Disciples of Chaos, page 16
A jolt shot through Roz. Even now, he read her too well. “No, that’s not—”
“I said don’t lie. You wanted to spare me the trauma of killing him. You still want me to be the weak, passive boy you’re accustomed to.”
Roz swallowed hard. Damian’s face was a study in angles, the flare of moonlight that parted the clouds casting one of his cheeks into stark relief.
“You were never weak or passive,” she whispered, forcing the words through a mouth that was suddenly dry. “You were—are—one of the strongest people I know. And… I miss you.”
She hadn’t meant to sound so raw. But now, seeing Damian like this, she was abruptly flooded with misery. What if she couldn’t figure out how to get him back? What if this was who he was from this point forward? She hated it—the way she could be so close to him yet feel he was miles away.
Pain glazed his eyes, though they remained inscrutable black. He crossed the small distance between them, the ground crunching beneath his boots, and cupped her cheeks in his hands. “You don’t have to miss me,” he murmured. “I’m right here.”
He wasn’t, though. And yet the feel of him was so familiar that for a moment Roz nearly let herself believe it.
“Roz!”
Her name sounded from behind them, and the moment shattered. She drew in a breath as Dev appeared between the trees, Siena at his side. His eyes were wide with terror.
“We’re fine,” Roz told them.
Dev scanned her from head to toe. “We heard gunshots.”
“I see you dealt with that, though,” Siena added, nodding at the sentinel crumpled on the forest floor. He’d finally succumbed to his injuries—Roz hadn’t even noticed the moment he’d gone silent.
Damian grabbed the man roughly by the legs, dragging him farther into the cover of the trees. “He acted alone. There’s nothing to worry about.” He retrieved the archibugio with familiar ease. “Someone will find his body eventually. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
With that, Damian led them deeper into the forest, but not before thrusting Roz’s knife into her hands. It was still covered in blood; he must have plucked it from the sentinel’s throat. She stooped to wipe it on the ground with numb fingers.
When she straightened, she saw that Dev was watching her.
Why? His lips formed the silent question. Why had she killed the man like that?
Roz only shook her head. The better question, though, was how.
ROZ
Their path through the forest was a dark, brief one. Roz remembered little of it, her feet moving of their own accord, hands groping the air in front of her to push any rogue branches aside. She thought more of Damian than she did the dead sentinel, and that made her feel even worse. She’d killed a man. Taken his life and wiped his soul from the earth. Yet the sadness in her heart lingered for another reason entirely.
To commence the process of undoing, you must offer what was given.
They needed to undo what Enzo had done. After what they’d seen at the pass, Roz knew that if they encountered a disciple of Chaos, they didn’t stand a chance. The Ombrazian army didn’t stand a chance. More than that, though, she wanted Damian back.
Offer what was given.
What had Enzo given, other than the murders of six people? Chthonium, she remembered, was to signify that the sacrifices were for Chaos. Enzo had offered that. Then, of course, there was his horrible jar of eyes. Roz didn’t have either of those things. She didn’t know how she could ever get them. She wondered if she should have taken the sentinel’s eyes, then immediately recoiled from the prospect. What would she even have done with them? Started a jar of her own? The mere idea was repulsive. Killing one person had been brutal enough—surely there had to be another way.
The thoughts circled in her head as they walked, the earth growing spongy beneath her feet. They maintained a rapid pace, and Roz wondered if she was so tired that she had stopped noticing the exhaustion. Nobody spoke other than to gauge their progress, and she knew the others must feel the same. When the trees finally parted, she saw Damian had been right; there was a village on the other side of the trees.
It was only then that Roz got her first true impression of Brechaat.
