Not again.
“It’s okay. It’s just one of the saplings.”
“Just?”
“Abarrane has been questioning them all night about Iago and Drakon’s whereabouts.” His gaze flips to the little window. “And now the sun is coming up.”
Which means the sapling is burning alive under it.
Another scream pierces the silence.
“It should be over soon.”
While I have no love for those creatures who came here, intent on stealing the Legion away, I cannot tolerate torture, especially not this form of it.
My hands fall from Zander’s pants.
With a groan, Zander settles beside me again, accepting that the mood is effectively ruined.
As the long train of wagons and horses heads north, my focus grazes over the seven unmarked graves by the crop of stones. I couldn’t save everyone last night. Two legionaries are buried on either side of Ianca, along with four mortals. I didn’t know any of them, and yet watching those who did quietly weep stirs a lump in my throat.
“You did that.” Saddled in his horse next to mine, Zander nods toward the carnage in the open field. “You did what none of us could.”
The grif rests where it fell, where wild animals will pick at its corpse until it’s too rotten even for them. It’s more horrific in the daylight, a small mountain of charred, scaly meat. The trails of inky blood that still ooze, leaking into the surrounding soil, will keep anything from growing in that spot for years to come, according to Gesine.
Yes, I did that.
But I take in the scorched earth around it—the vast expanse of blackened grass, the scattered boulders once nestled together, the few spindly trees that thrived but now lay like broken twigs—and I remind myself that I also did that. I saw Zander seconds away from death, and my worst fears exploded inside me. I couldn’t control what I unleashed. I could have caught Zander in that blast, or any of the legionaries. Or all of them.
How I didn’t is beyond me.
Now I know what Gesine means about my emotions causing destruction.
The thought of it makes me shudder.
Next to the beast are all the dead saplings, including the burned body of the one Abarrane couldn’t break for information about Drakon and Iago’s location. As the sun crested the mountain ridge, the Legion stood and silently watched its rays cook him. They watched while I hid in the wagon, plugging my ears against his screams.
The other sapling is bound and stuffed in the wagon with Flann, away from the daylight, so Abarrane can continue her questioning tonight. I hope she pulls something from him because I can’t stomach another morning like today.
A white stallion appears beside me, slowing to match Eros’s canter. Fresh swirls of blood decorate its sides.
“We have no need to man our spits anymore. Just ask the Ybarisan to roast our meat for us!” Jarek bellows. He’s pale and moving stiffly, but otherwise, he seems in good spirits. If he needs more repairs, he’ll have to wait. Gesine is with Elisaf in a wagon, finishing what I started on his leg.
The legionaries answer with a chorus of cheers and laughter.
“Perhaps not so crispy, though.” Jarek smirks, but neither his tone nor his demeanor carry that same sharp edge he normally wields for me.
No one would be the wiser that he nearly died last night.
Wouldhave died, Gesine promised, had I not gone searching for him when I did.
But I know.
And he knows.
And when our eyes meet, something silent passes between us that I don’t fully understand but makes me think I have nothing to worry about from the fierce warrior anymore.
He trots ahead to Abarrane’s side.