Page 142 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)
KILLIAN
Day after day, they’d kept up the act that they were at odds, but night after night, he and Lydia had done exactly what they promised.
In the company of Finn, they hunted blighters down in the streets of Serlania, and Lydia liberated them from the Corrupter’s hold, filled them with life, and allowed their souls to retake control of their bodies.
Not all of them came back.
Lydia had wept in his arms the first time it had happened.
It had been a man with a wife and two children, the Corrupter masquerading as a loving husband and father.
All had gone smoothly, but after Lydia had filled him with life, unlike the others, he did not draw in a breath.
His heart did not begin to beat, and after a few moments, the life she had put into him drifted out into the world.
“I made it worse for them,” she’d sobbed. “Now they have to endure without him with no explanation for how he died.”
The worst part of it was that she was right. The blighter had been performing his duties so as to blend in, working and securing food for his family, and without him, life would grow more difficult. “I’ll have Finn bring them food,” he said. “I’ll put them on his list.”
Hollow comfort given that a woman would find her husband dead in an alley, but it had not been Lydia who had killed him.
Killian had cupped her tear-stained cheeks, wishing he could take away the grief in her heart.
“It’s the risk we have to take. If we stop because we lost one, how many will lose the opportunity to get their life back? We have to keep going.”
Lydia had nodded, and then asked Finn, “Find me another one.”
Though more often than not, the souls came back into their bodies, Lydia wept just as hard each time they did not. She had too big a heart for this world, but though Killian knew that it would go easier on her if she cared less, he wouldn’t have changed her. It was half the reason he loved her.
Night after night, they pressed onward while Helene negotiated with Marcus.
Malahi and Seldrid did their best to keep her from agreeing to everything the Cel wanted, but in the end, it was Marcus himself who put an end to it by sending a missive dictating a day to meet to finish the negotiations, as well as the location and allowance for numbers who would attend.
Yet they’d still heard no word from Teriana.
“By my reckoning, we have two choices,” Agrippa had said.
“Either we put an end to this farce that Helene rules and send Marcus a letter telling him the deal’s off, or we let the game play on and give Teriana two more days to get the job done.
If we go with the former, I’d suggest we light a fire under the giants and have them foul the seas to try to hold them back.
Then we ride with every soldier we have to the front lines and carve our way through to that xenthier stem and get ourselves to Deadground.
If we go with the latter, we need to figure out how we are going to fight two ships worth of legionnaires without losing most of Xadrian’s and Bercola’s warriors, because believe me, they won’t go down easily.
And afterwards, we’ll have to ride with a fraction of the soldiers we had to the front lines to try to reach the xenthier and probably fail. ”
“I’m getting the impression your vote is the former strategy rather than the latter,” Killian said. “Or did I misinterpret.”
“You are awfully lighthearted for a man who has been sleeping alone.” Agrippa’s eyes flicked between Killian and Lydia, then narrowed. “Or not. Gods, I don’t even want to know what you two have been up to.”
Killian shrugged. “Better you don’t know. But to the problem at hand, if we send a message to Marcus that the deal is off, how long until he sails in force to take what Mudamora is no longer freely giving?”
Agrippa crossed his arms and sighed. “Immediately, would be my guess. He always has contingencies, and he’ll plan for Mudamora to change its mind, even if he doesn’t think it’s likely.”
“Which brings us right back to where we stood before Teriana left.” Lydia toyed with the end of her dark braid, her eyes meeting Killian’s. “She needs more time. We haven’t given her enough time.”
“So you’ll risk your ability to reach Deadground to give her two more days? Four, tops, because I suppose we can factor the time it takes for him to learn we played him dirty,” Agrippa asked. “Will you risk everything for four days?”
Lydia’s eyes hadn’t broken from Killian’s. “What does your gut tell you?”
The letter Marcus had sent Helene had said that he’d conduct the negotiations himself. Which meant that Killian might get a chance to put the bastard in the ground. “My gut says that we play this through to the end.”