It was a small settlement, not dissimilar to those on the outskirts of central Ombrazia, but everything about it was noticeably… downtrodden. The buildings were crumbling, some roofs beginning to cave in. Others had collapsed entirely. The roads were overgrown and lined with disposed-of items. The few residents Roz saw hovering outside looked sallow, unhealthy, their faces drawn and their bodies too thin. They were either ignoring the rain or didn’t have anywhere to go. It reminded Roz of unfavored territory, only worse. No matter how the Palazzo treated them, the unfavored in the heart of Ombrazia rarely went hungry. There were exceptions—children whose parents had been drafted, or those without family who couldn’t find work—but this was different. Here, everyone appeared equally miserable.
Though it was too dark to see across the water, she knew they were drawing closer to the front. Every so often gunfire went off in the distance, causing Damian and Siena to flinch. The Brechaan citizens must have been accustomed to the sound; no one reacted. In fact, they didn’t seem to react to much at all, given how unconcerned they were with the arrival of four strangers. It gave Roz enough confidence to approach a group of young men outside a tavern, hoping in their drunkenness they wouldn’t notice how much of a mess she looked.
“Rossana,” Dev hissed, but she ignored him.
“Buona sera,” she told the men, although the evening was far from nice. “Sorry to bother you. Is there an inn nearby?”
Normally a group of intoxicated strangers would be more than happy to talk to her, but these men only looked at her dully, as if they couldn’t quite comprehend her question. Finally one of them pointed to the building next door. It seemed to be connected to the tavern, though the rooms beyond were dark.
“The only inn is right here, Signora. Doesn’t get much business, but Eduardo owns both these places.” The man gestured at the tavern entrance. “He’s inside. Large fellow, gray hair, serving drinks. You can’t miss him.”
Roz was braced for further questions, but they didn’t come. The men simply seemed… disillusioned. As if Roz could have been anyone at all, and they wouldn’t have cared. Of course, they had no reason to assume she wasn’t from Brechaat—after all, it should have been harder to get here.
She didn’t like that it hadn’t been.
“Thank you,” she told the man, then returned to the others. “That’s the inn just next door. The owner is in the tavern.”
Dev nodded, and so did Siena, though she looked grim. Damian didn’t react at all. He was merely watching Roz, the lines around his mouth tight. When she stepped toward the tavern’s entrance, he moved to hold the door open, releasing a rush of sound that made her head spin. Everything smelled like liquor and unwashed bodies. Roz shoved her way through the crowd, realizing only when she made to push a short woman out of the way that her hands were bloody. She felt a sense of irritated detachment, attempting to wipe them on her shirt before slamming them down on the bar top. “I take it you’re Eduardo?”
The man outside had been right—you couldn’t miss the owner. He was easily the tallest person Roz had ever seen, even with his shoulders hunched. His gray hair was nearly as long as hers, tied back in a leather thong, and his face had the same gaunt quality as the rest of village’s citizens. Eduardo turned, setting down the empty glass he’d been drying. He even towered over Damian, though Roz suspected Damian could have snapped him in half.
“Can I help you?” Eduardo’s voice was higher than she’d anticipated, but oddly gravelly.
“We’d like some rooms.” Roz raised her own voice to be heard over the clamor. “I understand you’re the owner of the inn.”
He jerked his chin in assent. “It’s not very well maintained at the moment, I’m afraid. We don’t get many visitors.”
“That’s fine.”
“Where are you four from?” Eduardo eyed Roz’s face closely, and she couldn’t tell whether it was with interest or suspicion.
“A little farther north.”
His face twisted, and now she knew he was suspicious. Damian took a step closer to Roz’s side, bristling, but Eduardo’s next words surprised them both.
“Escaping the front lines then, are you?”
Roz relaxed infinitesimally. He didn’t suspect they were from an enemy state—he assumed her caginess meant they were Brechaan soldiers trying to escape the war. What did that mean, though? She had no idea if deserters were treated in Brechaat the way they were in Ombrazia. “And if we did come from the front lines?”
