Page 99 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

KILLIAN

Dawn was but a faint glow in the sky when Killian left his room, buckling his sword on as he headed to the blue room to take up guard duty outside Lydia’s door. He was halfway down the hallway, Gwen and Lena in sight where they stood at their posts, when his mother’s voice called from behind.

“Killian, you’ve a visitor waiting in the main parlor.” His mother had an armload of gowns, and he didn’t fail to notice the exhaustion written across her face as she caught up to him. “A giant.”

He tensed. “Bercola?”

His mother gave him a dour glare. “If it were Bercola, I would have used her name. He called himself Baird.”

“I know him.” Killian hesitated, then asked, “Do you know where Bercola is?”

“She did not think you’d care to see her. It is my understanding that you had a falling out, but she has refused to give any details. Always taciturn, that woman.” His mother’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “Resolve it. This is not a time to cling to grievances.”

Giving a sharp knock on the blue room’s door, she called out, “It’s Anne, Your Grace. I’ve the dresses you requested.” Not waiting for a response, she went inside.

Gwen and Lena were watching him expectantly.

“You two have it in you to keep guard for another hour?” he asked. “This can’t wait.”

Lena met Gwen’s gaze, then shrugged. “Sure. But only if you promise to listen to your mother.”

Sighing, Killian set off to the parlor, the ancient wooden floor of Teradale creaking beneath his boots as he walked.

He leapt down the staircase, circling the servants replacing the flowers in the large vase in the foyer table, green fields visible through the window as he made his way to the parlor.

Baird was pacing nervously back and forth across the room, his face freshly shaven and his clothes newly purchased. Killian was struck with an overpowering wave of cologne as he entered the room, the scent of bergamot so strong it made his eyes water. “I thought you were still on the Kairense ?”

The giant ceased his pacing, then crossed the room and lifted Killian in an embrace that made his ribs creak. “I was. Then Lydia told me the news of the progress of the blight and knew that I couldn’t allow my cowardice to get the better of me. Now is the time for boldness. I wish to see my wife.”

Over the bergamot, Killian picked up the scent of whiskey, suggesting that his friend’s boldness was at least half liquid courage. The other half was likely encouragement from the Maarin and Lydia.

“I need to see her, too.” Killian gestured to the door. “And I think I know how to find her.”

They left the manor together, and once outside, Killian lifted his fingers to his lips and whistled sharply.

Baird stared at him in horror. “Are you trying to get us both killed? One does not call a woman like a—”

Socks burst around the corner of the manor, barking happily. “A dog?” Killian supplied. Bending to pet Socks’s thick fur, he said, “Where is Bercola?”

The dog’s ears perked up and, with a yip, he took off running toward one of the pastures.

They followed Socks, the herds of Calorian horses lifting their heads from their grazing to eye them a moment before returning to the thick grass.

Socks leapt between fence boards and led them into the dense forest beyond, the thick canopy of lush trees casting heavy shadows over them.

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Baird grumbled, mopping sweat from his brow and frowning at a pair of caimans in a slow-moving creek. “This seems the path to getting eaten.”

“They’re harmless.” Killian jumped between rocks, the reptiles retreating into the depths as they passed. “Not so the snakes, so watch where you step.”

Baird cursed under his breath, carefully following Killian as they wove deeper into the jungle. Ahead, a small cabin appeared through the trees, smoke rising from the chimney. Socks darted in the open door, and familiar laughter filtered out from the cabin as Bercola greeted the dog.

“This was a mistake,” Baird declared, and only Killian grabbing hold of his arm and hauling the giant onward kept him from racing back to Teradale.

“It will be fine. I’ll talk to her first. You wait out here and don’t touch anything that wriggles.”

Leaving the anxious giant standing next to a tree, Killian pressed on to the cabin.

It had weathered the years surprisingly well, the heavy wooden planks so covered with moss that it nearly blended into the jungle around it.

The doorframe looked new and the windows had been replaced—both likely by Bercola’s steady hand.

She’d built this cabin when he’d been a boy because she’d not found Teradale, which was sized for humans, particularly comfortable.

He’d spent endless hours here to escape the rules governing his behavior that he’d had to endure under his mother’s watchful eye, because the giantess’s only rules had been not to do anything stupid and not to piss her off. Both of which he’d done continually.

Stepping up to the door, Killian knocked on the frame.

