“In the early stages of planning the invasion, Rufina sent messengers to the Anuk to curry their favor, given Mudamora was a mutual enemy. All that came back were their heads. Queen Ceenah of Anukastre is apparently a faithful follower of the Six, and the chance to strike a blow at Mudamora was not worth endangering her immortal soul.”
“Be silent,” Xadrian ordered. “I grow weary of your ceaselesscommentary and have a growing sense that your presence would be improved by the loss of your tongue.”
“You aren’t alone in that,” Killian muttered, but Agrippa only sighed and said, “It would be a loss that would ripple across all of Reath.”
For all Agrippa’s commentary, Killian didn’t miss the way the other man’s arms flexed, testing his bindings. He’d already escaped once, dislocating his own thumb to do so, and though it had to hurt, Agrippa showed no more reaction to the pain than he had when he’d knocked out one of their guards and broken the arm of another earlier. The only reason he hadn’t made a second attempt was because Xadrian now walked with his sword resting against the back of Malahi’s neck.
Killian did not envy the boy his death if Agrippa escaped a second time.
Baird and Lydia walked unbound, their marks seeming to earn them courtesy. In truth, Malahi might have secured the same treatment if her mark was known.
Maybe.
The bad blood between House Rowenes and Anukastre was so thick it all but stained the land between their borders red with blood.
A fair bit of it, Killian had shed himself.
His eyes flicked to Lydia for the hundredth time, his fear that she’d risk the darkness to break them free more terrifying than the thirty armed Anuk who surrounded them. Yet her eyes were quartz-green and steady, as was her voice as she asked, “Where are you taking us?”
“To his mother,” Agrippa said. “Isn’t that right, Xadrian? You don’t fart without asking Mummy which direction to blow your wind.”
The Anuk prince appeared to have discovered some level of self-control in the time since Killian had last encountered him, for he only snorted in amusement. “You think to bait me into making a mistake, General? Because, yes, we do recognize the commander of Rufina’s armies. I’d askwhyyou are fleeing in the company of Mudamora’s queen, but I’ve already come to my own conclusion.” He curved his blade, forcing Malahi’s head to drop. “It’s because the ugly shrew pisses gold.”
“You’re never going to know what it’s like to shave more than peach fuzz, boy,” Agrippa said, his voice light. “Nor hear your voice change from that of a child’s to a man’s. Certainly never enjoy the pleasures of desired company.”
“Why, because you’re going to kill me?” Xadrian asked with a laugh.
“Not kill, no,” Agrippa said with a toothy smile. “I’m just going to cut off your balls and slow roast them over the ashes of your kingdom after I burn everyone within it alive.”
The prince’s smile fell away, and he shoved Malahi forward. “I think it will be you who burns, dog.”
Agrippa opened his mouth, but Lydia said, “It is urgent that we return to Mudamora to combat the blight. While I understand you are motivated by past grievances, you put all of Reath in jeopardy by waylaying us.”
“With respect, Marked One,” Xadrian said, “I fail to see howanyof you will halt that tide given that all of you are complicit in the hold it has over the wetlands.”
Lydia was quiet for a long moment, then she said, “It is in Mudamora now. How long until it crosses the Liratoras into Anukastre, or drifts north into Gendorn? How long until it flows beneath the seas to the Southern Continent and the rest of Reath falls to the Corrupter? This isn’t just Mudamora’s fight—all of Reath needs to go to war against the evil threatening us.”
Silence stretched, then Xadrian said, “The queen will decide. Now be silent, or you will be gagged.”
Then one of the soldiers gave Killian a shove, sending him marching over the endless sea of sand in the exact opposite direction of Mudamora.
They were marched for days, the Anuk driving them deeper and deeper into the dunes. While Killian and the others flagged in the deep sand and unrelenting heat, their captors showed no ill effect from the toil of their journey. Baird suffered the worst, and although the Anuk gave him special care in deference to his mark, the giant collapsed several times, rousing only when they poured precious water into his mouth.
Even Agrippa relented on his attempts to break loose, seeming to recognize that it would be suicide to escape into the endless sand under the ceaseless burn of the sun.
After days of walking, Killian saw something in the distance, smelled moisture in the air. At first, he was certain it was a mirage, until he noted how the Anuk quickened their step. Anticipation filled their eyes, the only part of their faces he could see given the scarves they wore to protect their skin.
The distant shadow grew, the towering sandstone walls of a city emerging out of the heat waves that swayed across the dunes like amirage. Yet what captured Killian’s attention was the greenery beyond the walls. An oasis, there was no doubt, and his lips parted as he tasted the sweet moisture on the air.
“Welcome to Obarri,” Xadrian said as gates opened in the walls ahead of them. “Heart of Anukastre. Very few foreigners have seen our city, so you should consider yourself privileged.”
“How many have lived to tell the tale?” Agrippa muttered, and Xadrian laughed before he said, “None.”
“Shocking.” Agrippa’s hazel eyes flicked to Killian’s, and he knew the other man was already planning an escape. Except even if they could steal supplies and water, they had no knowledge of this part of the desert, so Killian couldn’t help but wonder if escape would only be a slower death.
After days of sand and clothing designed to blend into it, the color of Obarri was a shock to the senses. The narrow, winding streets teemed with people dressed in every hue. Awnings stretched between buildings and shaded the Anuk from the oppressive sun as they stopped in their work to stare at the group. Around nearly every turn was a small courtyard filled with towering palms, their fronds swaying gently on the desert breeze and providing shade to pools of precious water ringed with emerald foliage. The walls of the building were adorned with cascading vines and blooming flora, the air infused with the heady fragrance of unfamiliar flowers in a multitude of colors, which mixed with the scent of grilling meat and spice. Music emanated from several of the buildings from some sort of stringed instrument, and silver chimes hung at the center of every intersection, their gentle metallic rhythm adding to what felt like a cacophony after the silence of the desert.
They wove their way into the heart of the city, to what Killian could only assume was the palace. It had no walls separating it but was surrounded by an open space paved with sandstone cobbles, a massive balcony on the third level of the structure overlooking it. The building itself was all straight lines and narrow windows, obviously built to withstand the intense heat, but the sandstone glittered as though it had been dusted with gold. They passed through the archway forming the entrance, the relief from the sun immediate, though it took Killian’s eyes a long time to adjust to the dim light.
