Lydia didn’t speak. Didn’t say a single word until the faint glow of the sun lit the horizon, illuminating her face. “It doesn’t last very long.”
He knew what she meant without asking. “Wouldn’t serve his purposes if it did. The Corrupter isn’t giving you anything, Lydia. He doesn’t give anyone anything, only takes.”
“If only that were true.”
Her fingers drummed against the edge of the boat, the rhythm frantic and uneven, the motion reminding him of addicts deprived too long of their drug of choice. And it had only been a matter of hours. A matter of hours, and already she was craving more. “It’s his tool for controlling you. He comes out ahead.”
“As if you could possibly understand!” she snarled, twisting in the boat to face him. “No one ever accuses you of being weak or incapable. No one ever accuses you of being a liability.”
She threw his own words in his face, and he flinched. “You found a cure for the blight, Lydia. That makes you many things, but a liability isn’t one of them.”
“What it makes me is something to be used. A tool for others to achieve their ends.” Fury rendered her voice almost unrecognizable, the coming dawn illuminating eyes that remained dark pits into the underworld.
He wanted to say that it wasn’t her that was speaking—that it was the Corrupter’s influences—except Killian knew that wasn’t entirely the case. It was the fear of helplessness that lurked in her heart that was speaking. The same fear that had driven her to want to learn to fight all those long months ago, despite his warning that no amount of skill with a blade would erase it.
And now the Corrupter had offered her something she believed would vanquish her fear. Except all it did was bury it, the cost of keeping it from clawing its way up so very high. “You sound like Rufina.”
“Perhaps she has the right of it, after all.” Lydia leaned toward him, her gaze feral. And hungry. “You should’ve left when you had the chance. We will both have cause to regret that choice.”
Killian kept rowing, but every muscle in his body was tense. “You can control this, Lydia.”
“I don’t think I can.” Her tongue chased over her bottom lip. “I don’t think I want to.”
I’ve lost her.
She lunged, and he only just got his foot up in time to knock her back, nearly sending her overboard. But in a heartbeat, she was on her feet, pale fingers reaching for his throat.
And he swung. The oar was little more than a blur in the air, connecting with the side of her head with a loud crack. A blow that would’ve killed anyone else, but had only gained him a few seconds of respite.
Dropping to his knees, he used her belt to bind her wrists and strips of fabric to hold her ankles, trussing her tight so that she wouldn’t have the leverage to break them. He was gagging her when her eyes flickered open, fury filling her gaze as she realized her state.
“I’m sorry for this. You know the last thing I want to do is hurt you,” he said, pushing her hair back from her face, the wet strands tangling in his fingers. “But you also know that I don’t give up without a fight.”
And neither did she.
With that thought in his mind, Killian glanced at the sun to get his bearings, the weight of all that was to come heavy on his shoulders.
But for now, all he could do was keep rowing.
113MARCUS
“Wake up, wake up,” a familiar voice said, and Marcus flinched as water splashed him in the face, dragging him into consciousness.
Blinking, he tried to wipe his eyes clear, but his wrists were bound, coarse rope digging into his skin. Then his gaze focused, and Titus’s face loomed in front of him.
“Well, if it isn’t the most wanted deserter on this side of the Endless Seas,” the other legatus said, a smile that reminded Marcus of Cassius rising to his lips. “You should have stayed gone, Marcus.”
“I didn’t desert.” His throat was painfully dry, the words coming out barely louder than a whisper.
“That’s not what the Thirty-Seventh thinks. That’s not what Legatus Felix thinks. They all believe you abandoned them. For a girl.”
“No.” Marcus licked his lips, trying to moisten them. Trying to push the fog from his head. “We were attacked. Had no choice but to take the xenthier stem we found, but it landed us in Sibern.” He coughed. “I’ve been to Celendrial.”
Titus picked up a cup, holding it to Marcus’s lips as he desperately swallowed the water. “I believe you, Marcus. But you know how legions are about deserters—I’m not sure they’ll listen.”
Marcus choked on the water, turning his face away from the cup. “I have new armor. A letter from Wex.”
Titus shook his head. “You were found in civilian clothing.” Then he turned his head and said in Arinoquian, “Was there a letter on him? Armor?”
An ancient man with the mahogany skin of a Gamdeshian moved forward, lamplight glinting off the multitude of rings piercing his left ear. “No letter. No coin. Nothing but the clothes on his back.”
A chill ran down Marcus’s spine, his stomach twisting into knots. “Path-hunters are coming to confirm the route, Titus. They’ll confirm my story.”
Or would they? He was no longer certain.
“I want to believe you,” Titus said. “But you’ve been charged with desertion, and protocol demands that I give you over to the Thirty-Seventh. And to Felix.”
Who he’d left on the worst of terms. Who likely hated him. Who had no reason to believe anything other than that Marcus had deserted for Teriana.
And someone, probably Titus, had gone to great lengths to ensure Marcus had no proof otherwise.
The Thirty-Seventh was going to kill him.
“I’ll speak on your behalf,” Titus said. “Ask Felix to hold off on sentencing you. But…” He shook his head. “Unless those path-hunters arrive soon enough to corroborate your story, I might