Bercola had been on her knees petting Socks, but at his knock, her head jerked up. “Killian.”

“May I come in?”

The giantess got to her feet. “You shouldn’t encourage him to race around the jungle. The caimans have gotten big.” Then she gestured to the pair of oversized chairs next to a table. “Sit. I’ll pour you a drink.”

Socks leapt onto the giant-sized cot on the far side of the room with no care for his muddy feet. Killian took the time to knock the mud off his boots before he came in and climbed into one of the chairs. As tall as he was, his feet still dangled above the ground like a small child’s.

“Gwen and Lena told me you’d returned.” Bercola filled a cup from a small keg of ale, setting it in front of him. “They updated me about what has happened, including about Lydia’s heritage.”

Killian swirled the cup but didn’t drink. “You were right,” he finally said. “Lydia was corrupted.”

Bercola didn’t answer, just took a sip from her cup, her colorless eyes unreadable.

“When last we spoke, you said that there was some of the Six in us all, but also some of the Seventh,” he said.

“It turns out that you were more right than you know. The Seventh doesn’t grant marks, he…

corrupts them. What you were wrong about was that Lydia was hopeless and needed to be killed.

She’s fought the Corruptor’s influence back, and with the help of the Six and then Queen Ceenah of Anukastre, she’s mastered her mark. And herself.”

“I’m glad I was wrong.” Bercola leaned back in her chair. “I’m glad she didn’t try to hurt you.”

He winced. “Oh, she did. A few times.”

“Good thing you enjoy risking your life, then.” She sighed. “But truly, Killian, the relief I felt hearing she’d returned rivaled the relief I felt at your return. I wanted to be wrong.”

Silence stretched between them.

“I love her,” Killian finally said. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her, and for a long time, I didn’t think I’d be able to forgive you for trying to kill her at Alder’s Ford.

But I’ve come to realize that no good is coming from me holding on to my anger.

If anything, it’s allowing the Corrupter to influence me, because driving you away doesn’t make me stronger.

It makes me weaker. And I can’t afford to be any weaker than I am. Mudamora can’t afford it.”

Bercola rested her elbows on the table, her brow split with a frown. “What’s wrong, Killian? And don’t say nothing , because I know you too well to believe that.”

The question forced him to look deep, to dig beneath the confidence and surety he always wore like armor to the kernel of doubt beneath. To admit something he’d not admitted to anyone, least of all himself. “I don’t think I can defeat her.”

“Rufina.”

He gave a slight nod. “I’ve had more than one chance to kill her and failed to do it.

And my failure has cost Mudamora so much.

Most of the kingdom lost to blight. Thousands and thousands of Mudamorians have died and risen to fight in her army.

None of this would be happening if my arrow had struck true the night she attacked the wall.

Or if I’d killed her the night she attacked the palace in Mudaire.

Or when we escaped from Helatha. Or when she caught up to us in Derin.

But every gods-damned time, she’s gotten the better of me.

” He let out a ragged breath. “This is what I was marked to do, but I’m afraid that when it comes down to it, I’m going to fail again. ”

“The burden of stopping Rufina isn’t all on you.

” Bercola’s voice was filled with sympathy.

“I know that Malahi is a tender and that she’s in Revat for answers as to how to destroy the blight.

” She hesitated, then added, “And I know that’s not Lydia stomping around dressed like a queen, so I expect Lydia is in Revat with her.

If they can destroy the blight, Rufina will be reduced to nothing more than a Corrupted serving the Seventh god. ”

“She still has her blighters.” He took a sip of his drink but found he didn’t like the taste.

“A whole army of Mudamorian dead, plus all the Derin dead that she’ll inevitably bring across the Liratoras.

How do we fight against an army of that size, Bercola?

How do we stand against soldiers who feel no pain?

How do we cut down those who wear the faces of friends and family? ”

“I don’t know.” Letting go of her cup, she traced the scratches in the old wooden table. “But you don’t stand alone. This isn’t just your burden to bear—it belongs to every nation, every person.”

In the full scope of it, Killian knew that was true. Malahi was the tender. Lydia the healer. Yet when it came to Rufina, it felt personal. Like ending her was his duty, and fear ate at his insides that when the moment came, Rufina would defeat him once more.

“What can I do?” she asked. “Tell me how I can best help you.”