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That might be the most horrifying answer I’ve ever heard.

Chapter Ten

Agnar

Esme pushes herself up and immediately stumbles into a tree trunk. An emotion clouds her eyes that I want to ignore. After witnessing how I slaughtered those bandits, she’s afraid to let me touch her. I ignore how her fear hollows my chest. I did what I had to, and I’d do it again.

“I can walk.”

Like a drunk, maybe.

I reach for her arm. “You can’t.”

She bats at me with blood-soaked hands, reminiscent of a weak kitten. “I’m fine.” She attempts to back away but staggers.

I catch her before she hits the ground. She weighs about as much as a bird, slotting perfectly against me, and I pretend not to notice her soft curves cushioning my body.

“Let me go.” Her plea lacks conviction. The injury weakened her, and she requires rest and water to recover.

“No.” I scoop one arm under her knees. “If you stop fighting me, it will be easier for both of us.”

Just like that, all the fight seeps from her, and Esme goes limp in my arms. Her head droops against my shoulder as she passes out. Makes me wish I’d instructed her to stop fighting days ago.

Except I like it when she fights, so long as she’s not doing serious damage to herself.

Careful of her shoulder, I settle her against my chest and walk away from the battlefield, releasing my control of the dirt as I pass the men. Dust crumbles, falling into silent throats and scattering across the road.

With one final thought, I shift the earth, removing the remaining corpses from the road. I smooth out any ruts or potholes, erasing the events that transpired as if they never happened.

Twelve bodies.

Five minutes from the first volley to the last weak scream. I relished every second. In those few minutes, I was more alive than I have been since…the night I massacred friend and foe at Blackwood Valley. I push the memory of that night away, refusing to dwell on how good it felt to wreak that much violence.

Sharing magic with Lark and using a volcano as my quiver hadn’t felt as good as this, because even then, I had to play soft. Our enemies were people possessed by the drachen who had done nothing to earn my wrath.

True, Esme got hurt, and she saw me cave to some of my darker urges, but if I hadn’t helped, the outcome would be much worse. After leaving the dead town and its blank inhabitants behind, the compulsion to break something—anything—overwhelmed me. I couldn’t hold myself back.

I should feel guilt or remorse, maybe even horror at what I did, but knowing I’m so much stronger than my enemies, I just feel smug.

That scares me most. I can’t change the fact that I killed twelve men and only feel satisfaction. I buzz with the quiet joy of using the most direct method to solve a problem.

Alive, they were a threat. Dead, they are not.

Math simple enough for a soldier. Someone has to fill the role of the stone-cold killer, and if that person is me, then so be it. I’m good at killing and can handle the aftermath.

Because you’re a monster.

Ignoring my internal self-doubt, I carry Esme down the road. I’ve hauled wounded soldiers twice her size through worse terrain, so this is a breeze. In more ways than one.

Healthy trees with full canopies shade the road, which turns soft as years of leaf fall mix with the cleared, leveled earth. Chipmunks and lizards race along the branches overhead. Birds squawk at everything in sight. A light breeze delivers the sweet taste of pollen, more noticeable here for its absence elsewhere.

The farther I walk with Esme in my arms, the more the gentle music of nature envelops me. This is the first time I’ve heard bird calls or insects humming since we entered the Withered village.

I hadn’t considered the wider effect the Withering would have on the ecosystem. If the bugs can’t eat anything, then they’d leave the area. The birds too. After that, larger predators would migrate to more hospitable areas and discover new prey, disturbing the delicate balance. Any surviving plants usually kept in check by herbivores would bloom out of control. Before long, the entire ecosystem would tip past the point of no return, and Meridia would never be the same.

Tirene knows next to nothing about the Withering, and neither did I until Esme alerted me. Meridia has stayed tight-lipped about the epidemic. I glance down, checking on Esme. She’s pale and sweating, but she’s not warm to the touch when I put the back of my hand to her forehead, so no fever. Yet.

Once she wakes up, she’ll be scared of me.