Chapter 75
Chapter Seventy-Five
Sasori
“Parry! Strike! Thrust!” The shouts of one of my commanders rang through the training yard, empty except for the battalion of soldiers at his command—the sounds of swords slicing through the salt-tinged air combined with masculine grunts of exertion to create a soundtrack that was both soothing and invigorating.
My blood hummed as I stared unblinkingly at the hundreds of men in the yard below my balcony.
Sword play was not my area of expertise, yet I found it much more educational to observe from afar.
Not to mention the fact that the commander wore a permanent scowl in my presence, choosing to respond to my orders with grunts and sighs rather than actual words.
It was more than evident that he still clung to the ancient tradition of subjecting Samyrian women.
If he weren’t so adept at his job, I’d have castrated him before cutting his head from his body long ago.
Perhaps when this is all over, I will separate both heads from his body.
The thought had a grin pulling at the edges of my mouth.
Muscles loosened, the sounds of steel clashing against steel rang high into the sky as the men moved into more complex maneuvers.
There was little doubt in my mind that the Samyrian army was much more proficient in physical combat than any warriors from Vespera or Lishahl.
We were prepared—more than ready for Solace’s word to destroy our enemies.
A sudden, shrill scream sounded through the training yard, rising above any other noise.
As one, the battalion froze, bare-chested bodies turning in synchrony to the origin of the wail.
My eyes followed their movements, intrigued yet altogether disinterested in whatever spectacle was certainly unfolding.
There, toward the back of the training yard nearest the wall, one of the men lay on the ground hunched over so his nose nearly touched his knees. Even from here, I could see the bright red blood oozing between his fingers to drip to the ground below, where the white sand greedily absorbed it.
The commander strode through the still soldiers, weaving between bodies with a grace that belied experience and authority. His black cloak snapped smartly in the wind behind him, hitting a few of the soldiers as he passed. Still, no one moved.
The injured soldier continued to moan and plead, begging for something indecipherable and beyond what anyone would grant.
Without so much as a word, the commander reached the injured soldier and grasped the short strands of his black hair in his hand.
With a savage yank, he exposed the young man’s throat before slicing his dagger across it in one quick motion.
Blood immediately spurted from the clean opening, coating the commander, the wall, and the now-dead soldier’s sparring partner.
His body slumped to the ground, sand sticking to the wound in his neck and side, with a thump that was clearly audible in the oppressive silence.
“Begin again!” the commander’s voice rang out sharply once more, spurring the soldiers into action again. The man lay where he was slain, his body jolting every so often as his former partner’s sword cut into his corpse as he continued to train.
I sighed, bored with the spectacle, and turned my gaze beyond the training yard to the sea beyond.
“Do I come at a bad time, my lady?” Razia’s silky voice cut through my disinterested musings. The man moved with a silence that reminded me of the glittering obsidian serpents native to Samyr.
Pretty to look at, yes, but extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.
I wondered who would be the first to taste his poison.
“Come forward,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear. Silent as a shadow, his presence only announced by the fluttering of a cloak, Razia came to stand beside me. He didn’t speak, simply folded his hands just above his groin, and seemed to watch the soldiers training.
“It’s too bad about that man,” he said, gesturing slightly with his head toward the fallen soldier. His corpse was almost unrecognizable now, his body thoroughly sliced and chopped by the man who continued to train above him.
I shrugged apathetically.
“And why would that be?” I asked, already bored with this conversation.
“It is a loss of a man for Solace, is it not? A well-trained man. Surely, your worthiness is seen by the army you can provide?” His words were silky smooth yet deceptively sharp. I straightened and crossed my arms before fixing him with a stony glare.
I didn’t speak, simply let my eyes trail up from his smartly tailored black trousers to the absolutely garish garnet doublet edged with thick golden cord.
My eyes jumped past the furry black cape that sat on his shoulders, up his thin, pasty neck to his large, almost hooked nose, and finally to his whiskey eyes.
Razia appeared completely nonplussed by my perusal. He cocked his head slightly, his eyes holding questions but not maliciousness, his heavy brows slightly quirked. Any other person would have thought the statement a simple, innocuous inquisition. Yet I knew what lurked beneath the surface.
“And what worthiness to you bring to the gods, Razia?” I asked, fighting to keep my tone bored and as unaffected as I was certain I looked. Two could play this game, and I’d played it well for many, many years.
A slow, cold smile spread across Razia’s face, doing nothing to warm his expression or unfeeling eyes.
I nearly shivered.
“Haven’t you heard?” he asked, his voice slithering over me like serpents.
I cocked a singular brow. “I am in no mood for games, Razia. I have other things I need to be concerning myself with.”
“Clearly,” he deadpanned with a gesture toward the training below, his expression never faltering.
We stood like that, silence echoing between us as we stared each other down. I felt a trickle of power wind itself around my neck, but it disappeared before I could identify what it was—a ghost of a touch.
