Page 59 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

LYDIA

Baird’s warning about a coming storm proved to be accurate, for as soon as they exited the underground caverns, Lydia heard the wind.

Servants ignored the mess that was the throne room in favor of hurrying about the palace to pull shutters into place over the narrow windows, casting the whole building into darkness broken only by the lamps on the walls.

They were led to a series of neighboring rooms. Baird disappeared into one, Agrippa and Malahi into another.

The servant directed her and Killian to the last, the man clearly of the belief that they desired to share.

With what had happened between them during the sandstorm at the base of the escarpment, Lydia knew there was no lack of desire on either of their parts, yet both of them stood outside the door, the awkwardness so intense that Lydia’s cheeks burned.

To cut the tension, Lydia blurted out, “I want to talk to you about what happened with Agrippa.”

“About how he can’t keep his gods-damned mouth shut?” Killian muttered.

“More about the part that he’s not an old man.” She reached for the handle, and opened the door.

The large bedroom was beautifully appointed, with a floor set with tiles of rich amber, gold, and terracotta laid in a pattern that resembled the dunes outside the oasis.

The walls were decorated with vibrant tapestries depicting the six but her eyes went to the large bed.

Low to the ground and made of sandstone, it had silk covers of a bright azure blue and pillows embroidered with golden thread, the mattress beneath plump and inviting.

“The spoils of war,” Killian growled. “I can’t begin to tell you how much gold they’ve stolen from Rowenes mines. It makes me wonder how much of Ceenah’s murmurs of peace are just talk, because without plunder, they have no economy.”

“They may have other resources we don’t know about.” She took a seat on a low cushion before an equally low stone table. It had writing tools on it, along with glasses and a carafe of water, and she drank from it greedily.

“That could be poisoned,” he muttered.

“Poison doesn’t really seem like Ceenah’s first choice.”

“The best choice is the unexpected choice.” Killian dragged over another large cushion and sat down awkwardly. “They still haven’t returned our weapons.”

“Would you?”

He sighed, then poured a glass of water.

“I saw what happened with Ceenah and Agrippa. She aged him like a corrupted would, but her eyes didn’t change.

Which is interesting in and of itself, but more interesting is that you aren’t supposed to be able to put life back into a person who has had it stolen, yet Agrippa looks the same age as he did yesterday. ”

“Because she didn’t keep the life she took out of him,” Lydia explained. “She just dumped it into the room. I could see it floating like a cloud, and I was able to draw it in and give it back to him.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” Killian rubbed his chin, stubble having grown into a short beard during their travels.

“But when Agrippa paid that corrupted in Deadground to heal me, the man took some of Agrippa’s life to do it.

Acted like a conduit. Agrippa said something about Rufina forbidding the practice, but that many of the corrupted bent the rules for gold. We can ask Agrippa if he knows more.”

“That’s almost exactly what Ceenah did.” Lydia traced the design carved into the tabletop with her finger, noting that her gloves were getting worse for wear.

“It seems that by using her mark as a weapon to protect herself rather than for personal gain, she doesn’t invite the Corrupter in.

” Giving a sharp shake of her head, she added, “That seems too insignificant a loophole to pass the scrutiny of the gods, though.”

“Is it?” Killian sipped on his water, brown eyes thoughtful.

“I use my mark to defend myself and others constantly. Have used it to injure and kill countless people. We’ve seen Malahi turn plants into a weapon and Baird do the same with the weather.

Why shouldn’t you be able to use your gift to protect yourself? ”

“I…” Lydia swallowed hard, feeling incredibly overwhelmed with the possibility.

The ability to defend herself had become almost an obsession in her mind, but she did not want strength to come at the cost of being a monster.

If there was another path… Her eyes burned, and she squeezed them shut before tears could spill down her cheeks.

She heard Killian move next to her, then his arms were around her body, pulling her against his chest. “I know what this means to you,” he said. “You don’t need to hide that from me, because it means a lot to me as well.”

A sob tore from Lydia’s lips, and she twisted to bury her face in his neck, feeling the prickle of days away from a razor as his chin brushed her forehead.

