The Winner's Kiss (The Winner's Trilogy, #3)(89)

You can wonder about her all you like, whispered death. But I am the only one who will have you.

Kestrel had ridden a few paces ahead. She turned, catching Arin’s glance. A bead of rain fell on his cheek. The back of his neck.

You are mine. I am yours. Is it not true, Arin?

Her expression closed. He thought of a box shut so firmly that one cannot see its seams.

Yes.

That night, Arin stood with Kestrel and Roshar on the bluffs. Moonlight glazed the sea. The water sparkled black and white. The moon coated the sand with silver.

“Pretty,” Roshar commented, “though it puts me in mind of pure worm poison, the way it dries to a clear sheen.” He asked Kestrel, “How do you think the battle will go?”

Arin answered instead. “For them and us, it will be the kind of battle where a general puts his soldiers in such a desperate situation that the fear of death and difficulty of retreat push them to fight their utmost, because there is no other choice.”

Roshar coolly lifted one brow. He looked ready to say that Arin was being needlessly dramatic.

But Kestrel nodded.

The alarm came at noon. There was a faint drizzle. The sun was somewhere, but couldn’t be seen. Off to the east was a solid ridge of gray cloud. And at sea: a faint pale line of sails.

Gunners flanked the beach. The Dacran-Herrani army waited in a wedge formation, the cavalry spearheading the bristling mass of people.

Kestrel’s face was taut, her hands white-knuckled on the reins. Javelin lifted and dropped one hoof. A muffled thud.

There were flat, open Valorian boats on the water, thousands of them, heavy with horses and cannon. They rowed from the anchored ships. Oars lifted and dipped in the rain.

Arin couldn’t hear the Valorian command. The sound of it was lost over the sea. But he saw when Valorian soldiers began to prime the cannons. He could practically smell the black powder. For a moment, he wasn’t on his horse with a sword in hand but on an unsteady boat, palms gritty with powder, hands ramming the charge home.

They’d fire even before they reached the shore.

A plea rose within him, surging hard as if unexpected, although if he’d examined himself more thoroughly earlier he would have known all along what he’d beg in this final moment, despite his promise to trust her.

Arin touched her shoulder. She startled, keyed to an extremity he knew very well.

“Change your mind,” he said. “Turn back, go to the bluffs, please.”

“No.”

Finally, he felt the fear that infected every one else. “Then stay close to me.”

What ever she said in reply was lost as the first explosion split and broke the world.





Chapter 32

He didn’t see where the first cannonball hit, but he heard the sick thud and felt the impact judder up from the beach into his boots. The shriek of horses, human cries. Deep into the left flank. Roshar’s army returned fire, mostly missing, because it was harder to hit moving targets on the waves. Geysers sprayed where cannonballs hit the water. One speeding iron ball punched into a boat and splintered it. Horses and men slid into the sea.

Black smoke plumed across the beach.

The first Valorian boats nudged up onto the shore. Soldiers dropped into the water, knee-deep. Horses were led down ramps. Cannons would soon follow.

“Shatter them all,” Roshar ordered.

His gunners riddled the first wave of Valorians. But there was a second wave, and a third, and finally a Valorian cannon was maneuvered into position to blast one flank of gunners into a bloody smoking screaming heap.

Arin’s horse reared. He wrestled it down, pressing his weight into his seat. He held the horse between his tight knees, preferring that than to tug at the bit, and he was distracted, every thing was loud. Even after he calmed his horse he no longer trusted it to obey him. Then came a little sound he shouldn’t have been able to hear, a dry swallow.

He glanced at Kestrel. Javelin—magnificent war horse, steady beast—was stock-still. So was she. But her skin stretched thinly across her cheekbones. Her eyes were too large and pale.

Please, Arin prayed. Give her your mercy.

His god was amused. If she doesn’t believe in me, how can I believe in her?

The general had landed. Arin could see him. He saw Kestrel see him. Several columns of Valorians pushed up from the shore onto the beach.

Roshar ordered his vanguard forward.

Death bit the nape of Arin’s neck, where a cat bites her kitten. Maybe, death murmured, I’ ll show her the same kind of mercy I’ ll show you.

Arin’s heart thumped. His blood rushed. He put a free hand to his stinging skin and drew it away, expecting blood.

Nothing.

A push of damp wind at his back. The trembling of the horse beneath him. A cannon boomed. The animal screamed, reared again. It plunged forward, through the lines of the vanguard, right into the oncoming Valorians.

She couldn’t see Arin. She couldn’t see him, and it felt as if she couldn’t see anything at all.

The cannons held their breath. Vanguard crashed into vanguard. She saw the collision happen a few ranks ahead. The spurt of blood. Hideous masks of fear and hatred. An arm shorn from the shoulder. Bodies shoved from horses, crumpled into the sand beneath hooves. And the cruelty of what she couldn’t see.

Where was he?

Javelin hadn’t moved. He was stone, which made her realize that she was, too. One hand clutched a sword as if she could squeeze the hilt into nonexistence. A sword. Her, with a sword. She had no skill for it.