Eduardo lifted one frail shoulder. “None of my business. Just keep your mouths shut about it.” He lowered his voice, so Roz had to lean forward to better hear him. His breath smelled like whiskey. “Ombrazia’s destroyed enough of us already. But for the first time, with everything that’s changed recently, I think we might have a chance.” He grabbed a large key off the wall behind the bar, barking an order at another man to come take his place. “Follow me.”
They complied, Roz beckoning Siena and Dev to follow. Eduardo led them to the back of the tavern, a damp scent replacing that of alcohol. The walls and floors were matching wood, and a single step led up to a door that Eduardo unlocked and shouldered open. They all emerged into a dimly lit room not dissimilar to the tavern’s main space.
“How many rooms?” Eduardo asked, rounding a chest-high counter and rummaging around behind it.
“Four,” Roz said firmly. This place could clearly use the income, and they could all use a decent sleep. Siena shot her a look of consternation—undoubtedly, she considered separate rooms an unnecessary luxury—but Roz was already placing money on the counter. “How much?”
Ombrazia and Brechaat used the same currency, but it was worth far more here. Eduardo’s eyes widened as he mentally calculated the payment Roz offered. “That will do nicely.” He handed over four keys. “Second floor. Two on the left, two on the right. Forgive the dust.”
Roz took the keys, handing one to each of her companions. Dust was the least of her worries. “What did you mean by what you said earlier? That with everything that’s changed, we might have a chance against Ombrazia?”
Dev and Siena, who hadn’t heard the original conversation, shot her confused glances. Damian’s gaze, though, snapped to Eduardo with almost feral interest. “Yes. What did you mean?”
Eduardo rested his elbows on the counter. He was forced to stoop in order to do so. “I think Calder Bryhn will change everything. He’s not like his father, saints rest the man’s soul. He’s clever. Plays the game of war differently. People are saying he has a plan that will turn the tide of this accursed conflict.”
“What kind of plan?” Damian asked too quickly. Roz elbowed him hard in the ribs.
Eduardo shrugged. “How should I know? My time at the front is over—the only good thing about being my age—but it’s said Calder isn’t afraid to take risks. He’ll do whatever it takes.” The older man’s expression tightened. “I need to have hope, you understand. You’ve seen what the war is like.”
“We have,” Siena murmured.
“It’s crushing us.” Eduardo’s gaze unfocused, and there was a beat of quiet before he gave himself a shake. “Well. I don’t need to tell you that. You’d best head upstairs—it’s late. Tavern’s about to close down, but I’ll be next door if you need anything.”
Dev cleared his throat. “I don’t want to put you out, but do you by chance have any clothes we could buy? Ours are… well.” He indicated his drenched outfit.
Eduardo considered, brow wrinkling. “I’m sure I can find you something. Wait here.”
A moment later he was back, a pile of clothing under one arm. He left it on the counter, accepted their payment, then departed after wishing them a pleasant remainder of the night. Dev removed his jacket without ceremony, draping it over one of the chairs so that it could dry. Roz did the same, relieved to be free of the damp fabric.
“Well,” Siena said, glancing down at her timepiece. “We’ve still got a few hours before dawn. I, for one, intend to take advantage of it.” She looked at them each in turn. Her expression cleared. “I’m glad we all made it here.”
Dev snorted a laugh, and even Roz couldn’t help a smile. “So am I.”
Damian, on the other hand, was clearly not interested in any kind of celebration. He was stern as he said, “Tomorrow we’ll continue on to the front lines. It shouldn’t be more than a couple of hours from here.”
With that, they made their way upstairs. The clamor was still audible from next door, but the walls muted it slightly. As promised, everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. The floor was carpeted in a maroon-and-cream pattern that had seen its fair share of stains, and the green wallpaper was beginning to peel.
Roz meant to say goodnight to Damian, but when she turned around, he was already gone. The ache in her chest deepened.
