Page 93 of Scorched Earth

“He’s Senator Domitius’s son. We were neighbors.” She shook her head, pressing fingers to her temple because it had been so long ago. Almost another life. “I suppose that doesn’t much matter.”

“Doesn’t matter? Have you lost your mind?” Agrippa shouted. “That means the eldest Domitius daughter is Marcus’s sister. She’s married to my brother, which makes us family! Oh gods, that information will annoy him to no end. When we inevitably go to war against him, we should find a way to tell him. Will put him out of sorts for days.”

“If we go to war with him,” Killian said softly, “I’m going to kill him for what he’s done.”

Despite the heat, a shiver ran over her skin. Lydia rubbed at her arms, noting that Agrippa had fallen silent, humor gone.

“Here,” Malahi abruptly announced, rising from where she’d knelt a dozen paces ahead in the dry creek bed they’d been following. “There is plant life underground here, so start digging.”

Agrippa didn’t answer, only moved to where she pointed and began to dig. This was how they’d been surviving in the barren lands that made up Anukastre. They’d raced south, following Agrippa’s mental map from explorations that had been ordered by Rufina until they reached the creek that apparently only ran above the surface once a year, then headed east toward the southern Liratoras, where they’d eventually cross back into Mudamora. Malahi’s gift allowed her to sense plant life surviving on water deep underground, though it often required hours of digging to reach.

Malahi dusted her hands on her trousers as she rose, saying something to Agrippa that Lydia couldn’t quite make out, though it made him smile. Then she walked over to where Lydia had seated herself on a rock.

“Agrippa says it won’t be long until we reach the mountains,” Malahi said, sitting on another rock. “He and Killian think we should be able to see them by tomorrow.”

Lydia nodded, toying with a tear in the knee of her trousers, deeply aware of Agrippa’s scrutiny and of how Baird had moved within reach.

“Do you worry what we’ll find on the far side of them?” Malahi asked, and when Lydia didn’t answer, she added, “I’m afraid we’ll find nothing but blight. Nothing but death. Afraid that we’re too late.”

“If we were too late, Rufina wouldn’t have bothered pursuing us,” Lydia said, though her dreams were filled with the same. A world of blighted earth and dead things walking. “If there wasn’t something we could do to help, we wouldn’t be worth chasing.”

Malahi sighed. “Validation of our value from our enemies is not much comfort, though part of me wishes they still pursued, because then we’d know there was hope.” Unhooking her waterskin from her belt, she took a sip and then passed it to Lydia. “I know the expectation is that I’ll kneel before the blight and know instinctively how to send it away or destroy it, but I don’t. Killian took me out to where it had spread near Mudaire to see if I could remedy it, but I couldn’t. There is nothing living in it to make grow. It’s dead.”

“The blighters are the same.” Lydia took a mouthful. “They might walk and talk, but they’re dead. There’s no more life to them than the rock I’m sitting on. Less, in a way.”

Malahi nodded, seeming to understand.

“I was able to help Lena when she was infected because it hadn’t killed her, but doing so nearly killedme.Maybe I could save a few dozen over a stretch of time, but the thousands, the tens of thousands, who’ve already died? I think they’re lost to us forever.”

Malahi sucked in a ragged breath, and when Lydia looked at her, it was to find tears rolling down the queen’s face. In an instant, Agrippa was at her side, his hand curving around her face, wiping away her tears. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing.” Malahi smiled up at him. “We are just talking about the blight. Trying to figure out how it can be reversed.”

Agrippa made a noncommittal noise, then said, “Don’t make any plans together. The last one was nearly the death of me.”

Malahi rolled her eyes, watching as he retreated to where Killian was now shirtless, olive skin glistening with sweat as he worked. Agrippa said something to him that earned a dour look, then Agrippa pulled off his own shirt and started helping.

They sat in silence, watching Agrippa and Killian dig, and Lydia took the opportunity provided by the dim glow of the rising sun to examine the other woman’s face. Her injuries were no longer rawand livid, but without a healer’s intervention, the scars would remain for the rest of her life. Her blond hair was growing back where it had been torn out, but it was a far cry from the waist-length locks she’d once had.

“I haven’t seen my reflection since Helatha,” Malahi said, and Lydia flushed, realizing her scrutiny hadn’t gone unnoticed. “I don’t mean in mirrors. Even when I wash my face, I keep my eyes shut so that I won’t have to see myself. Rufina used to make me look at the ruin of my face, but I like living in the delusion that it will all heal away. Seeing otherwise would be worse than the pain itself.”

Reflex demanded that she say that Malahi wasn’t ruined, to spew forth platitudes, but Lydia kept silent, instinct telling her that wasn’t what the other woman needed.

“It’s probably terrible to be so vain, but I liked being beautiful,” Malahi said, watching Agrippa throw wet sand at a scowling Killian. “I liked the power it gave me and the way it caused people to treat me, and knowing that I’ll never experience that again makes me want to scream and scream.”

Lydia could feel Malahi’s grief, the weight of it, and she said, “I—”

The queen held up her hand. “I know what you’re going to say, and while I appreciate the offer, I need to be this way. Need to have the scars of this war written on my face because my kingdom has the same wounds. I need the rage I feel every time I look at my hands or touch my face, because it gives me the strength I need to keep fighting. Perhaps one day I’ll come to you to heal the trauma inflicted upon me, but it won’t be until I’ve—untilwe’ve—healed the trauma inflicted upon Mudamora. Perhaps not even then, because I never want to forget what I survived. Remembering what I can endure gives me strength.”

They’d been right to save her.

“Don’t look at me like I’m brave.” Malahi met her gaze. “For all my words, I can’t look in the mirror.”

Lydia smiled. “I can’t take off my gloves.”

“Aren’t we a pair?”

A laugh tore from her lips, and the men broke off their conversation to look at them before going back to whatever Agrippa was sketching with his knife in the dirt, both of them looking decidedly guilty.