“The child has been delivered to my tribe. Their initial experiments proved . . . unsuccessful.” Razia pouted slightly, an expression that simply did not belong on that man. I wrinkled my nose in response.
“But no worries, Lady d’Hida. My worthiness is guaranteed for as long as the gods have need of me,” he cooed.
“I’ve heard from my sources that they’ve discovered a way to keep her blood .
. . untarnished forever. She will be a conduit for their Blood Magic for—” He spread his hands wide, but paused his monologue as what looked like snowflakes landed on his outstretched palms.
I frowned, watching as more thick flakes fell, landing on our hair and clothing. It quickly accumulated on the parapet and stone floor of the balcony.
“Snow?” I asked, but instantly knew that assessment was wrong. There was something . . . off about the substance falling from the sky. There was a slight sulfur and earthy scent to the thickening flakes, not the biting frostiness of snow.
I tentatively rubbed my fingers together, trapping some of the falling fibers in my grip. The unknown substance felt almost silky as it mushed into my hand, leaving behind a dry, black-grey coating.
Ash.
My gaze instantly shot to the sky, searching for the source.
“Are we under attack?” Razia asked, a hint of panic in his voice. I would have smirked at his weakness, but was too preoccupied with locating what was burning.
I sniffed the wind, but only caught the faint scent of embers and earth, like a fire long since dead.
Nothing in Samyr, then.
My brow furrowed as I looked across the sea once more. The ash was thicker across the bay, and my eyes widened impossibly when a sudden gust of wind cleared the view long enough to see the Valley beyond.
A plume of ash so dark it was nearly black stretched heavenward from the Valley, its tendrils reaching higher than I could even comprehend. Periodically, lightning flashed within the vortex, the glimmer of lit embers twinkling throughout.
It would have been beautiful if I wasn’t suddenly frozen with fear.
A stronger gale of wind followed the first burst, sending the soldiers below scattering as they covered themselves from the falling ash that now swirled into their faces, biting against exposed skin and obscuring their vision.
“Fuck,” Razia cursed quietly, turning to head back into the war room. “She is coming,” he muttered, gesturing to the white dot that progressively grew as it streaked toward the palace.
Without another word or backward glance, Razia fled inside, his boots stirring up the thick ash that now covered nearly the entire balcony.
As his cloak swished behind him, something dropped from the pocket within, causing the cinders to plume upward as it thumped lightly to the ground.
I waited outside, letting the grey-black dust coat me nearly completely until I heard the door slam shut before moving to the object.
I swept it quickly from the floor, wrinkling my brow at the unknown signet stamp on the outside.
With a deft sweep of my finger, I opened the letter and scanned the contents.
My breath quickened as I read and reread the letter two, three, then four times.
One of my hands came up to cover my mouth while the other clutched the paper in my shaking hand.
The parchment rustled with my tremors, but I found myself unable to look away from the damming words written in bold ink on the page.
My skin was cold, sweat running in rivulets down my back and forehead as I grappled with the information Razia kept hidden in his cloak.
A quiet, terse knock on the door jarred me from my stupor, and I quickly crumpled the letter into a ball, hiding both my fists behind my back like I was a child again, caught with a toy or sweet I was forbidden to have.
“Lady d’Hida.” I blew out a tense breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my lungs constricting painfully as I fought the urge to panic.
I’d expected Razia to come storming back into the room, searching for the misplaced letter.
Thankfully, it was simply one of the servants.
“We need to prepare this room for Solace’s arrival. ”
Did he drop it on purpose? I wondered, dread sinking into my bones with the implications of that thought.
I nodded, crushing the parchment into an even smaller ball.
“I need to send a letter,” I stated, proud that my voice came out strong, if a bit quiet.
The servant curtsied low with a bow of her head.
I moved quickly to the war table, haphazardly shoving maps and battle plans; papers and objects careened loudly to the floor in my haste to locate a blank sheet of parchment and pen.
“My lady?” the servant asked, holding out a pen that had dropped to the floor. Her eyes were achingly familiar, even if they were a common brown. I stared for far too long, trying to discern her identity.
At the sound of footsteps, I shook my head and grabbed the pen from her with my empty hand.
I flattened the crumpled letter before scrawling a quick note on the back and folding it messily.
With shaking hands, I shoved the parchment into the servant’s hand, my eyes wild with fear at being caught with this information.
“Tell no one what you have. Use the fastest falcon available,” I murmured lowly to her as the footsteps grew closer. Her eyes glinted with an understanding far beyond what a servant should possess, and I briefly questioned putting my faith in this unknown woman.
“And who is this going to, Sasori?” she asked. I didn’t even take the time to correct her on the familiar use of my first name.
“Lex,” I whispered as Razia and a handful of advisors careened into the open war room, Solace hot on their heels. “Get it to Lex.”
I only prayed that my former Bonded would heed my words.