Page 162 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

MARCUS

If the boy next to him had been Nic in truth, he’d have reacted in a heartbeat as Servius blew the horn to signal a split in the ranks.

But the corpse standing next to Marcus stood frozen for long seconds as Calorian led his cavalry, and a towering column of giants, into the narrow lane before it said, “What are you doing?”

Marcus clung to the plan for a moment longer to buy Calorian time. “I thought you’d learned your lesson about asking too many questions.”

But the ruse was up.

The brown of Nic’s eyes was consumed by darkness until only twin voids remained, then the boy’s face twisted into a snarl. “This will cost you,” a voice that was not Nic’s hissed, and Marcus recoiled.

“The Fifty-First just broke ranks!” Servius shouted. “They’re moving to block Calorian’s path. Orders?”

“Hold the lines!”

Marcus knew he should be watching the field, but he couldn’t look away from Nic’s face, his stomach twisting with sickness at the monster who now looked out. It said, “Don’t have the nerve to kill them, do you?”

“They’re already dead,” he answered. “You are not Austornic. You are only using his body as a puppet, and for that, you will pay a heavy price, Rufina.”

“They’re going to intercept!” Servius shouted. “There’s not enough time!”

The monster laughed. “Your plan isn’t going to work, Legatus.

My puppets will make short work of your new allies unless you turn your men on them.

But you can’t do it, can you? Not when you hold the hope in your heart that Kitaryia will bring them all back and spare you the guilt consuming what little you have of a soul. ”

The mockery in the monster’s voice made Marcus want to scream because no matter what he did, a toll would be paid in blood.

“You can’t turn your men on the boys you were supposed to protect,” the monster whispered. “You can’t give the order to cut them down. Cut them up. Grind them into the mud. You don’t have it in you, and so I will have my victory.”

“Marcus!” Servius shouted. “The Mudamorians aren’t going to make it!”

Tears ran down his cheeks because unless Lydia broke Rufina’s hold on the Fifty-First’s bodies and mind, they’d forever be her puppets. But if he gave the order to kill them in truth, there’d be no bringing them back.

There was no victory to be had in this war.

Grasping the corpse’s shoulders, Marcus said, “If you can hear me, Nic, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for failing you, but know that I’m going to do the right thing. I’m going to do what you would have wanted. I swear it.”

And before he could lose his nerve, Marcus pulled a knife from his belt and drove it up into Nic’s skull so he would not have to witness what was about to happen to his men.

The corpse slumped, and Marcus caught him, holding the boy who’d been a younger brother to him as he died.

Lowering Nic to the ground, he stumbled to Servius and yanked the horn from his friend’s hands.

Sucking in a deep breath, he blew a series of notes, knowing that in following these orders, the Thirty-Seventh would never be the same again.