Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(93)

“I’ve already tried,” Sterling said as he rolled his sleeping mat. “Her tracks go to the brush line. I lose them after that. It is like she climbed the tree and jumped from branch to branch—without breaking any branches in the process. I’ve searched a wide circle and can’t find a trace.”

“She’s had a lot of experience hiding,” the Captain said with indifference. “If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”

“Can’t you search with your head, or whatever it is you do?” Sanders asked quietly. “I remember her mentioning that a time or two.”

“I’ve tried. I can get so far comfortably, but when I push the power gets slippery and implodes. She’s gone. We move on.” He walked away, ending the conversation.

Sanders looked at the ground a long time. He didn’t like it, that was obvious, but when he looked back up at Marc, he was resigned. “She has made her choices and there isn’t much we can do about it except not like it.”

Marc nodded. “But the others would’ve wanted to say goodbye.”

“So would we all, but it’s not in the cards. C’mon, pack your gear. We’re moving out.”

It was a long walk back. Leilius was constantly looking in the trees, disbelieving that s’am was really gone. He said he had a feeling. She wouldn’t have left them. He knew she hadn’t left—not for good. But when the Mugdock attacked on the way back, they had to fend for themselves. She didn’t pop out of the trees to help, and she didn’t look to be saved. Not that she ever did, but the fantasy of saving the lady in distress was always in their thoughts. Why else would a man want to be a hero, except for the rewarding kiss?

As they walked into the gate, they were greeted with cheers and smiles. The Captain was the big hero, as always, and he and a few of the other older, more handsome Commanders and Lieutenants were swarmed with pretty girls batting their eyes and throwing their scarves. Leilius puffed up his chest, trying to be noticed, but they were in the back and too young for any real attention. Not that Marc cared; he hated being the center of attention.

He went to his house where his family fawned over him. His stupid sister picked a fight, like she always did, and his stupid brother had used all his stuff while he’d been gone. But even though he settled in that night without his own swarm of girls, and even though he had his family close, and even though it was like every other night, something was missing and the effect was like a hole in his chest.

He wondered where she was. And if she’d ever come back.

Chapter 51

Shanti sat in the shade of a Cypress Tree, looking out at the valley below. Rolling hills covered in golden grass rose and fell around the sleepy town below. She could just make out a small horse carriage full of green vegetation, plodding toward the town’s gate on shaky wheels.

She’d walked away from Cayan and his people two days ago, cutting cross-country the fastest way possible. Left in the middle of the night like a coward. Like the coward he refused to call her.

She scoffed to herself as she brought her elbow up to her knee, squinting into the morning sun.

Thinking with her fear, he’d said. Well, he’d been right. Problem was, she didn’t even know what she was afraid of, anymore. Or, more aptly, what she was afraid of most. Was it going on and proving she was actually the Chosen? That this burden she carried would only get heavier and more intense, finally crushing her under the weight? Or maybe her fear was of succeeding and learning that her people were found by the Graygual. That they were dead, or worse, slaves. Or what if she wasn’t the Chosen, like she suspected? If she was going all the way to the Shadow Land only to be killed at the hands of strangers?

All those fears she’d carried throughout her entire journey. From one town to the next, those fears had kept her company. Through the pain, and the loneliness—through the doubt, and the famine—she’d relied on what she knew. Fear, and loss.

Yes, she was ruled by fear. He was right. But no more now than she’d ever been. It didn’t change her duty.

A ghost of a remembered kiss pressed her lips. Her palms tingled, remembering the feel of Cayan’s hard body. Remembering the flutter of her stomach as his gaze delved into her. The spices from his Gift tickling hers. Her power’s mate, wanting to mix and swirl, surging…

Shanti batted at the grass and pulled herself to her feet.

Fine. Yes. He was right, the meddling ass-- she was afraid of more loss. Of watching her Honor Guard, boys she was helping shape into men, sliced alive by the Graygual. Of watching the city that brought her back from the dead crushed by a flood of the Graygual army. Of staying and letting that handsome bastard try and convince her she could love again, and then having him ripped away. The pain of Romie was diminishing with the final stages of loss—she couldn’t go through something like that again. It was best to freeze the part of her that could feel, and focus solely on her duty.

Shanti started down the hillside to the town below. She was doing him a favor—all of them a favor. Tomorrow she’d release a large blast of power, making sure she raised eyebrows and created rumor, in order to draw Xandre’s focus to her location. With just a release of power from one person, traveling alone, the rumors of a second power, if there were, would be quelled. Cayan and his city would be in the same danger they were before her, and she and him would be even.