“Don’t you have a Cohort to prepare?” he asked, and I almost jumped from my chair.
“Yes, kar-vessár,” I murmured and fled.
Chapter 21
“You got a new friend?”
Myar Mal might have sounded innocent, but Tayrel Kan didn’t need telepathy to smell bullshit.
“Are you jealous?” he asked.
“Just surprised. He doesn’t seem like your usual fling.”
“He’s not.”
“Oh?” Myar Mal sat in the place vacated a while ago, “do tell.”
“Go fuck a siplah.”
The kar-vessár hummed, his lips twitching into a smile. “I wonder why he puts up with you.” He leaned forward and added, almost whispering, “does he even know…?”
“Do you?” snapped the sorcerer.
Myar Mal chuckled. “I think I have an idea.”
Suddenly, he straightened up, all traces of cordiality gone. Once again, he assumed his usual pose of impeccable, impersonal authority and Tayrel Kan relaxed. Assholes he could deal with.
“Anyway,” said the commander, in a voice that left no room for arguing, “we’re attacking soon. I want you to be ready.”
Tayrel Kan scoffed, then turned on his back. “No chance. I was injured, vessár. Have you no mercy?”
“Don’t get all teary on me. With all the shit you took, you probably can’t even feel pain.”
“Maybe, but I still need rest. I’m depleted.”
“That can be remedied.”
A shiver run down the sorcerer’s spine. “No, I can’t—”
“You can,” cut in Myar Mal. “And you will.” He leaned forward again, reaching to his pouch and retrieving a bulky syringe of metal and glass, filled with gleaming blue liquid. Tayrel Kan wanted to protest, but the kar-vessár didn’t give him a chance: “A few hours ago you fought me for the right to get that magic-wielder. Now you’re bailing out?”
“I know my limits,” barked the sorcerer, “you should try to learn yours, too. I’ve heard people who suffered a heart attack before their fifteenth cycle are not likely to make it to their twentieth.”
“My life expectancy is none of your business.”
He liked being unreadable, but the slight flaring of his nostrils and tightening of the jaw betrayed him.
Tayrel Kan smirked. “Oh, I’m just worried about you,” he purred, lips stretching in a venomous smile. “I bet you don’t get a lot of this at home. Did your sweetheart sit at your side when you suffered? Did she even give you a shot?”
Before he knew it, Myar Mal was on his feet, with one hand wrapped around the sorcerer’s neck and the other raised, clenched into a fist, ready to strike.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, lips twisted into an ugly snarl.
Tayrel Kan’s smile widened. That evidently sobered the kar-vessár, who let go and stepped away, slicking his hair back.
“I don’t have time to quarrel.” Myar Mal picked up the syringe he dropped during his outburst. “You either take it yourself or I’ll give it to you.”
Tayrel Kan clenched his teeth. Usually, he could fight the kar-vessár all day, but not like this, not wounded, depleted.
Not with the ghost of Myar Mal’s hand searing his neck.
“What’s that?” he asked, resigned. “Revenge? You’re mad I opposed you and now you’re trying to punish me?”
“I believe that’s called an order.”
Tayrel Kan hated taking orders. He made no move toward the syringe. So, swifter than an attacking dryak, kar-vessár grabbed his wrist and rammed the needle in, pressing the piston much faster than recommended. Tayrel Kan felt the fire filling his veins, creeping up his arm. He tried to muster enough focus to cast a silencing spell, but before he managed, pain flooded his mind in a white hot wave.
He screamed.
Chapter 22
I knew I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help lingering around the tent. I grew to regret it, though, when the air was pierced by an inhuman shriek. My eyes darted around. There was no doubt, the shriek was coming from Tayrel Kan’s tent. A few people around paused what they were doing, casting nervous glances towards it, but none of them moved. A part of me wanted to rush in and see what was happening, but remembering Myar Mal’s stony gaze, I couldn’t bring myself to move.
After all, there was only Tayrel Kan and Myar Mal inside, neither of whom I wanted to cross if they were doing… something they shouldn’t. And there were plenty of people around, if someone was in danger, one of them would surely react. Right?
The shriek ended abruptly, and after what felt like an eternity, the flap opened. Myar Mal stepped out, followed by a man I’ve never seen before. Dahlsi, with high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, dimpled chin, and dull gray eyes in an eerie expressionless face.
“Poor sap.”
I jerked in surprise and spun around. Saral Tal was standing beside me.
“Who is it?” I asked, trying to match the picture to anyone I knew—anyone that could be in the tent with Myar Mal and…
“Tayrel Kan.”
Saral Tal sent me a weird look, and I turned back to catch another glance of the man before he disappeared. I tried to correlate what I saw with the sorcerer I knew, but in my mind, Tayrel Kan’s face was a mass of scars, shining blue eyes, and sardonic smiles. However embarrassing it might have sounded, I didn’t even remember how it looked beneath them. This… thing… was not him.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked.
“Katarda.” Saral Tal said, as if this word was supposed to explain everything. He must have been used to my ignorance, because he quickly proceeded to elaborate, “it’s a drug some sorcerers shoot when they need to recharge rapidly. They say it’s like pouring pure acid into your veins, and it only gets worse the more you use it, to the point recovering from the shot may take longer than just recharging naturally. I think Myar Mal had to give him something else to get him on his feet so soon. Those two have, ah, a special relationship.”
“Relationship?” I repeated mindlessly, my thoughts immediately shooting to the conversation we held a moment ago. “You mean they’re together?”
Tayrel Kan seemed more than interested in our kar-vessár, but I thought it was only
