “Madoria herself said that Teriana is where she needs to be. I don’t know why, but my gut tells me that in the fight to come, Teriana might well be the most powerful weapon we have against the Cel.”

“But at what cost?”

Killian didn’t answer, only pulled her closer. She allowed his touch to sooth her fear. To drive away thought. Except in its absence, the ache in her core rose again. An almost painful need to be closer. For there to be nothing between them at all.

Only that meant she needed to be able to take the gloves off.

The sandstorm faded overnight, and they left just before dawn the next day in the company of Ceenah, Xadrian, and a dozen Anuk soldiers.

They made camp to rest through the heat of the day, and no sooner were they settled in the shadow of an enormous dune did Ceenah snap her fingers at Lydia and say, “We begin now. Xadrian,you will be prepared for the worst, but you will only act on my signal or if I fall. Understood?”

Lydia expected the prince to protest, but Xadrian only rose to his feet and drew his weapon, saying to the soldiers, “Be at the ready.” They drew their weapons, as did Agrippa, who added, “Our friendship has been short, Lydia, but as Xadrian severs your neck and your head flies through the air, I hope you remember how much I treasured our heartfelt conversations.”

“Not helpful, Agrippa!” Malahi shouted at him, but Lydia barely noticed the argument that ensued as Killian grimly drew his own blade.

She wanted to tell him to allow Xadrian to do what needed to be done if she lost control, except it would be wasted breath. Killian would try to stop him, and with a dozen deadly Anuk warriors, including several archers, watching him as much as her, it was not lost on Lydia that Killian’s life was as on the line as hers.

Was it right to tempt fate? Was it right to test herself when she’d failed to control herself every time in the past? It was one thing to gamble with her own life but the thought of Killian falling, body full of black fletched arrows, made her heart skitter and her breath come too quickly. “I…”

“To master yourself, you must have faith in yourself,” Ceenah declared. The other woman pulled off her scarf and tunic, leaving her in only loose trousers and a thin undershirt that left her arms bare. Her brown skin gleamed in the too-bright sun, arms corded with muscle that suggested she was equally deadly with the sword at her waist as she was with her mark. “Bare skin, girl.”

Lydia reluctantly removed her gloves, scarf, and tunic, folding them before setting them on the sand. The sun baked into her skin, but it was only partially the cause of the sweat that ran in rivulets down her back. Killian was speaking to Xadrian in low but heated tones, but the prince only shook his head.

“Ignore them,” Ceenah said. “There is no one here but you and me and the gods.”

Lydia’s skin prickled, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. She rubbed at her arms, and Ceenah gave a nod. “Yes, they are watching.”

The older woman moved closer. “When was the last time you lost total control?”

“Baird was shot by an arrow in our escape down the escarpment,” Lydia answered. “Healing him took more life than I’d anticipated, and I fainted. When I roused, I… I panicked at how weak I felt.”

Ceenah made a clicking noise of disapproval. “Healing using only that which is in oneself is a limitation of those who do not test the boundaries of their gift. Even here, surrounded by sand, there is life that is free for the taking that you might use rather than render yourself weak.”