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When Charlie stood again, his face was blank and pale, his long hair free from its usual braid.
Alive. All of them.
All of us.
Relief surged through Corayne’s body, swiftly followed by exhaustion. She flagged a little, her knees going weak.
Andry moved quickly, bracing his hands against her shoulders.
“It’s all right,” he said softly.
His touch was almost electrifying, hot and cold all at once. She jumped away and shook her head.
“I will not mourn them,” she muttered sharply. “I will not mourn men who would have killed us. You shouldn’t mourn them either.”
Andry’s face tightened, his lips threatening a scowl. Coraynehad never seen anger on Andry Trelland, not like this. Even the shadow of it stung.
“I cannot do that, Corayne,” he bit out, turning away.
Corayne followed his gaze, a flush of shame crossing her cheeks. Andry looked back to Charlie, now making his way through the dead, blessing the Gallish corpses. Then his eyes went to the soldier crawling through the muck.
The Amhara stalked him still.
“Gods damn you, show some mercy, Sorasa,” the squire barked. “Give him an ending.”
The assassin did not break her gaze. She was trained too well to take her eyes off an enemy, even one so wounded. “You may do as you like, Trelland. I won’t stop you.”
Andry’s throat bobbed, his brown skin bare above the collar of his tunic. His fingers grazed the sword at his side.
“Don’t,” Corayne said, grabbing his bicep. The flesh felt hard beneath her fingers, tight as wound rope. “Don’t give this man mercy if it means losing another piece of yourself.”
Andry did not answer, but his brow furrowed and his face grew grim. Gently, he shrugged Corayne away and drew his sword.
“Andry—” she began, moving to stop him.
Then a ripple went through the water and something splashed, its skin coiling and scaly.
Corayne froze, heart pounding.
The serpent was alone, but still deadly.
Sorasa stopped in her prowl, drawing up short. She watched with her glowing tiger eyes as it unhinged its jaw and took the soldier’s head in its mouth. Corayne could not help but be darklyfascinated, her lips parting as the serpent ended the soldier.
It was Dom who finished them both, his greatsword cutting through scale and skin.
He leveled a glare at Sorasa but she only shrugged, waving him off with a swipe of one red hand.
Corayne turned away, shaking her head at the two of them.
Andry was already gone, his footsteps squelching through the wet sand.
While Sorasa and Sigil searched the oasis for survivors, the rest of them waited on the outskirts of the town, where stone road gave over to sand. Corayne sat on a windblown rock, thanking the gods for the blissful shade of a few palm trees. Somehow she was grateful for the heat too. It felt cleansing.
The others were silent, the only sound the two horses pawing the ground. Andry kept to the sand mares, brushing them down, tending to them as best he could with what little he had. Corayne knew by now it was his way of coping, to lose himself in a task he knew. A task from his old life.
She winced, eyeing the squire and the mares. There were only two horses left, and only one of them still had a saddle.
“The Spindle fought hard,” Dom muttered, following her gaze.
