“When last we spoke, you said that there was some of the Six in us all, but also some of the Seventh,” he said. “It turns out that you were more right than you know. The Seventh doesn’t grant marks, he… corrupts them. What you were wrong about was that Lydia was hopeless and needed to be killed. She’s fought the Corruptor’s influence back, and with the help of the Six and then Queen Ceenah of Anukastre, she’s mastered her mark. And herself.”
“I’m glad I was wrong.” Bercola leaned back in her chair. “I’m glad she didn’t try to hurt you.”
He winced. “Oh, she did. A few times.”
“Good thing you enjoy risking your life, then.” She sighed. “Buttruly, Killian, the relief I felt hearing she’d returned rivaled the relief I felt at your return. I wanted to be wrong.”
Silence stretched between them.
“I love her,” Killian finally said. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect her, and for a long time, I didn’t think I’d be able to forgive you for trying to kill her at Alder’s Ford. But I’ve come to realize that no good is coming from me holding on to my anger. If anything, it’s allowing the Corrupter to influence me, because driving you away doesn’t make me stronger. It makes me weaker. And I can’t afford to be any weaker than I am. Mudamora can’t afford it.”
Bercola rested her elbows on the table, her brow split with a frown. “What’s wrong, Killian? And don’t saynothing, because I know you too well to believe that.”
The question forced him to look deep, to dig beneath the confidence and surety he always wore like armor to the kernel of doubt beneath. To admit something he’d not admitted to anyone, least of all himself. “I don’t think I can defeat her.”
“Rufina.”
He gave a slight nod. “I’ve had more than one chance to kill her and failed to do it. And my failure has cost Mudamora so much. Most of the kingdom lost to blight. Thousands and thousands of Mudamorians have died and risen to fight in her army. None of this would be happening if my arrow had struck true the night she attacked the wall. Or if I’d killed her the night she attacked the palace in Mudaire. Or when we escaped from Helatha. Or when she caught up to us in Derin. But every gods-damned time, she’s gotten the better of me.” He let out a ragged breath. “This is what I was marked to do, but I’m afraid that when it comes down to it, I’m going to fail again.”
“The burden of stopping Rufina isn’t all on you.” Bercola’s voice was filled with sympathy. “I know that Malahi is a tender and that she’s in Revat for answers as to how to destroy the blight.” She hesitated, then added, “And I know that’s not Lydia stomping around dressed like a queen, so I expect Lydia is in Revat with her. If they can destroy the blight, Rufina will be reduced to nothing more than a Corrupted serving the Seventh god.”
“She still has her blighters.” He took a sip of his drink but found he didn’t like the taste. “A whole army of Mudamorian dead, plus all the Derin dead that she’ll inevitably bring across the Liratoras. How do we fight against an army of that size, Bercola? How do we stand against soldiers who feel no pain? How do we cut down those who wear the faces of friends and family?”
“I don’t know.” Letting go of her cup, she traced the scratches in the old wooden table. “But you don’t stand alone. This isn’t just your burden to bear—it belongs to every nation, every person.”
In the full scope of it, Killian knew that was true. Malahi was the tender. Lydia the healer. Yet when it came to Rufina, it felt personal. Like ending her was his duty, and fear ate at his insides that when the moment came, Rufina would defeat him once more.
“What can I do?” she asked. “Tell me how I can best help you.”
The request for alliance should formally come from Lydia, but every instinct told Killian it couldn’t wait. “Anukastre has committed to an alliance. But I don’t think it will be enough. I need you to journey to Eoten Island and convince the Council of Twelve to commit Eoten’s army to the fight.”
“The Council of Eleven, you mean.” Her lip curled. “All decisions require unanimous support, and one of Gespurn’s marked has long been absent. We’d hoped he’d died, but given that Gespurn has not seen fit to choose another summoner, the traitorous prick must still live.”
Killian winced. “About that…”
“Hello, my love.”
Bercola’s eyes widened, then her face turned red with fury. “You fucking bastard!” she screamed, then flung herself at Baird.
Killian cursed even as he caught hold of her arm, Bercola easily dragging him across the cabin. “Don’t kill him!”
“How could you!” she shrieked. “How could you abandon our people!”
“Because you left me!” Baird scrambled backward. “I couldn’t bear to watch you live life apart from me, so I left.”
“Coward!”
“I’m sorry!” Baird pleaded. “Betraying you was the worst mistake of my life!”
Killian managed to get between them, though the thought that he could restrain two angry giants was laughable. “Bercola, you don’t have to forgive him but you can’t kill him. He’s a friend and he’s had my back through more than a few dark hours. What’s more, he’s fighting on our side.”
He tensed, waiting for Bercola to attack, then realized she was crying. Great heaving sobs, and it struck Killian then that this wasn’t a conversation he needed to be part of. “I’m going to go,” he said. “But I need you to convince the giants to fight, Bercola. We need Eoten Isle’s strength.”
Stepping away from them, he called Socks’s name and then started the walk back to Teradale. The dog scampered ahead of him and then slid to a stop. Hackles rising, Socks growled at a dark patch of woods.
Killian’s skin began to crawl, and he drew his sword. Staring into the shadows, he prowled closer. Only for a cottonmouth to lunge at the dog. Killian reacted on instinct and cut off the deadly snake’s head, his heart pounding as the serpent fell still.
Socks continued to growl at the shadows.
