The Beauty of Darkness - Mary E. Pearson Page 0,162

be imagined. Training began as well, the sharing of skills, because it was undeniable that Dalbreck’s soldiers had a refined disipline that would be helpful. Initially this rankled the officers, the prospect of Rafe’s regiment of one hundred soldiers training Morrighese troops, but I snuffed that argument cold, making it clear that pride was not to be an obstacle to our survival, and Rafe smoothed it over, genuinely reaching out for advice from them as well.

I was caught off guard several times when I saw Rafe and Kaden explaining—or arguing—strategies. I saw them both in ways I never had before, in ways that had nothing to do with me. Ways that were all about their own histories and hopes, obligations and goals. I watched Kaden, skillfully skirting questions about the future of Venda even as he plotted to strengthen Morrighan. Some of our battles had to be waged later. They still called him the Assassin, not in a disparaging way but almost as a badge of honor that a Morrighese citizen had infiltrated enemy ranks and now returned to his own with Vendan secrets.

As the days passed, meetings ran long, and tensions ran high, I realized most of the outbursts were not about pride as much as dawning realization of the monumental fight ahead of us—they fully grasped it, including General Howland—and everyone searched for answers that were not easy to find. How does an army of thirty thousand, still scattered across the kingdom, take on one that is a hundred and twenty thousand strong and armed with far deadlier weapons? But we kept trying to find an answer.

When we pulled out maps and unrolled them across the table, I tried to read the Komizar’s mind. I looked at the roads, the hills, the valleys, and walls surrounding Civica. The lines and landmarks blurred, and something faint tapped beneath my breastbone.

The details of our meetings whirled constantly in my mind. It was hard to block out the noise, but I knew I needed to use other strengths as well, a knowing that would help guide us because my doubts about all our strategies were growing, and each day wrung tighter with worry about my brothers and their squads.

I threw open my window, the cool night air shivering over my face, and I prayed, to one god or four, I wasn’t sure. There was so much I didn’t know, but I knew I couldn’t bear losing two more brothers.

There had been no word, but Rafe had already told me there would be none. They would either come or they wouldn’t. I had to hope and trust that the message had gotten there in time. Bring them home, I begged the gods. And then I called to my brothers, just as Walther’s words had reached out to me. Be careful, my brothers. Be careful.

I stared out over Civica, the eventide remembrances quieting, a thin song still clinging to the air. So shall it be for evermore. For evermore. A city dark except for golden flickering windows watching over the night.

Peace settling in, meals being prepared, chimneys billowing.

But then the peace was disturbed.

Sounds crawled up my spine.

Sounds that weren’t from the world outside my window.

The crunch of stone.

The hiss of steam.

A keening howl.

Fervor, Jezelia, fervor.

My heart sped. I felt the Komizar’s breath on my neck, his finger tracing the kavah on my shoulder. I saw his onyx eyes in the darkness and the smile behind them.

“Shall I walk with you?”

I jumped and whirled.

Aunt Cloris poked her head into my chamber, her question a reminder not to be late.

I smiled, trying to mask my alarm. While my aunt had tolerated the complete lack of protocol on every level with surprising grace, I saw the signs of her impatience returning. She wanted things to go back to the way they were before. I couldn’t promise that but I could give her tonight.

“I’ll be along,” I said. She left as quietly as she came, and I shut the window, returning to my dressing table. With only one hand, there would be no fancy braids tonight—not that I was ever particularly skilled at braids even with two hands. But I had become skilled at using a sword and knife with either one.

When the physician checked and rebandaged my hand today, I got a good look at it for the first time. The wound itself, except for the three small stitches on either side, was barely visible but my hand was still swollen. It looked like a blue-veined