Kobra

CHAPTER 36

DAVINA

Four days ago

BY THE END OF OUR SEVENTH DAY IN KAMAR, the truth settled in with a dull, heavy certainty: there was no hidden stash to be found on the island.

I was beginning to wonder if it even existed at all.

Kamar had clearly served as a base of operations for the doctor, a logistical hub kept far from the eyes of the king and his alleged main residence in the pyramid city, which we’d figured was little else than a cover.

That all made sense. What didn’t make sense was how, after combing through every single lead, we’d found no further trace of the elusive stash.

A dreadful thought had begun to root itself deep in my mind: we were too late. Someone had gotten to the sap already. The confident centurion within me refused to accept that, but the evidence was starting to pile against her.

My mood was terrible. I had been so sure I’d construed that clue correctly. The land where the moon cries . . . if not the island that was literally named moon, where?

Worst of all was that we had absolutely nothing to continue on.

Countless hours had been spent in which we had meticulously examined every inch of every cursed property on that list. Kwabena had searched every basement and root system, Zephyr had moved every stick of furniture, and Armand, when his stomach was steady enough to help, had combed for safes and concealed compartments.

I had vibrated walls and floors and even a chimney—earning myself a full-body dusting of soot—searching for hidden panels.

And all for nothing.

“I’ll arrange for a transport pod to take us back to Kantria tomorrow, and we’ll see how soon we can get you back to Widesight from there,” Zephyr said, standing up and starting to walk away.

I shot to my feet, my journal tumbling to the floor. “What?”

He turned, as calm as if he’d just commented on the weather.

It was late, we’d only just returned from the last property on the list, which had yielded only more records and registries of exchanges, and we’d gathered around the living room in silence, poring over the last of the ledgers and registries, hoping for that tide-turning, buried clue.

Zephyr’s stack was already neatly placed face-down on the table, his review complete.

He must have decided my fit did not deserve an answer, because he turned and continued walking towards the exit.

“Zephyr.” Nothing. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I cursed under my breath.

I couldn’t go back to Widesight with nothing to show for it. Nevermind the stain on my so far immaculate record, but Ludwig . . . My fingers shook a little at the mere thought of what he would do.

Clenching my fists, I jogged after the captain, sliding between him and the front door just as he reached for the handle. “You’re not sending us away.” My chest rose and fell with sharp breaths as I drew to a stop.

By the time I realized how I’d positioned myself, it was too late. My back was pressed against the heavy wooden door, a brooding Zephyr inches away, towering and unmoving.

I should have moved to the side, but I didn’t.

Rather than stepping back, Zephyr leaned further in. “Yes I am, Lachlan,” he said, his voice low and dark. His breath grazed my cheek, sending a shiver slicing down my spine. “We’ve wasted six days here and we’re no closer to the stash than we were in Keftara, we’ve got—”

“They’re only wasted if we give up now,” I interjected, ignoring how my stupid heart thundered at his proximity.

“We’ve come too far to give up. We might have missed something.

There must be other tunnels, other cities or towns.

We only checked the cabin in the jungle outpost. What if the clue’s in the canopy? ”

I wouldn’t allow it. We couldn’t give up. Not with everything on the line.

One thick, elegant eyebrow rose. “We’re talking about a man in his seventies.”

“Under the roots, then.”

“Kwabena did check the roots.”

“Then—”

Zephyr’s forearm landed hard above my head, thudding against the door. The sound cut me off.

“Lachlan,” he said, voice low, “breathe.” The absolute authority in the command had the argument on my tongue dying.

He didn’t back away. Instead, he leaned closer, his beard brushing my jaw, his warm breath feathering across my throat. When his chest, warm and solid beneath his vest, grazed mine, and I felt one of the straps catch across my nipple, breathing was the last thing in my mind.

Oblivious or unconcerned of what he was doing to me, he whispered directly into my ear, “It’s okay to concede defeat, sometimes.

” Every word sent a bolt of heat running through me.

