“Don’t,” I said. Then, calmer, “Whatever you were trying, just don’t.”
Color rose on his cheeks. “Fine. Next time, I’ll let you freeze.” He rolled over, putting his back to me, pretending to sleep.
We barely spoke the next day as we trekked around a series of grass-lined lakes and what appeared to be a mountain that had collapsed in on itself, leaving a wide, empty maw.
A blanket of fog squatted in the distance and, as we got nearer, the tussocks turned from green to brown, tapering off, until there was nothing but dirt and stone beneath our feet. The ground was stained with streaks of yellow and red, like it was covered in rust.
The fog turned out to be steam pluming up from holes in the ground, curling across the barren terrain. There was another lake here, its water a glowing turquoise, steam drifting along the surface. Even stranger were the fountains of water bubbling up from the earth, some of them erupting toward the sky in white waves.
“Geysers,” I said before Quinlan could ask. When he started to move closer, I pulled him back, pointing to the boiling mud pools. “The water is hot enough to burn the flesh off your bones.”
“He turned you into a walking library for this island, didn’t he?”
The words were doused in bitterness. I let go of Quinlan’s arm and kept walking, skirting the scalding puddles. He hurried after me.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
“How did you mean it to come out?”
Quinlan pressed his lips together, and something seemed to snap inside him. “Fine. I hate him. For stealing your affection, for giving you things I never could. For dying and leaving you alone. He ruined you, Lira.”
All this time, I’d thought Quinlan was the only one who didn’t see me differently. How wrong I’d been. “Ruined. That’s what you think I am?”
“The girl I loved was full of joy. She put other people’s needs first. She put her clan and her country first.” He shook his head. “Tell me this mad quest we’re on has nothing to do with him, that you don’t have some scheme to compel the Fallen Ones to bring Reyker back from the dead if you free them.”
Quinlan knew me too well. It was easy to forget sometimes.
“This mad quest might save Glasnith,” I said. “I’m here, fighting for my people, despite what they did. My clan betrayed me. My country abandoned me long before I left it.”
“I didn’t.” When I met his gaze, he let me see it: What he felt for me. That he was still waiting . . . for something I could never give him.
Because I was ruined.
Despite the cold, we slept far apart that night.
CHAPTER 22
REYKER
Solvei stood over them, hair matted and damp, her eyes filled with fury. With no better target, she aimed it at Reyker.
“Why is he in my hall and not in a cage?” Her glare flickered to Brokk. “With all his fingers still attached?”
“Because I heard him out and decided he makes a better ally than he does a prisoner.”
The caravel had beaten the longships to the Renegade camp by two full days. Reyker and Brokk spent most of that time talking and planning for this very moment, when Solvei would decide his fate.
Her hands went to her hips. Somehow she made the giant warrior seem small. “Thinking has never been your strongest asset, Brokk. Lock him up, sharpen your knife, and bring me his fingers, his tongue, his balls, I don’t care—something I can send to goad the warlord.”
“No.” Brokk lifted his chin. “I took an oath to his father, and to him, long before I pledged myself to you and the Uprorsmund. He is as much my lord as you are my jarl, and he’s our best chance at dethroning the Dragon. Let him tell you his plan, and if you still want his balls after that, you can take them yourself.” He slapped his dagger onto the table.
Reyker resisted the urge to cross his legs.
Slowly, the jarl lowered herself into a chair and picked up the dagger. “I’ve had quite the day, little lordling. If your tale disappoints, your flesh will pay its debt.”
Leaning forward, Reyker pressed his palms to the table and let it pour out of him. Not the same things he’d told Brokk—he left out the most painful, intimate details, a sketch of what Draki had done to him, his parents, and his village, how the warlord had twisted his mind up and forced him to fight, catching him every time he tried to run, every time he tried to end his own life to escape, taking out Reyker’s refusals and misdeeds on the innocent and anyone he dared to care about, until he gave up, gave in.
And then, Lira. How she’d saved him from himself. How she’d died. He kept this part brief, vague, concealing the gaping wound that lay beneath it.
Lastly, his plan. He would go back to Draki, feeding the warlord false information about the Mountain Renegades, gathering his own reports on the villages Draki chose to attack, when and where the Dragonmen would be dispatched, their numbers, anything that could be of use. And, if he could get close enough, if he could find a way to kill what could not die, he would end it. The Dragon would be slain by Reyker’s hand, or not at all.
By her expression he could tell Solvei’s interest was piqued, but she still didn’t trust him. “You will swear loyalty to the Fjull Uprorsmund?”
“I will support anyone who has the strength to defeat an army of Dragonmen,” Reyker said. “No one can be worse than Draki and those under his command. Once they are gone, you can have your chance at being high jarl of Iseneld. If you prove unfit to rule, I will come for you next.”
Brokk glanced nervously at Solvei, like Reyker might find himself castrated for that declaration, but the jarl nodded. “An honest answer, and a noble one. I will let you keep all your body parts and consider you an ally if you prove yourself.”
He raised a brow.
“If I cannot keep you as a hostage, I need the other one I acquired in Glasnith. A powerful, valuable magiska, marked with the Dragon’s star. She and her companion escaped,” the jarl said with a scowl. “I hear you are a formidable tracker. Find my hostage, and you will have your alliance. Brokk will accompany you and kill you if anything seems amiss.”
“I will?” Brokk said.
Reyker cursed inwardly. To gain the resources he needed to overthrow Draki, he had to help the Renegades capture a Daughter of Aillira so they could use her to bait the warlord. He let none of his reluctance show as he said, “Tell me everything you know about the girl, her companion, where you last saw them, and how they got away.”
As Solvei described the girl, Reyker’s breath caught in his throat.
Short, slender. Green eyes. Red hair.