And she’d chosen him.
Bending his head, he kissed her gently, mindful of her injuries. “You are the secret. This”—he kissed her again—“is the secret.”
Teriana rolled her eyes. “You really need to get some sleep. A secret is something everyone doesn’t know.” Reaching up, she touched his bruised throat. “This, everyone knows.”
She was probably right. She was right, only he didn’t want to admit it. “It’s one thing for my men to suspect. Quite another for me to shove it in their faces. I…” Marcus trailed off, struggling to find the words he wanted. This was untrodden territory for him, and he felt painfully ignorant—not a feeling he was used to. And certainly not one he liked. “This,” he finally said, “can only happen behind closed doors.”
“We live in a tent.” She winked. “No doors.”
Groaning in frustration, he leaned back against the wall, rubbing at his temples. “You drive me to madness.”
“You like it.”
He did like it. He liked her. But his affection for her had already been used against him with near-catastrophic effectiveness.
Stomach hollow, he forced himself to meet her gaze. “Would you want your crew to know?”
The waves rolling across her irises surged, and for a foolish heartbeat, he thought she might say yes. Then she looked away. “No. It wouldn’t go over well.”
That was likely an understatement.
“As much as I might wish otherwise, my men talk. To one another. To civilians. To the sailors on my ships. And those are the sailors who supply your crew, so I think it’s in both our best interests to keep the rumors in check.”
Teriana nodded, but he noticed a slight quiver in her jaw, even these stolen moments dampened by circumstances. Reaching down into an open chest, he picked up a necklace that caught his eye, all sapphires and diamonds and gold. He fastened it around her neck, watching how the gems glittered across the delicate bones of her throat.
Teriana looked down, then unfastened the necklace and handed it back to him. “That gold is steeped in blood. Pretty as it is, wearing it would be bad luck.”
“I doubt there’s an ounce of gold on Reath that hasn’t known blood, one way or another.” He dropped the necklace back in the chest, knowing she was right but also that she deserved more than he was giving her. “But blood or no, I need all of this valued. You’ll have to stay here while it’s done, but you’ll be under constant guard. And Servius will be with you.”
Opening the door, he led her back in the direction of the entrance. He nodded at the seven Arinoquians, four men and three women, standing with Servius and Gibzen. Switching to their language, he said, “You’re here to ensure the inventory of Urcon’s wealth is taken honestly and without bias. All will be searched upon departure from this room, and the punishment for theft will be the loss of a finger. Is this understood?”
They nodded, and he said, “Good. Teriana will be my representative, and given her expertise, hers will be the final word. Agreed?”
Everyone nodded, but still he hesitated, searching his brain for a reason to remain. A reason not to leave her presence. But neither Teriana nor this task needed his involvement, whereas there were a hundred other matters that did. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, then left without a backward glance.
4LYDIA
The gates to Mudaire stood open as they approached, soft flakes of snow drifting from the sky to add to the carpet of white. It should’ve been beautiful, but with the endless streams of black crisscrossing the land, the stench of rot thick on the air, it looked for all the world to Lydia like the flesh of one infected by the blight.
Or a blighter, as she’d learned they were called during their journey back from the battleground of Alder’s Ford.
The soft thuds of the horses’ hooves turned to sharp clacks as they rode under the open portcullises and onto the cobbles, not a single sentry remaining to guard the city. The door to a house opened and shut on the wind, the hinges creaking, and the shutters on the windows rattled with each gust. Where Mudaire had once been thick with the scents of humanity—food and sweat and urine—now there was only rot, as though the city itself was a corpse laid out to decay.
And yet it was not entirely lifeless.
Lydia noted human tracks in the snow, far too many to be accounted for by a handful of individuals, and she turned to Quindor, who rode silently at her side. As Grand Master of Hegeria’s temple, he had authority over all healers in Mudamora and the ear of the King. He’d have answers. “I thought Lady Calorian was able to evacuate the city.” Her chest hitched at the mention of Killian’s mother, her mind leaping to him as it so often had over the days since she’d turned her back on him at Alder’s Ford.
Quindor’s gaze flicked to the tracks, his jaw tightening. “There were a good many who refused to go, and there wasn’t the manpower to force them. With the battle won, we anticipate more will return.”
“Why would anyone in their right mind stay?” There was nothing to eat but vermin and what fish could be caught on the sea, and the majority of the wells in the city were foul.
“Hope. Stubbornness. Fear.” His eyes moved to the shadows, and Lydia’s went with them, catching sight of motion. Of something human in shape. Her chest tightened, especially when she realized it was following them.
“Blighter,” Quindor said softly to the soldiers.
“Would you have me put it down, Grand Master?” one of the men replied. “Or do you wish it captured?”
Before Quindor could