“Not everything has to be a fight. Sometimes, stepping back lets you see what you missed. Sometimes, it’s the only way forward. ”

The words barely broke through the blood roaring in my ears. Warmth was spreading through my limbs. He was too close and I was trapped and . . . and . . .

“Sometimes,” his voice was even softer, barely more than an exhalation, “it’s okay to give in.”

My heart stalled. I turned too fast and my mouth grazed his.

It was like striking a flint. Electricity burst at the contact, raw and demanding, pulling the air from my lungs.

When our gazes met, the world stopped. Days of silent tension, every glance and every breath between us condensed into this one unbearable moment. And what I found in his eyes . . . it nearly undid me.

Unending promises—of pleasure, yes, but of other things, too. Deeper things. Things that had my heart at once clenching and melting, torn apart between fleeing and giving in.

“I can’t draw you from my mind.” The admission was quiet, pained. Raw. “I can’t take it anymore.”

But I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, nor was my head in any shape to figure it out. I couldn’t forget that he’d rejected me, but now . . .

My lips parted, and his eyes dropped to them with unfiltered hunger. All I had to do was close the distance, tilt my head—

“Did they leave?” Kwabena’s voice echoed from the other room. Although faint, it was enough to break the spell. I flinched like someone waking from a dream. My hands went to Zephyr’s chest and I pushed him back. He didn’t offer any resistance, his features once more unreadable.

He opened the door without another word. Just before stepping out, he looked back over his shoulder.

“Pack,” he warned. “We’ll be leaving for Kantria in the morning.”

I wasn’t given the chance to argue this time.

The trip back to the capital wasn’t as smooth as the outbound journey.

We were forced to stop twice due to Armand’s worsening condition.

His skin was scorching hot to the touch, and only the intervention of a mender at the second podport settled his churning stomach long enough to see us through the rest of the journey.

Concern for him overwhelmed me, as did the guilt. I should have paid more attention, should have forced him to leave. Over the course of the last few weeks, he’d become a friend. I’d let the investigation consume me, and he was paying the price.

The worst part was, I knew the Supreme would commend my choices. Armand was still breathing, so the mission had to come first.

I hadn’t noticed the change as it crept in gradually, but the weight loss was undeniable now. The broad, muscular frame that had fooled me seven years ago was gone, replaced by a shape that was too hollow for its height.

As soon as we arrived in Kantria, I dragged a shivering Armand straight to the infirmary. Panic gripped me when he didn’t argue.

I stood near the door, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt while two menders examined him—one a hydrokinetic, the other a psychokinetic trained in health.

Light streamed in through the tall glass wall, glinting off the polished floors.

Much like in any other room in the army’s headquarters, I had noticed, most of the palace was visible beyond.

Armand lay on the wooden exam table, eyes closed, brow furrowed as the healers moved their hands over his abdomen in slow, careful patterns. Both wore gauze robes dyed in the copper tones of the desert, the same kind of masks I’d seen on the Kobrant guards covering their mouths and noses.

Time crawled by in silence until the taller of the two spoke. “How long ago did you say you were bitten?”

“Around ten days,” Armand replied, voice strained.

“And did you have symptoms from the beginning?”

“No. The first few days it was just the wounds that hurt. Around three days later, the . . . other issues began.”

“Hmm.” Another beat passed, and then: “There is a tishik embedded in your intestine.” At the blank look on our faces, she clarified, “A parasite.”

I sucked in a breath. Armand’s eyes flew open, sheer horror widening them.

“What do you mean, a parasite?”

Both healers removed their hands from my friend then, taking a step back. The same one replied, still calm, “It’s a native worm to which Kobrants develop immunity in childhood. Being from another continent, your system weakened by the venom, you had no such defenses.”

“How do I get rid of it?”

“We can administer a preparation to weaken it, but the only way to eliminate it completely is to starve it.”

The shorter healer turned and moved to a metal worktable, where they began crushing and blending a mix of herbs and powders with rhythmic efficiency.

My friend let out a rough exhale. “Okay. For how long?”