“You’re underestimating them, Killian.” Agrippa put his head in his hands. “Even with you and Xadrian fighting, the cost of this will be higher than you think.”
“I’m not underestimating them,” he answered. “I just have a plan.”
The chance to cancel the negotiation had come and gone, and they’d still not heard any word from Teriana or any of the other groups making ready to attack at various places around the world. Agrippa believed it was because they’d failed.
Killian’s gut told him otherwise.
Yet his mind was not for Teriana and the battle she faced, but for the one he would soon face, so Killian pulled his thoughts from the past and focused on the scene before him.
A table had been set up on the beach under a pavilion, white sand stretching for leagues in every direction before him and pasture stretching for leagues in either direction behind.
Clear and open terrain that allowed neither party to hide additional forces without the other knowing it.
Behind the table stood two hundred Mudamorian soldiers, primarily men and women taken from the High Lords’ personal guards, and they stood nervously in the hot sun.
Though no one spoke, it was far from silent with the way their feet shifted against the ground, armor and weapons clicking, all punctuated by the occasional cough.
At the table itself sat High Lord Pitolt, Helene, Lydia, and Killian.
Helene radiated excitement, and every few minutes, she thanked Lydia for her generous sacrifice.
Lydia, to her credit, hid her annoyance each time and always smiled and nodded.
Pitolt was more aware of the stakes, and the man was sweating profusely and had refreshed his glass of lemonade twice.
“You are certain he will hold to the terms we have agreed to?” he asked Lydia for the third time. “The Cel abide by their word?”
“He will follow it to the letter unless we violate the terms,” Lydia answered for the third time. “They take legal documents very seriously.”
“Civilized,” Pitolt muttered. “Honorable. Far better to deal with such men than that witch from Derin.”
Helene rested an elbow on the table. “You are so fortunate to be escaping all this madness, Lydia. With how efficiently these Empire legions travel, I rather think that you’ll be in the lap of luxury within the week! All of this will feel like a bad dream.”
“I pray so,” Lydia murmured, and to keep up his role, Killian muttered, “You don’t have to do this, Lydia. You don’t have to go with them.”
“Have you ever thought that she might want to?” Helene snapped. “By the Six, Killian, she’ll be going back to wed the Dictator. He’s arguably the richest and most powerful man on Reath, and she’ll be away from all of this.”
“It is not a matter of want , Your Grace,” Lydia said quietly.
“It is a matter of doing what is right. With these concessions, Mudamora will gain a powerful ally. They will aid Malahi in reaching Deadground, and I’ve no doubt that the blight will soon be a thing of the past. All at the cost of Malahi’s gold and my…
” She swallowed hard. “My chance to be with Killian.”
“And we thank you for your sacrifice,” Helene repeated. “Truly, Lydia, you are a proper martyr. I think I will have a monument created that is dedicated to what you have done.”
Instead of answering, Lydia gestured to the sea. “There they are.”
Two ships approached, though one dropped sails and fell back, keeping far distant in the deep waters. The other continued on, then dropped anchor.
The wind blew vigorously, causing the Torrington banner to flap wildly, wrapping around the flagpole.
“Fix it,” Helene hissed at the servants. “How are they to take me seriously if I don’t appear to be in control?”
“We cannot control the way the wind blows, Your Grace,” High Lord Pitolt muttered, wiping sweat from his face. “They will take you seriously by virtue of the crown on your head and your ability to make this agreement.”
The wind was, indeed, beyond their control, yet Killian noticed that the crimson and gold banners on the Cel ship blew out straight, the strange serpent that Lydia told him was called a dragon seeming to writhe and dance on the wind.
The ship had anchored in deep water, and he watched with interest as he got his first look at the legions of Celendor.
They were every bit as well trained as Agrippa had said they would be, disembarking in longboats with total organization and precision, armor and weapons polished and shining in the sun.
They formed neat ranks on the beach, watchful and alert until the full company of two hundred had disembarked, what looked to be a hundred more remaining on the deck.
Exactly as Killian had anticipated.