He does not stop.
Up, up, up we climb, a seemingly endless stretch of steps. They steepen sharply, then narrow and begin to spiral round and round. We must be inside one of the turrets. The walls are circular, the windows water beaded. Though I would never admit as much to him, I’m grateful for Penn’s strong arms supporting me. It is a long climb, and after three straight days in the saddle, I am bone weary.
I don’t realize we’ve lost our guard detail until we finally reach the top. Penn shoves open a thick wooden door, then deposits me over the threshold inside a spherical chamber. It is dusty from disuse but otherwise not at all unpleasant. There is a stately bed pushed up against one wall, a desk of dark wood centered before a large window, and a neglected wardrobe shoved into a corner beside several heavy chests. A fireplace scales the wall directly across from the bed, its mantel one massive slab of stone. Several bookshelves brim with thick tomes. Two tall weapon racks are set up near a screened-off bathing area, fully stocked with lethal-looking blades of all shapes and sizes. Despite the dust motes, they shine like they were sharpened hours ago.
The room is not overlarge—perhaps twenty paces across in any direction. The windows at the front overlook the entirety of Caeldera, while those on the far side are misted with water. The back of the tower is built into the cliff side, natural stone forming the wall instead of slab and mortar.
“Is this your bedroom?”
Penn nods.
“When were you last here?”
“Six—no, seven months.”
“So long away from home.”
He pauses a beat. “This has not been my home for a long time.”
I stare across the room at him. He is standing by the window, looking down at his city. From here, the lake is a teal jewel winking in the late-afternoon sunshine. The boats gliding across its surface look like bugs on a water bowl.
“How long did you spend with King Eld’s army?”
“The better part of a decade.” He runs his hand through his thick hair. “Before that, I was with the king whom Eld eventually usurped. And another before him, in a territory farther south.”
I’m shocked by this. So shocked, I cannot stop myself from blurting, “Why?”
He glances at me, brows raised. “Even with my abilities, it took time to work my way up to a high-ranking position. Glamours and mind tricks only go so far.”
“No, I mean why do it at all? Why stay there? What was the purpose?”
“Do you truly not know?”
My breath catches. Surely he does not mean…
“I have been looking for you for a long time,” he murmurs, watching me carefully. “I have lost track of the years. Of the men I have commanded. Of the enemies I have killed. I cannot begin to count the number of halfling executions I oversaw in my role as Commander Scythe.”
The blood drains from my face. “You…”
“I could not save them. Not all of them. The mortals’ fervor for killing is too strong, the appetite for violence too insatiable.Most times, the best I could do was to offer a clean death. To hold off the more hideous inclinations of the hunting parties.” His stare turns hard. “You thought I was monstrous before? You have no idea how much blood stains my skin. How many piles of fae ash I have scattered to the skies. How many lives I have snuffed out, incapable of lifting a hand to stop it.”
No wonder he had not an ounce of gentleness in him when we met. It had been stripped away by the horrors of war. I think suddenly of Farley’s words, back in the Cimmerians.
Can’t really blame him for nursing a grouchy disposition, after spending all that time in the Midlands…It’s going to take him some time to adjust to normal life again…
Did one ever truly adjust after life in a war zone?
Did one ever return to normal?
My tongue sits lamely in my mouth, refusing to form words.
Penn does not seem to require a response. His eyes have gone unfocused; his voice has softened to a whisper I am not sure I’m meant to hear. His thoughts are far away—in the blood-drenched horrors of his past.
“So much death. So much despair. It was endless. Year after year. Hanging after hanging. Pyre after pyre. I had begun to lose all hope of ever finding another Remnant. But then…then,finally…Word of a halfling. A girl, captured near the Red Chasm. A strange little slip of a thing with silver eyes and the devil’s mark, who’d somehow seared the flesh from a man’s hand without lifting a finger.”
“Me,” I whisper.
His eyes refocus on my face. “You.”