Rozaria Rocato and her supporters were thorough about weeding through the people at the camp to be sure they were loyalists, willing to do any sort of menial work for the cause of Lashed rights in Eurona. She’d given rousing speeches about the worthiness and necessity of her cause. She made it sound damn good, as if it were truly the only way—that peaceful tactics were a waste of time and not an option. Paxton was not swayed, but he watched Konor succumb, eyes alight with worshipful vehemence.
The sun was setting, dulled by the thick surrounding trees and vines, like walls of green surrounding them. Paxton, Konor, Chun, and his family sat on one side of an unlit pile of sticks while Rozaria faced them, front and center, her men around her in a large semicircle. Paxton noticed that one woman was never far from Rozaria’s side. She was shorter and thinner, and always kept the hood of her cloak up, hiding her face. The woman turned away from the others when she ate and never spoke to anyone, but her attentiveness to Rozaria was unmistakable. He kept an eye on her, knowing the silent ones were not to be underestimated.
Paxton also noticed that the largest man of the group, who was always at Rozaria’s right hand, was overly attentive as well, but in another way. He gazed at the Rocato woman like a lovelorn sap and sought her approval in all things. Paxton couldn’t understand everything the man was saying in Kalorian, but he imagined it was something like “Is the meat cooked to your liking, my lady?” “Shall I strangle anyone for you today?” “Here, let me rip down this tree and hack it into a comfortable seat for you.”
And anytime Rozaria turned her attention to Paxton, he could feel the brute’s jealous eyes boring into him. Paxton paid him no mind, and sweetened his disposition toward the Lashed leader a wee bit, hoping he could cause smoke to curl from the man’s ears.
But for Paxton, a sweeter disposition simply meant he was willing to nod his head, make eye contact, and pretend not to hate her. He even spared a couple half grins for her sarcasm. Throughout the day, her keen eyes had followed his every move as he’d set about helping in the camp, skinning a rabbit, tending the fire, and fetching buckets of water to boil. He was certain she didn’t trust him, but he felt there was a warmer undercurrent in her interest—something he was willing to use in his favor if needed.
His heart nearly stopped as he watched a Kalorian man lean over the sticks, just as he himself had in Toresta, and light them with his hands. It was a wondrous thing. And to do it with no fear of repercussion. Paxton wanted that open freedom for himself and all Lashed everywhere.
But not for the price Rozaria had put on it. He couldn’t let himself forget how she sent the first beast into Lochlanach, having taught it to kill men. And kill it did. Hundreds of hunters, commoners, and soldiers, all dead so that she could manipulate King Charles into succumbing to her demands. There had to be a better way.
Once the fire was crackling, people put their catches on the end of long sticks and turned them over the flames. Paxton, like most of the others, had fish from the freshwater lake, striped bass and catfish. One of the men had a snake, and another had gutted a turtle.
Rozaria’s lovesick goon had two fish over the flames, no doubt cooking one for her while she sat back, her legs crossed, assessing the campers until her eyes stopped on Paxton and a mischievous smile bloomed.
“What do you think of our kingdom of Kalor, hunter?”
He rubbed the half inch of scruff that had grown on his chin. “I like your heat but don’t care for the muggy air.” Lochlanach had its bad days in the summer, but nothing like this.
Her oaf must not have approved of Paxton’s tone, because he gave a grunt and glared hard at him. Even Konor and the other campers watched their exchange with interest. Paxton kept his eyes on Rozaria.
“You grow accustomed,” she said.
Paxton nodded, though he doubted he could get used to the dampness. Rozaria watched him for another quiet moment before turning her gaze to the former chef of the Cliftonia royals in Toresta.
“Mister Chun Aval . . .”
He bowed his smooth head. “Yes, Miss Rocato.”
She stared at the man, as if contemplating. Then she stood and began to pace before the fire. Everyone’s dinner was cooked by then, but nobody ate. They watched the woman, waiting to hear what she would say, what grand scheme she was plotting. Finally, she decided to enlighten them.
“For one year I have been gathering people who agree that change is needed throughout all lands, at any cost. But each person in my ranks must prove themselves worthy and loyal.”
She stopped and turned to face them. As if some silent cue had been given, Rozaria’s brutes rose behind her and began to circle the campers until they were surrounded. Hair rose on Paxton’s arms. Chun’s wife wrapped their young daughter in her arms and peered around at Rozaria’s men. Chun’s brother was older, and his two sons were teenagers, but still young enough to show fear in their eyes. They moved minutely closer to their father. Paxton couldn’t take it any longer. He stood to face the Rocato woman.
“What exactly do you have in mind?” he asked in a steady voice.
Rozaria smiled as if she found him to be eager. She gave a nod to the hulking man at her side and called him by name. “Martone . . .” She gave him an order in Kalorian and he set off, leaving their group and moving toward the dilapidated building. She appeared quite pleased with herself. A feeling of dread pooled inside Paxton. The campers looked around at one another with anxious expressions.
Moments later, Martone came out of the building holding a hunched man by the arm. The man’s hands were bound behind his back, and he stumbled as he was pulled along, as if he didn’t have the energy to put one foot in front of the other.
