Lady Smoke (Ash Princess Trilogy #2)(119)

S?ren was right: the Kalovaxians are skilled enough to make up for the discrepancy in numbers. They fight with precision and strength that our warriors aren’t able to match. What I don’t think S?ren prepared for, though, is the energy of our warriors—the rage and desperation that drives every one of their movements, making them stronger and fiercer than they should be.

“They fight like they know they won’t survive it,” S?ren says from my right side, a sense of awe in his voice.

“They fight like they don’t care if they survive it,” Blaise corrects from my other side.

Every time one of our warriors falls, something inside me twists. The first few times it happens, I say a prayer to the gods, but soon there are too many of them, too much blood, too many bodies. Soon it becomes difficult to tell who is fighting for whom.

We are advancing, though, the fight inching closer and closer to the mine and the slave quarters next to it, both ringed by wrought-iron gates, with guard barracks set up around the perimeter. Not much of the slave quarters is visible from our vantage point, just flat tin roofs and thin spirals of smoke.

“Their objective will be to protect their assets—the mine and the slaves,” S?ren said when we were plotting our attack. “They’ll know we’re there to free them. They’ll know that when we do, the battle is lost.”

He’s right. The Kalovaxians surround the perimeter of the mine and the slave quarters, holding their line fiercely even when that means they lose their barracks. As our army closes in on them, a few Kalovaxian warriors disappear into a building I didn’t notice at first. Small and squat, it sits separate from the slave quarters, almost obscured behind the mine. The fence surrounding it is spiked at the top, and the metal gleams strangely in the sunlight, a brilliant red-orange.

S?ren’s gaze follows mine and he swallows. “Iron mixed with crushed Fire Gems,” he says. “It’s a newer discovery; I’ve never seen it implemented in such a large quantity. It’s incredibly expensive to make. Whatever they’re keeping in there must be valuable.”

“Whoever,” Blaise corrects, nodding toward the building’s gated entrance, where the guards have reappeared, but they aren’t alone. Ten Astreans stumble in their wake, chains around their ankles binding them together and making their steps slow and sluggish. They shrink from the sunlight when it hits them, raising their arms to block the rays.

Valuable Astreans, ones the Kalovaxians would spend a lot of money to protect. No, not protect, not really.

“Berserkers,” I say, the word barely coming out a whisper. Blaise takes hold of my hand, and this time I barely feel how hot his hand is against mine. I can’t take my eyes from those people.

“We knew this was a possibility, Theo,” he says to me. “We prepared for it.”

I nod because I don’t trust myself to speak. It’s true that we knew the Kalovaxians would likely use the berserkers they had at the mine, and it’s true that we have a plan for how to counter it. It will limit the danger they do to our army, but it will not save them. Though I know there is no saving them, my stomach still ties itself into knots.

“I can’t watch this,” I say quietly.

“You don’t have to,” Blaise says. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he’s gone a little green himself.

“You should, though,” S?ren says. He swallows, forcing himself to keep his own gaze on the scene. He’s the only one of us who knows what we’re looking at, I realize. The only one who has seen berserkers in action before.

“She doesn’t need to see it,” Blaise snaps at him. “I think she can imagine it perfectly well after hearing about what you did in Vecturia.”

S?ren has the grace to look ashamed. “It’s important to understand it,” he says, his voice clear. “To see it.”

“That won’t accomplish anything,” Blaise says, but there’s an edge of fear in his voice. His hand shakes in mine; the air around him simmers. I squeeze his hand and the air stills, but his eyes remain wide and afraid.

He doesn’t want me to see it, I realize. He doesn’t want me to see how he will die if the same fate ever befalls him. I don’t think he wants to see it either—it’s easy to be noble about dying when it’s abstract, but I’m sure it’s much harder when the process unfolds before your eyes.

“She’s stronger than you think she is,” S?ren says. There is no bite to his voice, but Blaise hears one. He turns to S?ren with hateful eyes.

“I know how strong she is,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “I knew it when you believed her to be a weak flower in need of protecting.”

S?ren doesn’t say anything to that, though a muscle in his jaw twitches. His hand wanders to the sword at his hip. I know he’s taken on Artemisia’s usual duty, that he has instructions on what to do if Blaise becomes a danger to us. The thought sickens me. S?ren must realize that Blaise is only angry, not dangerous, because his hand stills.

“Right now I believe her to be someone who can make her own decisions,” he says, his voice level.

I swallow, though I force my eyes back to the battlefield, back to the ten Astreans being unchained. They’re delirious, stumbling every few steps they take, wobbling on their feet. One man’s knees buckle and he falls to the ground only to be forcefully yanked back up by a guard.