Page 14 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

LYDIA

As dawn lightened the sky in the east, Lydia rolled onto her side in her bedroll, the thick carpet of moss soft beneath her.

Frogs croaked in the nearby stream and the air was thick with moisture, though it was not half as oppressive as the swamps surrounding the lake.

Everything here was alive, birds chirping in the trees and a woodpecker creating a racket as it attacked a tree.

It might have been peaceful, but Lydia sensed Killian’s eyes upon her from where he was preparing breakfast, so tension sang through her. He didn’t speak, and neither did she.

But the tension said everything.

It had grown every day since they’d left the ruined cottage in the swamp, making their way south during the day and seeking the deepest cover during the night.

She was afraid to sleep, terrified that if she let down her guard the urge to take take take would overwhelm her.

It was the cruelest fear, because she loved Killian.

Desperately wanted to go back to that moment before they’d entered Helatha and he’d kissed her.

Memory filled her mind with Killian’s voice.

From the moment you walked into my life, my heart, my soul, belonged to you, even if my sword did not.

And I’d say that I felt torn in two because of it, but that would be a lie, because every moment I’ve spent with you has felt right.

If she had her way, every moment forward would be spent in his arms, but instead she was considering asking him to tie her to a tree at night so that she could get some rest.

Unless you want to spend the rest of your life trussed up, you’ll learn to control it.

Or live with the consequences . His chastisement filled her head, his tone shifting from grief to frustration to condemnation with each passing day.

Though she knew it was her subconscious and not Killian saying the words, Lydia still felt as though she were failing him.

Part of her wished that it was him repeating the words. That condemnation would turn to hatred and that he’d put his sword through her heart, ending her misery.

For misery, this truly was.

Though the air was temperate, she was plagued with nausea and sweating, barely able to eat, lethargy taking turns with hyperawareness.

All her energy went toward both keeping up with Killian and keeping herself from killing him.

Keeping herself from killing the horse she now rode.

Keeping herself from killing every living soul they came across.

Which was mercifully few.

A terrifying mercy, for the absence of civilians had them both unnerved.

They passed endless towns and villages devoid of human life, meals abandoned half eaten, laundry half hung on the lines.

As though everyone who’d lived in them had dropped what they were doing at the exact same moment, with no evidence as to where they’d gone.

Few animals remained, and Killian always took the time to set free those trapped in barns and stables so they could make their own way.

In one of the abandoned homes, Lydia had found a pair of spectacles that modestly improved her vision, as well as new clothes.

Dark wool trousers and a white blouse, the only thing she retained of her stolen garments the leather corselette and her boots.

Being mostly free of the trappings of one of the corrupted had made her feel more like herself until she’d found Killian examining a water glass with black sediment on the bottom.

He straightened as she came in. “Look at this.”

Every part of Lydia wanted to believe it was only grit from well water, but as she examined the glass, there was no denying that the black wasn’t particles of dirt, but something that shifted and moved. Sentient and terrifying.

Blight.

“Rufina’s killing all her people, isn’t she?” Lydia whispered softly. “Building another army?”

“We’ve seen no evidence of blight in the land here.” Killian bent closer to examine the swirling blackness. “Which means it’s been transported from Deadground. Put in well water purposefully.” He shook his head. “Explains why the animals won’t drink from the troughs. They can smell it.”

“Where are the blighters?” she asked. “How is it that we’ve seen not a one?”

Killian didn’t answer, only went outside and walked to the edge of the town, pointing to the faint tracks. “They’re heading south.”

Neither of them spoke, but sickness of understanding filled Lydia’s chest. An army, yes. But an army built for a specific purpose.

Catching Malahi. And catching her .

That had been more than a day ago, and they’d still seen no sight of blighters or their companions.

Coming around the fire, Killian set a bowl of porridge on the ground near her rather than handing it to her directly. “Eat quickly. I’ll get the horses ready.”

Lydia stared at the bowl, knowing that his behavior was a reaction to her own. Every time he came too close, she recoiled, and she could only imagine how that felt. Especially after what he’d said to her after Hegeria’s battle with the Corrupter. I’m with you to the end. No matter what the end.