When they reached the fire, Martone gave the man a shove, and he fell by Rozaria’s feet. She sneered down at him. He was filthy, his hair matted and his tunic torn down the center.
“We encountered this piece of rubbish in southern Lochlanach,” Rozaria told them. “He was spying on our camp by the river’s edge, and do you know what he said?”
She nudged the man with her foot and he mumbled, “Please, miss.”
“Silence!” She stared from Paxton to Chun to his relatives. “He said he saw what we were, and he told us he was going to the authorities. He said we would all be killed.” Her eyes shone as she stared down at the man now. “Tell them what you called us.”
He shook his head and curled into a ball. “I’m sorry, miss! I’m—”
“‘Unnatural vermin!’” she yelled down at him. “That is what you called us! ‘Devils of the sea!’” Her eyes were wild with fury and indignation as she looked out at the campers now. “Come forward, Chun.”
Paxton wanted to stop this. Everything in him screamed against the thought of Chun being asked to hurt a bound man.
Chun’s wife covered her mouth as he walked around the fire. Rozaria looked down at the prisoner.
“Get to your feet,” she ordered. The man struggled and flailed until Rozaria rolled her eyes and motioned for Martone to lift him, which he did.
Shaking and hunched, the man was the same size as Chun, who looked at the prisoner with trepidation. Then Chun turned his questioning eyes to Rozaria.
“In my army, you must always be prepared to protect our kind. Men like this”—she jutted her chin—“cannot be changed. His hatred of our kind will be passed along to the next generation. It is not enough to change laws in our governments. If the people still treat Lashed as evil entities, what life is that?” She glanced over at Chun’s family. His daughter’s face was hidden in his wife’s embrace, and his teenage nephews kept their faces down.
Rozaria shook her head. “I want to see your eyes. All of you. Your children’s as well.” She waited until the parents reluctantly nudged their children to look at her. “Whether you are Lashed or not, you carry the blood. You are one of us. You are in danger of being poorly treated, of being killed no matter how well you behave. You must not fear what must be done. In this way, you will be safe. In this way, you will prosper. I will let no harm befall you.” Again, her eyes gleamed with that maniacal zealousness. “I vow that one day, you will each be respected in your community. You will be treated like the noble-blooded citizens you are. You will each be kings and queens in your own right.”
Her words, her sure tone, her radiance—she had the entire camp bedazzled. The people nodded, some of the fear dissipating from their postures. But Paxton could not relax. Chun was not a killer. He was a harmless chef. This would change the man irrevocably, and his family along with him.
Rozaria faced Chun, the fire lighting her face with a fluttering wickedness.
“Put your hands on him, Chun. Stop his heart.” The Torestan stared at her, then at the prisoner, then back at her as if uncertain of her seriousness. “He is not worthy of pity. He would have you killed. He would gladly have killed your daughter.” She pointed at his girl, who watched with big eyes.
Chun’s hand slowly lifted, but he hesitated. “I—I’ve never killed someone.”
“Do not think of him as a man. He is your enemy. Focus on stopping the movement of blood through his heart, and it will happen.”
“Nay, please!” the man cried out.
Chun hesitated, his breathing heavy. Konor watched, riveted, a partial smile on his face. Paxton had the feeling the man would step in to offer to do it if Chun could not. Paxton stayed very still, but his eyes darted around him for any possible weapon. This was the worst of circumstances. He was surrounded by men who weren’t just armed, they were Lashed. Attempting to escape or stop this madness was futile. His mind whirred. He couldn’t let Chun do this. He couldn’t watch a man be killed.
“Let me be clear.” Rozaria’s voice lowered to a deadly tone. “There is no going back from this camp. Those who get this far know too much. Your family either proves their loyalty to this noble cause or you choose to die. Your death would be an unnecessary shame.” Chun began to visibly shake as she continued. “Imagine that this man has a knife at your daughter’s throat. He would if he could. He would kill her.”
Chun’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard and his hand rose an inch, then fell, rose two inches, then faltered. No . . . Rozaria’s lips began to tighten.
Raging seas.
“I’ll do it,” Paxton said in a rush. All eyes turned to him. Every pulse point on his body banged as his eyes fastened on Rozaria’s. “Let me be the first to prove myself.”
It seemed as if the entire camp drew in a breath and held it. A feminine chuckle rose from Rozaria, and she pulled her hair over her shoulder, twisting it as she pondered him. The glee on her face was enough to make him ill, but he held his ground and composure.
“Surely you’ll have another opportunity for Chun,” Paxton said, stepping between Chun and the prisoner. “He’s a chef, you know. He’ll be good to have around when you get tired of Martone’s subpar roasting skills.”
At this, Rozaria’s face lit up, and a delighted peal of laughter rang out as she clasped her hands under her chin. Her attention was all for Paxton.
Please let this work, he begged the seas.
He gave Rozaria an imploring look, as if to ask May I?
She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, and Paxton forced a conspiratorial grin to his face.
Rozaria held out an arm as if waving him forward. “If you feel so inclined.”
Relief rippled through him, and he met the prisoner’s wild eyes. He raised both hands and took the man’s face in his.
