Page 179 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

KILLIAN

“You sure about this, Lydia?” Agrippa asked from where he leaned against the stone wall of the chamber. “Keep in mind that the man who rules Celendrial tried to murder you, and your reappearance, along with your subsequent accusations, are going to put you right in his line of sight.”

“I don’t think Cassius rules Celendrial anymore,” Lydia answered, circling the xenthier.

“I wasn’t talking about Cassius.”

Killian’s stomach tightened, because while Lydia didn’t appear to have considered whether Marcus remained a threat to her, he most certainly had.

“If Marcus has decided to take control, your arrival will be a significant inconvenience for him,” Agrippa said. “Don’t mistake an alliance of convenience for more than it is, Lydia. He’s proven what he’s capable of.”

“I’ll be cautious,” she said.

“Keep your head down.” Agrippa gave Killian a once-over, shaking his head. “Shoulders, too. You’re going to stand out like a sore thumb among those gilded bastards.”

“Noted. You’ll be all right without us?”

It was Malahi who answered. “We’ll make do with the supplies the legions abandoned until ships come to bring us back south.” She bit at her bottom lip. “Please be careful. We need you to come home.”

Guilt bit at Killian’s heart, because he and Lydia were needed here to help rebuild. But Malahi was experienced and capable, and she had Agrippa and the rest of their friends to guard her back. Whereas Killian feared that Teriana stood alone. “The Seventh himself couldn’t keep us from returning.”

Malahi gave a small smile. “I suspect he knows that.”

“Find Finn for me,” Killian said to Agrippa. “He should be with Seldrid, but…”

“I’ll find him.” Agrippa took hold of Malahi’s arm and drew her back from the xenthier. “Good luck.”

“Together?” Lydia asked, reaching out to take Killian’s hand.

“Together,” he answered, grasping it tight. Their clenched hands reached for the xenthier, and the last thing he heard was Agrippa shouting, “One at a—”

A white void surrounded him, and though Killian knew Lydia’s hand was grasped in his, not being able to feel it filled him with panic.

Then he was stumbling through water, Lydia’s hand tight in his as she fell to her knees in the swamp.

Killian’s first impression of Celendor was that it was gods-awful hot.

The second was that he was staring down a dozen legionnaires, several with arrows pointed directly at his head.

Rising to her feet, Lydia spoke to them in Cel.

Recognition bloomed on several of the men’s faces, all of them bearing the mark of the Thirty-Seventh Legion.

Weapons lowered, then the one who appeared to lead them said in Mudamorian, “That’s a decision above my rank, Domina.

I’ll take you to the legatus and he’ll decide what to do with you.

” Then he jerked his chin at Killian. “Hand over your weapons.”

“You’re welcome to have them if you can take them.”

The man considered his words, then shrugged. “Fine. Start walking. If you piss me off, I’ll have my men shoot you in the back, understood? Today is not the day to test my patience.”

Helping Lydia out of the swamp, Killian started toward the enormous walled city in the distance, the legionnaires forming an escort around them. “So this is Celendrial?” he asked under his breath, and she gave a tight nod. “Heart of the Empire.”

Until this moment, this place had only been a name.

A dot on an unfamiliar map. His imagination had not done it justice.

There was a gravitas to the city that he’d never experienced before, not even in Revat.

A presence, like the city itself was alive, and Kilian fell silent as they reached the gates and passed beneath the golden reptile perched above.

People were flowing in groups toward the center of the city.

They gave the legionnaires wide berth, their curious eyes looking over him and Lydia.

The escort moved with the flow to a building with columns that stretched incredibly high, the ceilings above painted in vivid scenes, but the crowd carried onward.

“What’s going on?” Lydia asked the centurion. “Where are they going?”

“Executions,” he answered, but refused to answer any further queries as they were brought deeper into the building.

Their footsteps echoed down the corridors, and a set of doors opened ahead of them, the guards to either side saying something in Cel to the centurion, who turned back to Lydia and Killian.

“The legatus will see you now,” he said.

Lydia squared her shoulders, meeting Killian’s gaze for a heartbeat, then she stepped inside. He followed, eyes latching onto the man standing behind the table. He wore legion clothing and armor, the Thirty-Seventh’s mark stamped on the breastplate.

But the man was not Marcus.