Runebinder (The Runebinder Chronicles #1)(8)

He looked down and continued up the emergency stairwell to the top floor.

“What the hell happened out there?”

The words were out of Derrick’s mouth before Tenn closed the door behind him.

Whereas the rest of the encampment was cold and dark, this suite was warm and brilliantly lit, albeit far from welcoming. Flames danced across every surface, fires fueled by magic alone. It should have been beautiful, but it just set Tenn’s hair on end. The Sphere of Fire burned brightly in Derrick’s chest and his eyes darted with agitation. That was never a good sign.

Derrick himself stood behind a grand mahogany desk, its surface coated in papers and maps and weapons. He was tall, commanding, his Mohawked hair burnt-red and his skin traced with scars.

“I didn’t mean to—” Tenn began, but Derrick cut him off.

“What do you mean, you didn’t mean to?” He stepped around the desk, hands clenched tight into fists. Small sparks flickered around his skin. “I felt your fucking magic all the way out here!”

Tenn wasn’t about to point out that none of them should be using magic and that Derrick was betraying his own orders, but he knew that the amount Derrick channeled wasn’t enough to give them away, and, frankly, Tenn didn’t think Derrick would appreciate the reminder.

“We were surrounded,” he said, lowering his eyes. “There were dozens of kravens. We wouldn’t have made it.”

“Then you should have died.”

Derrick’s voice was so terse, so fully void of emotion, that Tenn barely realized it sounded more like a command than anything else. It was a stab in the gut. Water churned over. You should have died, you should have died—your life is worth nothing, and neither is your death.

“I meant to,” he said. His words sounded small. “But Water took over.”

“The Spheres don’t control you. You control the Spheres.”

It was ironic, seeing as Fire users were notorious for the tempers their chosen Sphere gave them. But it was a phrase they’d all learned during training. It might not be true, but the meaning was clear: you didn’t give in. Ever.

“Not this time,” Tenn said. He looked up then, just in time to see something new flicker across Derrick’s features. Fear. “Water took over. It... I don’t know. It killed them. Every last one.”

“You aren’t that powerful,” Derrick said, his voice muted. It wasn’t a dig; it was fact.

Tenn didn’t have anything to say to that.

“I should have you killed for this,” Derrick said. He stood up straighter, as though taking more control of himself and the situation. “You jeopardized the safety of everyone in this troop. Because of you, we have lost the element of surprise.”

This outpost has been here for over a year. We lost that element a long time ago. But Tenn didn’t say that. Of course he didn’t say that. Outposts always changed locations. Keeping one in place had been a new tactic, decided by the higher-ups of Outer Chicago itself. If it was expected that base locations changed, having one stay put would be a surprise to the necromancers and the Howls. So long as it kept a low profile. So long as it wasn’t compromised.

“I’m sorry,” Tenn said.

“Tell that to your comrades who are going to die tomorrow.”

Tenn’s eyes shot up.

“Tomorrow?”

Derrick turned and walked back toward the desk.

“Our scouts have spotted them. The armies are moving. They will be here by sunrise.”

A lump of dread twisted in Tenn’s stomach.

“We need every fighter we have,” Derrick continued. “So I won’t kill you. Not tonight. I’ll let the necromancers do that in the morning.”

There wasn’t the slightest hint of humor or mockery in Derrick’s voice.

Tenn bowed his head and turned from the room.

It wasn’t until he was halfway down the stairs that he realized he hadn’t even mentioned that Michael was dead.

It didn’t matter. In the morning, thanks to him, they all would be.





CHAPTER THREE

THE RAIN TURNED to a drizzle as the night bore on. Tenn stood on the hotel roof, watching water pool and stream below. The hotel offered the best view in town—quite literally—and without magic to guide their sight, they needed all the vantage they could get. There was a small, guttering torch on the ground, the only source of light in the darkness. Beyond, everything was dark and sifting and slick with rain.

He knew that Derrick hadn’t sent him up here out of necessity. He was up here for punishment. Far from the glory of battle. And, being so high up, he’d be the first thing the necromancers could target.

Tenn turned at the sound of footsteps. Katherine. She’d been chosen as the other lookout, probably on some sort of probation because of him. He wondered if this was the worst of her punishment for not killing him in the field.

“We need to talk,” she said.

He didn’t answer, just tightened his grip on his staff and stared out into the dark. His stomach flipped over, and once more the thought flickered through his head, What is wrong with me?

“What happened out there—”

“There’s nothing more to talk about.”

“I wanted to thank you.”

Tenn’s internal tirade silenced. He turned to her. Firelight flickered over her face, but even in the shadows he could feel her eyes trained on him.