“So there could be a way to give them something to think about without actually going inside and hastening that eventuality. Though I’d like a chance at that—deviling them on their own ground for a change.” He picked up a stake, hurled it at the practice dummy.
She understood the sentiment, and felt the same. But knew better. “Whenever possible, you don’t fight on their terms, or their turf. The caves are suicide.”
“Could be for them, if we lit them up.”
She pulled the next punch, turned to him. “Lit them up?”
“Fire. But it would have to be the two of us. The others, Moira in particular, would never agree to it.”
Intrigued, she began to unwrap her hands. “I meant to ask you before. The dragon suit. You breathe fire?”
He goggled at her. “Breathe fire?”
“Yeah. Dragons breathe fire, right?”
“No. Why would they want to do that? How could they?”
“That begs the question how can a man turn into one, but okay, another fantasy crushed. So how do you intend to fire up the caves?”
He lifted a sword. “It would only take one of us to get close enough, a few feet in. I’d enjoy that. But…” He set the sword down again. “A more practical manner would be flaming arrows.”
“Shooting flaming arrows into caves in broad daylight. Well, that shouldn’t draw too much attention. I’m not shutting you down,” she added before he could speak. “An earthquake and a dragon flight barely made anyone blink. People have blinders. But there’s another factor. There are still people in there.”
“I know it. Can we save them?”
“Highly unlikely.”
“If I were locked in a cage, waiting to be a meal for one of those things, or changed into one, I’d rather burn. You said the same before.”
“I don’t think you’re wrong, but we’d need a full-on attack to make a dent. And you’re not wrong either when you say we’d never talk the others into it.” She walked over to study his face. “And you’re saying it, but you couldn’t do it. Not when it came down to it.”
He strode over to yank the stake from the dummy. He wanted to be able to do it, in his head. But in his heart…that was another thing altogether. “Could you?”
“Yeah, I could. Then I’d have to live with it, and I would. I’ve been fighting this war all my life, Larkin. You don’t get through it without casualties. Innocent casualties—collateral damage. If I thought we could end it this way, or put a serious hurt on Lilith, I’d have already done it.”
“And you think I can’t.”
“I know you can’t.”
“Because I’m weak?”
“No. Because you’re not hard.”
He pivoted, hurled the
stake, hit the heart of the practice dummy. “And you are?”
“I have to be. You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, and for all you know, you still don’t know what I know. I have to be hard. What I am makes me hard.”
“What you are, a warrior, a hunter, is a gift and a duty. To harden around it, that’s a choice. I can do what needs to be done, and if this was the way, this sacrifice of men, I would live with it. It would hurt me, and it would weigh on me, but I would do what needed to be done.”
Enough weight, she thought as he left her, you get hard, or you break under it.
And this is why she worked alone, she reminded herself. Why she was alone. So she didn’t have to explain herself, or justify herself. Why she’d accepted, after Jeremy, that the only way to do what she’d been born to do, was to stay alone.
She heard a muffled boom from overhead in the tower, glanced up. Sure some people found it—that intimacy, that unity—and made it work. But they had to understand each other first, and accept all the dark places. To not just tolerate them, but embrace them.
And that, when it came to her and her life, just wasn’t in the cards. She rewrapped her hands, and went back to pummelling the heavy bag.