His body was left there, lifeless on the valley floor.
But as Karr hovered there above himself, he swore he saw fingers of black that swept up from the ground. They wrapped themselves around his lifeless body like they were alive, swarming into the gaping hole in his chest until they filled it again.
Then he saw nothing at all.
Panic took over. Karr’s heart slammed against his ribs, and then he was fumbling for the sheets, tearing them away from his torso. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, tugging at the white medical gown he wore.
Cade was still speaking, apologizing until his words all rushed into one—I’m-sorry-I’m-so-sorry, my-God-you-were-dead—but Karr wasn’t paying attention.
He yanked the gown over his head, not caring that he sat naked in the stark white room.
He stared down at his chest, searching for the dried blood. The scar. The mark of death upon his skin.
No slash marks on him, no puckered skin where a sharp warrior’s sword was driven through, to send his soul into that strange place of darkness and light, where he had the faintest memory of not being completely alone.
“Dead, Cade?” Karr heard himself say. “Then how do you explain this?”
He looked up at his brother, revealing the place where the scar should have been.
But there was only fresh skin.
Chapter 20
Sonara
“Fifty Wanderers, not counting Jira’s soldiers,” Sonara said. “And a hell of a lot more Dohrsarans. One hundred and twelve prisoners, to be exact.”
The moment she’d come to after passing out in the tunnels, she’d left a still-unconscious Markam in Thali’s care, took the bloody Lazaris from the cleric, and she and Azariah had set out to watch the Wanderers again.
Sonara swung the salamander glass to the left now, following the perimeter of the light-wall. Her head throbbed, and her body was exhausted.
She hadn’t experienced that level of power from her curse before. Not in such a way. What had happened at the Gathering was different. This time… she’d almost felt like she’d controlled it.
She’d pulled the hatred right out of the Hadru, in a breath.
Then she’d pushed her own feelings, her own aura, right back towards it. Almost like she gave itpeace.The energy toll it had taken was great, for Sonara felt like she may vomit up the meager rations she’d eaten on the walk back up here. And she still needed a night of true sleep,a luxury she hadn’t received since the Gathering.
The sooner they ended this and got out of the Bloodhorns, the better.
The mountains had offered nothing but trouble, thus far.
“It’s like a net,” Azariah said softly now. “Keeping everyone inside.”
She looked different, in the moonlight… like an outlaw, filthy and bruised and still willing to put up a fight, so different from the polished princess she’d been, when she rode into the desert to help save Sonara from the prison wagons.
This was the first bit of time they’d spent alone together since they’d joined forces.
Sonara had no female friends, and no desire to gain any.
Most men were relatively simple to understand, often wanting glory or gold or a lover. They said exactly what they felt, and Sonara understood them as much as she understood herself.
But women... She saw them all with a face that looked like her mother. All that ever did was push her away.
Sonara sighed as she looked at the light-wall, still finding no way inside. “We need to find a blade that can cut through it.”
“Certainly not metal,” Azariah said stiffly. “I’m afraid that would blow you backwards. Stop your heart.”
“Then we’ll send Markam,” Sonara said.