“A week.”

“He can’t go a week without eating,” I protested. “He’s already lost a lot of weight, and . . .” I could not say it out loud, but an entire additional week without substance getting into him . . .

The tall healer turned to me, their ageless face serene.

“Not food,” they said gently. “The tishik feeds on particulates suspended in Kobrant water.” They turned back to Armand.

“You need to return to your continent. Water there is different. Deprived of it, the organism will die, detach, and pass naturally.”

The grimace on Armand’s face mirrored my own. I could not believe this was really happening. That we were going to have to yield.

For the first time, I was going to fail a mission.

Of course it had to be the most important one of my career.

Under different circumstances, I’d have fought tooth and nail until every single path was looked into, every trace of a clue, every possibility.

But Armand was, perhaps, the one thing I would not sacrifice for it.

Not for my career, and not for anything else.

A warm, calloused palm reached for mine, squeezing softly. “Self-pity looks horrendous on you, Lachlan.”

“It’s not me who has an alien in the gut.”

His smirk was knowing. “He can’t tell you what to do,” Armand said softly. My head snapped up. “I heard you in the corridor yesterday.” My cheeks warmed, but I kept my face blank. “This is a two-way arrangement. If you want to go on, you damn well go on.”

Pressure built at the back of my throat. Still, I managed to force out, “And you?”

A sad smile. “Like you said, you’re not the one with an alien in the gut.”

Arranging intercontinental transport turned out to be far more complicated than shuttling between Kobrant cities. The paperwork alone would take two days, and that was two days too long. Even with the remedy supposedly numbing the parasite, Armand’s condition gnawed at my conscience.

Much to my dismay, there was nothing I could do about it, so I did what I did best and focused on the case.

Armand insisted on trailing me to the main registry, where, after a bit of persuasion—and Zephyr’s intervention—we were granted access to the sap production and distribution records from the Great Reservoir.

Hours of scouring the ledgers only deepened my frustration.

According to them, every single drop of sap went to the King, for it was his to distribute and sell in whichever way he thought was best for Kobra.

There was no mention of Sircelen anywhere.

Nothing. Not a single order, shipment, or notation.

Based on the volumes we knew he had accessed, his interference should’ve been glaring, but the records were spotless.

Once again, something wasn’t adding up.

Later that day, Zephyr arranged a meeting with the High General, Tetteh. I knew he intended to send me away with Armand, which was why I went in dressed for battle. When the four of us entered the room, Tetteh was already there, standing at the window, hands clasped behind her back.

I sat back and listened while Zephyr dutifully listed our progress both in Keftara and Kamar. Only, he didn’t present the latter as a failure, but as the successful obtention of undeniable evidence of the doctor’s rebellion and involvement with Kaelthorn’s cell.

Tetteh didn’t so much as blink. Her expression remained composed, unreadable. The hairs at the base of my spine rose, but I bit my tongue, bidding my time.

Only when Zephyr argued that there was no more footing to go on, and that the best course of action would be to close the case as it was, did I speak.

“I request permission to extend my stay in Kobra one more week in order to get to the bottom of this. If, by then, we still have nothing to go on, I will follow Centurion Bleuombre back to the Republic of Widesight.”

There was a moment of tension in which the High General’s eyes travelled between the four of us before narrowing on me. When they moved to the captain, my stomach sank, but all she said was, “Granted.”

Upon my return to my room, I found another of Ludwig’s missives neatly folded on the bed. The message in it roughly translated to:

Time is ticking, Centurion. What are you waiting for?

The note was crumpled in my fist, an exasperated grunt slipping from my lips.

If only it was so easy. For the first time in my whole career, failure was a very real, very imminent blade looming over my head. I’d bought myself a week, but I had no idea of what to do with it. Didn’t know how to keep this cursed case from unraveling further.

But defeat was something I had been trained not to feel.

Ignoring any trace of lingering exhaustion, I straightened my back and set to work.

And finally, at long last . . . I figured it out.