Page 159 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

KILLIAN

“He was being an ass in refusing to speak anything but Cel,” Agrippa said, from where he sat his horse next to Killian. “He speaks Mudamorian perfectly. He just did it to piss you off, which means he sees you as a threat. And that, my friend, is something to be proud of.”

“Just because I didn’t kill him then doesn’t mean I won’t kill the arrogant prick later.”

Agrippa laughed. “I’d say he gets better the more time you spend around him, but that’s how he is.”

“What did Teriana see in him?”

“He is painfully good looking. Being stuck in the same room as you two was honestly one of the worst experiences of my life, and I hope I never have to repeat it. Spending all my days with you is already destroying my ego.”

Killian cast a sideways glance at the other man, allowing himself to be distracted from his irritation about being a cog in Legatus Marcus’s plan. “Why? Everyone is always going on about how good looking you are.”

“You don’t.”

“I talk about how you’re a great fighter.”

“That only makes me feel worse. Like being the first runner up at a prize hog contest and being given a consolation pat on the head before being turned into bacon.”

Rolling his eyes at the sky, Killian shook his head. “I’m not saying it.”

“But you’re definitely thinking it.”

Despite himself, Killian laughed, Agrippa’s inane chatter taking the edge off his anxiety, as the other man had intended. But for all his jokes, Killian could feel Agrippa’s own tension. Tension he shared, because this entire plan hinged on their enemy holding to his word.

“How will we be able to tell that they’re following through?” Malahi asked, coming up behind them and stopping her horse next to Agrippa. Lydia was next to her, both women wearing hooded cloaks with chain mail beneath.

“We won’t,” Agrippa muttered. “At least, not until it’s too late for us to do anything about it.

I doubt there are more than a handful of men in his ranks who know the real plan, so when they march, it will be with intent.

He keeps his plans close. Has trust issues that I don’t think have improved in our time apart. ”

“What if it’s a trick?” Malahi asked. “What if he lied? What if he’s actually allied with Rufina?”

Agrippa didn’t answer, which was an answer in and of itself.

Lydia circled her horse around next to Killian’s, her eyes on the army in the distance as she reached out to take his hand. “What do you think?”

Her fingers were cold in his grip, betraying the nerves that didn’t show on her face.

“Marcus has a goal in mind, and we aren’t it.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s going to hold to the plan. He doesn’t have to help us to achieve that goal.”

“He’s not helping us.” Killian squeezed her fingers. “Rufina just pissed him off and made herself the common enemy. We’re merely the tool he’s going to use to strike at her.”

Which annoyed him to no end, as did Lydia’s willingness to just let what that asshole had done to her, and to Teriana, be bygones.

To let him ride away on his golden horse to pursue his own ends without paying any price for the horror he’d caused.

Marcus deserved to die, and to die badly, and the only reason Killian wasn’t set on making that happen was that he needed the bastard’s involvement if there was to be any hope of winning this. And that pissed him off even more.

“You’re seething,” Lydia said. “He’s not the enemy.”

“He’s my enemy.” Everything about Marcus had been exactly as he’d expected.

Arrogant, condescending, and wholly convinced of his own superiority.

Dictating the plan in Cel so that Killian was forced to rely on Agrippa’s translation, as though Killian’s opinion of what to do with his own army was entirely irrelevant. “He’s a prick.”

Agrippa gave a soft laugh, but Malahi’s mutter of, “Don’t make it worse,” kept the man from adding further commentary.

Lydia was silent, and Killian regretted his words as he saw the tension in her expression. The uncertainty. Then she said, “I hate that this is all under Marcus’s control. That we are standing here passively, hoping for the best with everything on the line while he risks nothing.”

Killian felt the same way, but he also knew there was a reason it had to be this way. “For this to work, there can be no communication between camps,” he said. “I don’t like it, but if I were him, I’d have done the same.”

“But what is your gut telling you?” she asked. “Because you wouldn’t be so tense if you were certain this would work.”

She carried a large enough burden, and if he could, Killian would have carried this one for her.

But for all her hand was clasped in his, Lydia hadn’t asked the question as his lover.

She’d asked as Queen of Mudamora. “It tells me that while Marcus’s goal may have changed, others in his army might feel differently.

It tells me that his control over his army might not be as absolute as he believes.

And without total control, his plan won’t work. ”

Lydia exhaled a shaky breath, then gave a tight nod.

Either way, the dice had been rolled. Horns bellowed out from the Cel army, but as ranks began to march, Astara landed before Killian.

The horses shuffled restlessly as she shifted into human form and Lydia pulled off her cloak to hand to the woman, though the shifter seemed as comfortable nude as not.

Donning Lydia’s cloak, Astara said, “The army of the dead are on the march.”

“All of them?” Killian asked, and the shifter shook her head.

“No. She kept several hundred around the xenthier stem.”

Killian had anticipated that. “Have you spotted Rufina?”

“She marches with her host, surrounded by her corrupted. Her army will strike Dareena’s line right as the Cel strike yours.”

Killian’s skin began to crawl, because it couldn’t be this easy. His eyes flicked to the distant army, picking out the golden horse that Marcus sat upon, wishing there was some way to communicate with them that wouldn’t risk discovery. “How long do we have until Rufina reaches Dareena’s lines?”

“Half an hour, if that,” the shifter answered, then to Killian’s shock, the woman’s face crumpled. “We cannot hope to win this. We need to flee.”

“There is nowhere to flee to .” Killian hated that he had to deceive his people to see this through.

But all it would take was one slip of the tongue to one of the blighters he was sure were hidden within the ranks, and Rufina would know their plan.

“The Gamdeshians have retaken their nation, but if we run to them, the Cel will follow. As will the blight.”

And all hope would be lost.

“This is where we stand our ground,” he said to Astara. “Do the Six proud and take to the skies. Keep sights on Rufina for me, so that when we win this fight, her blood will be the next to decorate my sword.”

Astara wiped the tears from her face. “I’ll watch her.”

In a dizzying blur of flesh shifting to feathers, the hawk was gone.