Chapter 230 Burning Promise

Chapter 230 Burning Promise
I stood on the highest stone balcony of the abandoned garrison. My hands rested flat against the crumbling stone railing. The raw, bleeding blisters on my palms had finally begun to callous, turning into thick, hard ridges of rough skin. My left thigh burned with a dull, steady heat beneath the tight linen bandage, but I kept my weight evenly distributed. I refused to limp.

Below me, the ruined courtyard was a monument to the violence we had unleashed.

The heavy paving stones were scarred by deep, jagged craters. The black sludge I had pushed into the earth had cooled, hardening into thick, reflective sheets of dark obsidian glass. The melted remains of the Imperial vanguard’s armor were permanently fused with the rock. The stench of charred meat and boiling iron still clung to the heavy, freezing air, refusing to be blown away by the gale.

I stared out at the vast, empty expanse of the Rot.

Just two nights ago, I had crawled out of the deep trench while Klaus slept. I had dragged my bleeding feet through the pale grey powder, leaving a dark, weeping trail of decay in my wake. I had truly believed my existence was a curse. I had wanted the poisoned dirt to swallow me before my rot could drain the life from the man I loved.

I looked down at my hands. The dirt was packed deep under my fingernails.

The Emperor had spent years telling me my magic was a disease. He kept me locked in a silver cage, wrapping me in silk and emeralds, forcing me to sing while he fed on the pure energy of the continent. He made me terrified of my own nature.

He was right about what I was. But he was entirely wrong to think I would stay in his cage.

A heavy, deliberate footstep sounded on the stone stairs behind me.

I did not turn around. The sudden, intense wave of heat radiating against my back told me exactly who had stepped onto the balcony.

Klaus stopped right behind me. He did not wear a shirt. The rough, dark tunic he usually wore was torn into bandages for the wounded Outcasts in the cellars. The freezing wind whipped his matted silver hair across his sharp cheekbones, but the cold did not seem to touch him.

He wrapped his massive, heavily scarred arms around my waist, pulling my back flush against his broad chest.

I leaned into him, letting the solid, unyielding reality of his body support my weight. I rested my head against his collarbone. The thick, newly healed pink scar just below his shoulder was warm against my cheek. The dark veins of my ancestor's curse pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm over his heart.

"They reached the edge of the basin," Klaus said. His deep voice was a low vibration that sank straight into my ribs.

"Draven," I murmured, watching the distant, dark clouds of dust settling on the horizon.

"He is pushing his surviving horses to death," Klaus agreed. He rested his chin on the top of my head. His large hands flattened against my stomach, his thumbs tracing the line of the heavy leather belt at my waist. "He will reach the capital in five days. The Emperor will have his warning."

"Good," I answered, the word slipping from my lips with cold, lethal precision.

Klaus shifted his weight, turning me gently until I faced him. He looked down at me. The jaundiced light of the sky cast deep shadows over the sharp angles of his bruised face. The feral, hungry madness that had consumed him in the dungeon was entirely gone. In its place was a dark, profound devotion that burned with blinding intensity in his sapphire eyes.

He lifted his right hand, his thick, calloused fingers gently framing my jaw.

"You are not the frightened girl who broke me out of the cell," Klaus whispered, his thumb brushing a streak of old soot from my cheek.

"That girl died in the ash," I told him, keeping my gaze locked firmly on his. "When you chased me into the dark, you told me you would burn the world down to find me. I am going to save you the trouble, Klaus. I am going to rot it for you."

A dark, beautiful smile broke across his lips. He leaned down, pressing a hard, bruising kiss to my mouth. I parted my lips, tasting the salt of his skin and the deep, heavy promise of war. The kiss was not frantic. It was a seal. It was the final, unbreakable anchor tying my poison to his immortal strength.

He broke the kiss, his breathing harsh and ragged in the cold air.

"We have company," he murmured, his blue eyes shifting to look past my shoulder.

I turned around, keeping my back pressed against his chest.

Riven climbed the final stone steps to the balcony. The massive, scaled leader did not carry his cracked bone spear. He moved slowly, his right leg dragging slightly on the stone. Behind him, two young, webbed warriors carefully carried the blind Elder up the stairs.

They stopped ten feet away from us. The Outcast warriors gently lowered the frail old woman so she could stand, supporting her thin elbows.

The Elder looked terrible. Her translucent skin was stretched tight over her hollow cheeks. Her breathing was a wet, rattling wheeze that sounded painful in the quiet space. But she stood as straight as her fragile spine allowed.

She turned her milky, blind eyes toward me. She did not need to see my face. She could smell the melted iron and the dark decay clinging to my skin.

"The water in the deep well is clean," the Elder rasped, her voice weak but steady. "My people drank. The children are sleeping. The fever is breaking."