Page 145 of What Blooms in Barren Lands

“I have nothing but,” I told her with buoyant sincerity. “I have more regrets than most people alive, I dare say.”

“I believe you.” Her eyes flashed with an excited gleam in my direction as she paused in her furious scribbling. “Would partnering up with Einar Andersen be among those regrets?”

“No,” I forced through my clenched teeth, “it most certainly would not.”

The journalist’s features slackened for the first time in an expression of sincere surprise. But it passed quickly, and having composed herself, she arched her eyebrows at me questioningly.

“From what I understood, he was the main architect of your crimes, was he not?”

“For the last time, there were no crimes at the time?—”

“It is my understanding that you were more or less forced to do his bidding?—”

“No!”

My hands shook, and my face burned with an incoming rush of blood.

“Was he not the leader of all the partnered mountain settlements in Corsica? Were you not, as the captain of his archers, technically his subordinate?”

“Well ... yes, technically, but?—”

“And is it not true that when you first met him, arriving at Corsica with a small party, he would only grant you shelter in exchange for your ... uhm, sexual services? Despite the fact that one of your members was injured, effectively leaving you no choice but to accept?”

Pen poised above the paper, she waited for my reaction. Her whole pose seemed similar to that of a snake, ready to lashout. Meanwhile, her companion observed us impassively, saying nothing. Blood drained out of my face.

“One of our sources told us that he beat you. Is that true?”

Damn you to hell and back, Monika.

“No, it is not. If I were you, I would dig a little deeper into the credibility of your source,” I replied coldly.

She bit her lip, blinking and still smiling nastily.

“Was he a good man in your opinion?”

“I don’thavean opinion on that because it makes no difference. He was goodfor me. This world has a way of teaching you not to care about anything else.”

I blinked away my tears a few seconds too late. The so far impassive Arnar managed to snatch a photo of me before I did. My hands itched with a desire to throw my coffee into his face.

“Are you telling me that you condoned his actions, fully? Including his needless extermination of all infected on the island?”

“Sure, why not. I’m glad that it got him what he wanted, a name that would go down in history. I couldn’t possibly care less otherwise.”

“Couldn’t possibly care less about thousands of human lives wasted?!” she exclaimed, sounding almost scandalised, if only her eyes didn’t gleam so excitedly as her pen raced across the page as if of its own accord.

“No. Just about the tired, old question of the morality of it.” I paused for a heartbeat, before adding in a quieter voice, “Do I keep seeing their faces in my sleep, is that what you are really asking? No, I do not. I rarely dream about them at all anymore. And when I do, they’re a ravenous, faceless mob of sub-human creatures come to hunt me down if I let them. As for faces, I only ever see one in my dreams.Hisface. And when I do, I’d give anything not to wake up.”

I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping loudly on the floor.

“Time for you to leave,” I announced. “Get out of my house and off my land.”

Arnar did as he was told and headed straight for the door, but Isabella Moreno lingered, biting her lip. All of a sudden she looked as young as she was and vulnerable. That enraged me even further.

“Final question, please,” she said. “You are known to have no qualms about feeling nostalgic for the Carmine Plague years. Aside from Mr Andersen’s company, what is it you miss the most about those times?”

As I raised my eyes to stare hard into hers, I felt myself become the epicentre of a dark, brewing storm, the electrified clouds gathering volcanically around my head.

“That depends,” I told her, the tone of my voice sharp like a whip. “Right now, what I miss the most is being able to shoot you with my bow without the risk of consequences.”