His hand moved up and down her back in wordless comfort as she cried.

The revelation of hope for Mudamora, and for herself, was somehow more overwhelming than all the horror they’d faced.

Only when all the tears in her were spent did her sobs cease, and Killian said, “Do you know how to do what Ceenah did? Can you replicate it?”

“I’m not sure.” She wiped her nose on her filthy sleeve, well aware that she was desperately in need of a wash and fresh clothes.

“I know how to take the life in. I know how to put it into a person. Only I’ve never tried to do one into the other, and certainly not to take and just…

dump it into the air. Yet obviously it’s possible. ”

“Ceenah may be willing to teach you,” he said.

“For all she has denied us an alliance and the army that would come with it, it doesn’t seem she’s willing to withhold knowledge of the workings of the gods, good and bad, else why did she send information about the blight to Serrick?

The worst thing she might do is say no, and then you can figure it out yourself.

” He hesitated. “You can try it on me, if you want.”

Lydia’s breath hitched as he lifted one of her hands, slowly peeling up the leather of her glove. It was sticky with sweat, her hands dirty and her nails ringed with grime. To cover her rising panic, she choked out, “I really need a bath.”

“We all need a bath,” he murmured, removing his own glove, and holding his hand up so that there was only an inch between her palm and his. “I trust you, Lydia. If you can’t trust yourself, trust that I can take care of myself. Or at the very least scream for Agrippa to rescue me.”

There was a sudden thump against the wall, then another and another, and Lydia’s cheeks colored. “I think perhaps he’s occupied.”

“I was wondering when he’d find the courage,” Killian said with a laugh, glancing at the wall separating the rooms and shaking his head before returning his scrutiny to her. “Truthfully, I might rather die than scream for his help, because he’d never let me live it down.”

“True.” Her laughter faded as she examined their hands, her focus shifting to the brilliant light of life surrounding his skin, the allure of it palpable, even now. “I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“I won’t make you.”

“I know.”

Quivering, she slowly pressed her palm to his larger one.

Killian’s skin was warm, callused from a lifetime of combat, and her breath hitched as their fingers interlocked, because she wanted this so badly.

Wanted to be able to touch him, to show with her hands, her lips, her body how she felt in her heart.

Take it.

The voice entered her thoughts like poison, and she jerked away. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

Snatching up her glove, Lydia twisted away from him, pacing the room.

Furious at herself for not being able to do such a small thing.

For being weak. For having no self-control.

She pressed her forehead against the wall, seeking calm, only for the sounds of Agrippa and Malahi doing exactly what she wanted to do with Killian to invade her ears.

Their freedom to do whatever they wanted with no consequence sent a sudden rush of jealousy through her veins, a scream rising in her throat to tell them to shut up.

Killian’s hands pressed down on her shoulders.

“Think of how far you’ve come in such a short time,” he said.

“Not so long ago, you could barely look at me without feeling the Corrupter’s pull.

Now you can sleep at my side with no fear in your heart.

” He rotated her and pulled her into his arms, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“Your hands are just the last little piece you need to gain victory over.”

“They aren’t a little thing.”

“But they are the last thing.” His voice was steady as he gently pushed her across the room. “There’s a bathing chamber in here. Go get cleaned up, put on the clothes the Anuk have given you, and then go ask to speak to Ceenah. Listen to what she has to say before you leap to conclusions.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, unable to keep the misery from her voice.

Picking up a banana from the tray of fruit that had been left for them, Killian said, “I’m going to find Xadrian.”

“Why?” She made a face. “He’s awful.”

“Because my gut tells me it’s the right thing to do.” He walked backward toward the door. “You know I always trust my innards when there is an important decision to be made.”

Lydia smiled, unable to help herself because it had been so long since she’d seen him smirk like that. “Be careful.”

“Unlikely.” He winked at her, and then disappeared out the door.

In the bathing chamber, she discovered a narrow tub filled with cool water, along with several choices of soap, and the pleasure of washing away days upon days of filth from her skin and hair did much to ease her distress.