I heard Solace’s cry of anguish and numbly registered that my body had slumped to the ground at some point.
Her suffocating presence left the Valley completely, the land seeming to sigh with her departure, and sent a quick prayer to Fate that Faylinn was safe with Rohak.
But I didn’t see any of that. My eyes were too clouded by pain and blood, my vision darkening completely as I lost consciousness, my magic still pouring from my skin and raging through the Valley.
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, Iwillseparate 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 synchronyto 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 athumpthat 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, yourworthiness 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.
