Page 195 of Scorched Earth

“Does it say how they were destroyed?” Malahi leaned over the illustrations. “Wait… did they—”

“The Anuk tenders took control of the corrupted tenders,” Lydia said quietly. “Then they reversed the flow of the blight. It killed them.”

Malahi sat upright, and Lydia did not fail to notice how her eyes tracked to Agrippa, who sat with his head resting in his hands. “I see. Does it say anything more?”

“Only that they crumbled to dust,” Lydia said softly. “And were celebrated as the saviors of the land. But there are more pages to read. There could be more to learn.”

“I don’t think there is.” Malahi’s eyes welled with tears. “I can’t doit, Lydia. Destroyingoneof the corrupted tenders and their roots of blight will kill me, and you said there were eight. By now there could be more. Which means we need more tenders willing to die to save Reath, but how many are left? How do we find them in time? What if they won’t do it?”

“What if I keep you alive?” Lydia removed her gloved hands from the book. “I can draw life from all around, Malahi. All I need to do is keep you strong and alive while you destroy the plant from within.”

Malahi drew in a shaky breath. “Do you think it’s possible? Why wouldn’t the Anuk healers have done so, if it were? Those like Ceenah?”

“Because they weren’t strong enough.” Lydia leaned back in her chair. “Hegeria touched me twice.Markedme twice, and I can pull the untapped life from all across Reath to keep you alive. This is it. This has to be the solution.”

They all stared at one another, the silence broken as a soldier ran into the room. “General!” he gasped. “You must come immediately!”

“What has happened?” Kaira demanded. “Has Astara returned? Are the Cel on the move?”

“Worse.” There was fear in his eyes. “They’re already here.”

72MARCUS

The sun beat relentlessly overhead with the sort of heat Marcus hadn’t endured since he’d left Celendrial, made worse by the fact there was no shade for miles. Every tree had been cut down to use in the siege of Revat. He stood before the pavilion currently serving as his center of command, which sat on the low ridgeline overlooking the city and the coast beyond.

At least as large as Celendrial itself, Revat was circular and surrounded by hundred-foot walls that protected the city. Walls that reached out into the sea, the only access to the large harbor through a gap protected by a large harbor chain that controlled the flow of ships in and out. The wall itself had two gates, the heavy wooden doors reinforced with thick iron and blocked by heavy portcullises,the distance between them defended by murder holes in the reinforced overhang above. The battlements were thick with soldiers, the metal of their armor gleaming in the sunlight, though the only individuals moving were those manning the one remaining catapult. The rest of their defenses were ruins of wood and steel, shattered by his own war machines, which were bombarding the walls with merciless regularity. The walls were cracking beneath the onslaught, sections crumbling, and it wouldn’t be much longer until he had enough breach points to risk moving the siege towers into position.

The only other opening was a half circle barred with thick bands of steel through which the river had once flowed. An ideal breach point if not for the vats of boiling oil hanging above it. His gaze shifted past the walls to the seven god towers that reached toward the sky, then to the smaller tower at their center. He did not know what that building held, for Astara had refused to give any information about the layout of the city, yet it held his attention all the same. Like a beacon in the darkest night.

One Marcus felt an overwhelming need to snuff out.

A loudboomfilled the air, followed by cheers from the ranks of men. Marcus’s eyes flicked to the last remaining catapult on Revat’s walls in time to watch the ruined machine topple to the ground, dust rising in a cloud around it.

“Move our machines in thirty paces and then continue bombardment,” he ordered, then retreated into the pavilion to take his place at the table, the guards closing the flaps behind him.

“You should have moved the fleet first,” Drusus grumbled. A plate with a mountainful of food sat in front of him, for the big legatus of the Eleventh Legion had an equally large appetite. “My scouts report that the Gamdeshians are pouring out of the harbor in droves, and we don’t have so much as a single ship to stop them.”

He doesn’t like being under your command,the voice whispered.Doesn’t like being told what to do by someone younger, and he will undermine you if he can.

“I have read all your scouts’ reports.” Marcus set down the page he held and then moved on to the next. “The Gamdeshians are reacting as I anticipated, evacuating those who can’t fight to the western coast. Unlike her father, Kaira isn’t blinded by pride. She won’t risk another Emrant.”

“There could be soldiers hidden within those masses of civilians,” the older legatus muttered. “You’re asking to be attacked from the rear.”

Marcus gave a slight shake of his head. “To make a rear attack worthwhile, they’d need to pull too many soldiers from the city walls, which would risk Revat falling to us while they organized the attempt. Kaira might command the military, but it is the Sultan who rules. It was he who demanded our withdrawal from Emrant because he could not stomach being the first ruler to lose territory in generations. Do you really think he’s going to risk his capital? The jewel of the West?”

Drusus accepted a glass of wine from Amarin, then motioned for him to leave the bottle. “You give too much weight to the mindset of your opponents, Marcus. One of these days you’re going to misjudge your enemy and the price will be high. I’d rather my men not do the paying.”

This was the downside to requesting more legions: they came with their own legati. While the men were under Marcus’s command, many of them chafed against taking orders from anyone other than the Senate. Especially men like Drusus, who’d been commanding the Eleventh Legion for longer than Marcus had been alive.

“Drusus, it’s your scouts watching the coast,” he replied. “If I’m wrong about Kaira’s strategy, they’ll be the ones to deliver that news, and we’ll pivot to face the threat. At that juncture, you can feel free to point out that you were right and I was wrong.”

But you’re not wrong, the voice whispered.

“As it stands,” Marcus continued, scanning yet another report, “I think we’ll have more success pushing the soldiers on those walls to surrender if they aren’t fighting to protect the lives of their families trapped within said walls.”

“Hunger will accomplish the same results with less risk,” Drusus said. “Soldiers hate the sound of crying babies.”

Since they’d left Emrant, Marcus had felt nothing but cool confidence, but Drusus’s words caused the towering black walls containing every unwanted sentiment to shudder, disgust seeping over their tops. He dropped the page he was reading on the table. “As it turns out, I also dislike the sound of babies wailing. So to spare myself the noise, I’ll allow them to take all the children somewhere out of earshot.”