Her bedroom was small, but not dissimilar from the one she was accustomed to staying in at Bartolo’s. There was a bathing room attached, and she stripped off her wet clothes and cleaned herself as quickly as she could, shivering in the frigid water. The clothes Eduardo had brought her were too large, but at least they were dry. She slipped them on, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and sank onto the bed, listening to the screech of the tap as Damian turned on the water next door. It was all too reminiscent of the night they’d spent together nearly two weeks ago. Roz felt as if their story was playing over again, an unending loop that never quite managed to end in happiness.
Maybe there was no happy ending for the two of them. Each time it seemed there might be, something went wrong. Even though they’d found their way back to each other, she could feel Damian slipping away again.
It felt so much worse when he was standing right in front of her.
Roz heard the water shut off, and then there was silence. Her heart thudded against her ribs. Despite her exhaustion, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Unable to help herself, she slipped into the hallway. She hesitated outside the door to Damian’s room, but pushed the apprehension aside and rapped her knuckles against the wood.
There was no response. Not a sound emanated from inside. Roz knocked again, and when she was still met with no response, cold slid into her veins.
She tried the door. It was unlocked, so she shoved it open.
Damian was there, standing in front of the mirror by the bed. His arms were braced on either side of the dresser. He was dressed, but his hair was wet, black against his skull. Roz could see the striations of his triceps, the faint pattern of veins along the back of his hand as his grip tightened. He hadn’t reacted to the sound of the door opening. His eyes were wild, focused on his reflection as though he expected to see someone else staring back at him.
Her stomach turned. “What are you doing?”
Damian whirled, slamming his hip into the edge of the dresser. He cursed once, low and sharp. “Don’t you knock?”
“I did.” She lifted a brow as Damian’s gaze cut through the shadows to meet hers. His pupils were blown wide, irises ringed in black. The way he studied her through his lowered lashes was too calm.
He didn’t answer the question. “I’m not in the mood tonight, Rossana.”
Roz crossed her arms over her chest, watching the way Damian’s lip curled over his teeth. If magic was changing him, then she only needed to free him from it. Even Chaos’s control didn’t overtake entirely. It simply shoved reality to the side.
“Not in the mood for what?” Roz kept her voice even, a little goading. If there was one thing she knew about Damian, it was that he rarely shared his feelings until he could no longer contain them.
“This. Arguing with you.” He waved a dismissive hand in her direction, no longer meeting her eyes. His shoulders flexed as he gripped the edge of the dresser once more, knuckles white and head bowed. “Leave. Please.”
That was when Roz understood. It wasn’t that Damian didn’t want her here; it was that he didn’t trust himself around her. His problem, she realized, was control. The way he’d attacked Falco and Salvestro and then tried to go after the sentinel made that clear enough. Whatever was happening, strong emotions made him lose himself further. Was that why he’d been avoiding her earlier?
“You need to relax,” she said. The tension in his stance made her own body feel tired. “I’m sorry I killed the sentinel, but—”
His gaze snapped up, dark and accusatory. “This is precisely why I didn’t want you to come here. The north ruins people.”
“Is that what you think happened to you? That you were ruined?”
“I know it’s what happened. But I’m rebuilding myself now.”
“Damian, the only reason I had to kill that man in the first place is because you refused to run. If you had, we would have gotten away. This never would have happened.”
He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “How can you blame me? I had everything under control. You weren’t supposed to come back. He had to die, because he’d seen us. He knew we were associated with the ship and saw what direction we were headed. Even if we had managed to lose him, he would have been able to tell the other Brechaan soldiers exactly where to find us.”
“You think they won’t find us anyway? When they do look for us, do you think they won’t come here? This must be the closest village to the pass. All his death did was buy us a few hours of time.” Roz drew herself up tall, fists clenched at her side. “You were right, you know. I killed that sentinel because I knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it. That if you ever broke free of—whatever this is”—she waved a hand at him—“then you’d look back at the choices you made tonight and know they were foolish. You’re being irrational and reckless, and that’s saying something, coming from me.”