“Please, sir,” the Lochlan rasped.
“Sh . . . I think you’ve said enough in your day.”
Paxton’s heart thrummed wildly.
The man frantically looked deeper into Paxton’s eyes, and when he found no sympathy there, the prisoner’s look of panic morphed into hardened hatred. He rasped out one word as his eyes bulged: “Monster.”
Behind the man, Rozaria sucked in a breath. Paxton’s stomach turned over. He held the foolish man’s head harder, willing him to be silent, and began to concentrate. Rather than pushing his magic down to the man’s heart to stop it as Rozaria wanted, Paxton pushed it upward into the man’s mind. He’d never done anything like this—never tampered with a person’s consciousness. He pressed the magic harder than absolutely necessary and the man whimpered.
Sleep, Paxton thought. He felt his energy inexplicably searching, probing, surging, then a burst of heat flamed from his wrists down to his fingertips. The prisoner shuddered violently, then he became heavy until Paxton felt his magic bumping up against something, as if it were as far as it could go. The man slumped forward, and Paxton caught him. He looked up at Rozaria.
“Where do you dispose of bodies?”
Her eyes—the way she was gazing at him—he’d only seen that kind of passion in women he’d bedded. It pulsed through him, along with the buzzing of magic within his blood.
“Martone will take him,” she said in a husky voice.
Paxton shook his head. Then he bent and lugged the man’s limp body over his shoulder, feeling the desperate need to go before the prisoner awoke from his magical slumber. “He’s my kill. I want to finish it myself.”
“Spoken like a true hunter.” Rozaria pointed at Lake Rainiard where the moon reflected off its dark, glassy surface. “Take him into the woods for the animals on the other side of the lake.”
He began to walk away when he heard her say, “And when you return, see me in my tent.”
Oh, bloody seas. He cursed himself for using his wiles to distract her from the truth. Still, he forced himself to look at her and say, “Of course, Rozaria.”
As he turned to leave he caught the eye of Chun and was hit with the full force of the man’s gratitude. Paxton left the camp, glad he’d “proven” himself enough to have some time away from them all.
While a strong part of him wanted to take this chance to flee and never return, he knew he needed to see this thing through to the end. He would earn Rozaria’s complete trust, find out exactly where her army was located, along with its numbers and any other strategic information. He would find a way to return to his home and warn the monarch of everything he’d learned before they were blindsided by an attack. He couldn’t allow that to happen to Aerity or his family. Perhaps in this way he could prove to the king and his people that Lashed could be good and worthy.
Or perhaps, more realistically, the entire thing would blow up in his face. That was a chance he had to take. It was the least he could do to show Aerity he still cared.
Paxton stayed at the outskirts of the woods that lined the lake. Kalorian wildlife was not familiar to him, and he did not trust it. He checked behind him several times to be sure he wasn’t being followed. When he felt far enough away, about a quarter of the distance around the lake, he took the man several yards into the trees and laid him down on a bed of moss.
Paxton shook his shoulders, but the man slept soundly. He felt the pulse of lifeblood at his throat, which was slow and steady. Paxton patted the man’s cheek a couple of times, and then smacked him. The man’s eyes flew open, and Paxton pressed a hand to muffle his shouts. His eyes were like a trapped, panicked animal.
“Sh, you’re safe.” Still, the man flailed and yelled, muffled by Paxton’s hand. “Shut up and be still, before they find us out!” he hissed.
The man stopped moving, his eyes darting around in the dark.
“Listen carefully,” Paxton said. “Head north, following the seastar constellation, and you will come to the path back to Lochlanach. Stay off it, but near it, or you will be found again. You must go straight to King Charles and tell him Rozaria Rocato is gathering an army of Lashed, and she might be working with Prince Vito. You saw for yourself how she is taking Lashed refugees and forcing them to work for her. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The man nodded fast. Slowly, Paxton let up his hand and the man sputtered, “They’re crazy! She’s evil! The Lashed are—”
“Be careful how you finish that sentence,” Paxton told him. He held his fingers very close to the man’s eyes. “Do you see this newest lashing here? It’s the one that saved your life. Remember that when you speak of all Lashed being evil.”
In the moonlight, the man’s eyes filled with the same hatred he’d shown at the camp. “You didn’t care about saving me. You only wanted to use me to send a message!”
Paxton took the man’s torn tunic in his hands and pulled him up a few inches, only to slam him back into the ground. He pulled his face close. “A message that will save you, your family, and the people of Lochlanach. My people. Pull your cursed head out of your arse, man!”
Paxton shoved off and stood, glaring down at him. “Seas be with you. You’re going to need it.”
“You’re leaving me out here?”
Irritation scratched at Paxton. He squinted at the floor of the forest before he found two edible things, plucked them, and squatted at the man’s side. “Look. These types of mushrooms, and these berries from that type of bush are edible. And I assume you can fish?” He pulled a rusted hook and string from his tunic pocket and handed it to the man. “If you come into sight of our camp, I will kill you this time. Keep to the forest until you are past us, and then align yourself with the path.”
Paxton stood.
“It could take me weeks to get back!” the man cried.
Paxton spared the man one final look of warning, and then walked away.