Page 51 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

Malahi sighed. “Validation of our value from our enemies is not much comfort, though part of me wishes they still pursued, because then we’d know there was hope.

” Unhooking her waterskin from her belt, she took a sip and then passed it to Lydia.

“I know the expectation is that I’ll kneel before the blight and know instinctively how to send it away or destroy it, but I don’t.

Killian took me out to where it had spread near Mudaire to see if I could remedy it, but I couldn’t.

There is nothing living in it to make grow. It’s dead.”

“The blighters are the same.” Lydia took a mouthful. “They might walk and talk, but they’re dead. There’s no more life to them than the rock I’m sitting on. Less, in a way.”

Malahi nodded, seeming to understand.

“I was able to help Lena when she was infected because it hadn’t killed her, but doing so nearly killed me. Maybe I could save a few dozen over a stretch of time, but the thousands, the tens of thousands, who’ve already died? I think they’re lost to us forever.”

Malahi sucked in a ragged breath, and when Lydia looked at her, it was to find tears rolling down the queen’s face. In an instant, Agrippa was at her side, his hand curving around her face, wiping away her tears. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing.” Malahi smiled up at him. “We are just talking about the blight. Trying to figure out how it can be reversed.”

Agrippa made a noncommittal noise, then said, “Don’t make any plans together. The last one was nearly the death of me.”

Malahi rolled her eyes, watching as he retreated to where Killian was now shirtless, olive skin glistening with sweat as he worked. Agrippa said something to him that earned a dour look, then Agrippa pulled off his own shirt and started helping.

They sat in silence, watching Agrippa and Killian dig, and Lydia took the opportunity provided by the dim glow of the rising sun to examine the other woman’s face.

Her injuries were no longer raw and livid, but without a healer’s intervention, the scars would remain for the rest of her life.

Her blond hair was growing back where it had been torn out, but it was a far cry from the waist-length locks she’d once had.

“I haven’t seen my reflection since Helatha,” Malahi said, and Lydia flushed, realizing her scrutiny hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“I don’t mean in mirrors. Even when I wash my face, I keep my eyes shut so that I won’t have to see myself.

Rufina used to make me look at the ruin of my face, but I like living in the delusion that it will all heal away.

Seeing otherwise would be worse than the pain itself. ”

Reflex demanded that she say that Malahi wasn’t ruined, to spew forth platitudes, but Lydia kept silent, instinct telling her that wasn’t what the other woman needed.

“It’s probably terrible to be so vain, but I liked being beautiful,” Malahi said, watching Agrippa throw wet sand at a scowling Killian. “I liked the power it gave me and the way it caused people to treat me, and knowing that I’ll never experience that again makes me want to scream and scream.”

Lydia could feel Malahi’s grief, the weight of it, and she said, “I—”

The queen held up her hand. “I know what you’re going to say, and while I appreciate the offer, I need to be this way.

Need to have the scars of this war written on my face because my kingdom has the same wounds.

I need the rage I feel every time I look at my hands or touch my face, because it gives me the strength I need to keep fighting.

Perhaps one day I’ll come to you to heal the trauma inflicted upon me, but it won’t be until I’ve—until we’ve— healed the trauma inflicted upon Mudamora.

Perhaps not even then, because I never want to forget what I survived.

Remembering what I can endure gives me strength. ”

They’d been right to save her.

“Don’t look at me like I’m brave.” Malahi met her gaze. “For all my words, I can’t look in the mirror.”

Lydia smiled. “I can’t take off my gloves.”

“Aren’t we a pair?”

A laugh tore from her lips, and the men broke off their conversation to look at them before going back to whatever Agrippa was sketching with his knife in the dirt, both of them looking decidedly guilty.

“What are you talking about?” Malahi asked.

“Peaceably assailing a fortress,” Agrippa called back. “Killian’s never done it, so I’m imparting my extensive wisdom.”

Killian gave Agrippa a furious shove, the pair arguing under their breaths before going back to Agrippa’s drawing, and next to her, Baird gave a soft chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” Lydia asked the giant, whom she’d thought had been asleep.

“The four of you make me feel old,” he answered. “And young.”

He closed his eyes, seemingly unconcerned with leaving Lydia unsupervised with Malahi, which gave Lydia a strange sense of peace in her heart.

“I looked for answers in the library at the healing temple,” she told Malahi.

“I couldn’t find anything, but it was disorganized and there wasn’t time to read everything.

” Shaking her head, she added, “It made me wish for the Great Library in Celendrial with its endless librarians who, between them, have read every tome. Research takes time, and time is the one thing we don’t have. ”

“There is such a library in Revat,” Malahi said.

“I’ve seen it myself. More books than you can imagine and countless librarians holding court within its walls, many of whom are marked.

We could appeal to the Sultan for their help, for if there is an answer written, it is surely there.

Once we reach Serlania, we should send word. ”

To call it a plan was a mockery of the word, but it was something. Something where moments before, there had felt like nothing.

Lydia smiled and stretched her legs out before her, only for every instinct in her body to flare as Malahi’s eyes widened with fear.

A cold blade pressed against Lydia’s throat, and then a male voice said, “Some might say it is brave for Mudamorians to walk these lands, but I? I say it is very, very foolish.”