So he intended both empire and destruction. He had such ruined nobility. Something tickled on her skin. She wiped her face, and only then did she realize that her cheeks had grown damp.
“Please, Amras,” she said. “Please try to listen to me. No matter how much conviction or purpose you think you feel, you don’t have to rule anybody. Camthalion was delusional, and now the Machine is affecting your mind too. It isn’t too late for you, and it isn’t too late for any of the others either. Let them go. Numenlaur has been cut off from the rest of the world for too long, but we can help you adjust. Just give me those beads. Let me hold them for you for a little while.”
“I am so tired of being a Guardian,” he said, his voice worn and threadbare with age. His expression held a sadness that could break apart the world.
“You don’t have to carry that burden any longer. You can let go and rest. Let me help you.” She held out her hand.
If she could only get her hands on those beads for a few minutes. If she ran away from everyone and everything as far and as fast as she could go, she could fling them into the nearest ravine or river. It didn’t matter where. Anywhere, anywhere, as long as the Machine was taken out of Gaeleval’s hands and released.
There wasn’t any way to stop the Machine, and she wouldn’t try. She would let it go and it would work its way through the world, enacting the god’s will according to its original purpose. She wouldn’t even say anything to anybody. She could explain what had happened as soon as she got back.
She met Amras’s gaze again. He gave her a small, grave smile and reached for her outstretched hand.
? ? ?
Dragos never knew what woke him.
It wasn’t the influx of cold air into the tent. If he set his mind to it, he could sleep outside through a howling gale. It wasn’t Pia shifting her weight off him or moving around. After sleeping in the same bed for seven months, they had grown used to each other’s presence in every permutation and position imaginable.
For whatever reason, he stretched and opened his eyes.
The Power of the God Machine continued to blaze in the nearby passageway fire, in the stone that burned but never melted. He could also sense the interwoven defensive spells from the magic users in camp.
Pia was already dressed, her tangled hair knotted on itself in a way that he never could understand. She put her hair up that way whenever she didn’t have any other way to fasten it, and it always fell apart when he ran his fingers through it.
She knelt on the edge of their rough, makeshift floor, holding the flap open as she peered out. He couldn’t see what held her attention. He yawned so widely, his jaws cracked.
“What are you looking at?” he asked, his voice gravelly from sleep.
She didn’t respond to him, although he saw her lips move. She wiped her face. Was she crying? He sat up, angling his head to better look out the flap. That was when he heard her whisper, “Let me help you.”
There was nobody outside. Nobody that Dragos could see, at any rate. There was only the wind and the fire, and the magic users’ spells.
Along with the Power of the God Machine as Gaeleval wielded it.
Dragos roared and lunged at her, slamming his own Power down in a shield around her.
She shrieked, spun and kicked at him. “Stop it!”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, wild to yank her out of whatever she was experiencing. “You’re dreaming,” he said harshly. “Snap out of it.”
“I know I was dreaming,” she shouted. Her eyes swam with tears. She hit him in the chest with the back of her hand. “I almost had him. Dammit, why do you always assume that you’ve got to stomp in and save the day?”
He sat back on his heels, astonished by the violence in her reaction. “You were dreaming,” he repeated. “And Gaeleval’s using the Machine again. What did you mean, you almost had him?”
As they stared at each other, shouts came from the direction of the bluff. He hissed, grabbed her chin and looked deep into her eyes as he sent a spear of Power into her. Her back stiffened and she gritted her teeth, but evidently she recognized what he meant to do, for she bore with it. As soon as he was convinced she wasn’t controlled, he pulled out.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, digging her thumb and forefinger into her eyes. “Just go.”
The sound of running footsteps approached, along with a ripple of reaction through the camp. “Put your armor on,” he told her. He rolled to the edge of the tent and planted his feet just outside the flap. Just before he shoved to his feet, she grabbed his arm and he paused.
“If you can, try not to kill him,” she said quickly. She looked hard into his eyes. “Gaeleval is a victim too.”
Bloody hell.
The reaction came closer as people shouted to each other. He gritted, “Pia, I don’t know that we’re going to have a choice.”
“I know, I know. Just try.” She searched his expression. “Trying is enough.”
He nodded and expelled a breath. “I’ll do my best.”