Killian disappeared between their horses, and Lydia squeezed her eyes shut to control the swell of tears.

There had always been tension between them, from almost the moment they’d met, but it was twisted now.

Corrupted, Lydia supposed was the right word, for how else did one describe a situation where you both loved a person and wanted to kill them?

A relationship in which all you wanted in the world was to fling yourself into the person’s arms but knew you couldn’t because instead of kissing them, you’d steal years of their life from them?

“I hate this,” she whispered in Cel because she needed to say it, needed to unleash her frustration lest it overwhelm her self-control. “It’s not fair.”

“Did you say something?”

“I said I’ll be right back.” Lydia walked into the trees and descended into a ditch to relieve herself, only to draw up short at the sight that greeted her. Taking a few steps farther, she paused and said, “Killian, you need to see this.”

He approached, although she didn’t fail to notice the healthy distance he kept between them. He blew out a breath of air between his teeth at the sight. “It seems Hegeria put us on the right track.”

At the bottom of the hill were five bodies wearing Derin army uniforms, as well as one in the black leathers of a corrupted—less its head.

Bushes with lush white flowers had grown in a thicket, partially obscuring them from sight.

At least from any who might fly overhead.

The bushes were nothing special, except for the fact they were the only plants in sight that were in bloom. The work of a tender, sure and true.

Killian hurried down the slope, Lydia following with more reluctance, for flies buzzed around the pools of congealed blood.

“Look.” He pointed to a body where the head was entirely caved in.

“No human has the strength to do this in one blow. There’s no doubt that a giant made this kill.

And here.” He extricated the corrupted from the bushes.

“You can see how the opponent went for the spine to immobilize her, then reversed to take off the head before she had time to heal the injury. That takes skill, which suggests Agrippa. Given it’s winter and these bushes are the only things in bloom, I’d say they still have Malahi with them. ”

Killian’s excitement faded as swiftly as it manifested, and he abruptly kicked at a rock. “We spent the night with these corpses right next to us when we could have been in pursuit. We should have caught them by now.”

“At least we know we’re on the right track.”

“Every moment we spend searching for Malahi is a moment we could be spending getting back to Mudamora, Lydia. You can bet the blight is spreading, never mind the army Rufina is obviously creating for another invasion. We have no time.”

As if she didn’t know that. “Can you track them?”

“Maybe. Get the horses.”

Lydia clambered back up the slope, shoving the rest of the gear they’d accumulated into the saddlebags.

Both horses pinned their ears at her approach.

Lydia could hardly blame them, but her anxiety rose as Killian called for her to hurry up.

“Easy, easy,” she mumbled to the animals as she put on their saddles and bridles, both showing the whites of their eyes as they tried to pull away. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Lydia! Let’s go!”

Her skin flushed with frustration, and with a jerk, she hauled both animals in the direction Killian had gone.

“They only have one horse,” he muttered, eyes on the tracks. “We should be able to outpace them. Just hope that they won’t put up a fight over giving Malahi back.”

It was not lost on Lydia that Killian felt responsible for everything that had happened to Mudamora’s queen. He felt responsible, or at least complicit, and not at all pleased to have left her salvation in the hands of a Cel legionnaire who had recently been commander of Rufina’s armies.

Taking his horse’s reins, Killian swung into the saddle and heeled the animal down the path. Leaving Lydia to climb awkwardly into the saddle of her mount as it tried to sidle away from her. “Stop it,” she snapped at the animal, her spectacles sliding down her nose. “Stand still!”

It only snorted and tried to back away, sensing her rising anger and lessening control.

With a snarl, she flung herself into the saddle, and the horse broke into a gallop as though it could outrun the monster on its back.

Within moments, she caught up to Killian and his horse, and her focus became all for staying in the saddle as they wove through the dense forest, following the trail left by their companions.

Even without skill at tracking, Lydia noticed when the singular set of hoof tracks turned to two. Then three.

Then four.