The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

“So that he could die too?”

Bryn shook his head. “So that maybe they all might have lived.”

We stared at him, probably each of us wondering the same thing—could one more soldier really have made a difference?

When the brothers left, I told Gwyneth and Berdi to wait for me, that I’d be right back. I understood Andrés’s guilt, the anguish of reliving moments and wondering what could have been done differently. In those weeks after Lia disappeared, I relived that morning of Kaden dragging me into the brush a hundred times, thinking I should have grabbed his knife, kicked him, done something that could have changed everything—but instead I had only trembled, frozen with terror as he pressed his face close to mine and threatened to kill us. If I had a second chance, I would do it all so differently.

Andrés was still kneeling at the memorial stone when I returned. Maybe I could pull two purposes from this moment that would help us both. If he loved the platoon and Walther so deeply, he also knew how close Walther and Lia were. He may have even been one of those who helped Walther plant false leads when Lia and I ran. When I approached him, he looked up, searching the shadows of my hood.

“They were good men,” I said.

He swallowed and nodded agreement.

“No one thought so more than Lia. I’m sure she never would have betrayed them.”

I watched him closely to see if he recoiled at her name. He didn’t.

“Lia,” he said thoughtfully, as if reminiscing. “Only her brothers called her by that name. You knew her well?”

“No,” I said, realizing my error. “But I met Prince Walther once, and he spoke fondly of her. He told me at great length about their devotion to each other.”

He nodded. “Yes, all the royal siblings were close. I always envied them that. My only brother died when I was small, and my half brother—” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

He looked up at me, peering closer, as if trying to get a better glimpse. “I don’t think I caught your name. What may I call you?”

I searched quickly for a name, and my mother’s came to mind. “Marisol,” I answered. “My father has a candlery in the next hamlet. I came to pay my respects and heard some other mourners mention you were the lone survivor. I hope I haven’t intruded. I wished only to offer you comfort. This was the work of ruthless barbarians and no one else. There was nothing you could have done.”

He reached out and boldly squeezed my hand. “

So others have told me too, including my father. I’m trying to believe it.” I was rewarded when some of the agony in his expression lifted.

“I will keep them—and you—in my remembrances,” I promised. I slipped my hand free and kissed two fingers, lifting them to the heavens before I turned and walked away.

“Thank you, Marisol,” he called after me. “I hope I’ll see you again.”

You most definitely will, Andrés.

Gwyneth’s eyes flashed with anger when I rejoined her. “Speaking with the Viceregent’s son? How is that lying low?”

I answered her with a smug smile. “Have some faith in me, Gwyneth. Aren’t you the one who said I had to stop playing nice girl? He may know something that we’ll find helpful. Maybe now I’m the one who’s become the spy.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

RAFE

I walked into the surgeon’s bungalow.

Tavish, Jeb, Griz, and Kaden were all laid out on cots being treated. Kaden had hidden the fact that he’d been wounded as well—a gash on his lower back. A small wound but still in need of stitches. Orrin and Sven sat in chairs across from them, their feet propped up on the patients’ cots.

As soon as they caught sight of me, Tavish and Orrin let out insulting whistles like I was a swaggering dandy. Jeb approved of my transformation.

“And here we were all getting used to your ugly face,” Sven said.

“It’s called a bath and a shave. You should try it sometime.”

Jeb’s shoulder was slathered with ointment and compresses. The surgeon told me he had torn muscles and would have to keep his shoulder immobile for several weeks. No riding, no duty. Bed rest for three days. Jeb made faces behind the surgeon’s back, mouthing no.

I shrugged as if I couldn’t override the surgeon’s orders, and Jeb scowled.