“It sounds rather past tense.” That was the only way I could frame it. “What happened to them?”
“I tried to free them, but they refused to leave my service.”
“Brainwashed.” The metal railing crumpled in Clay’s fist. “And there’s no saving them. Not when they were molded as children. Not for that kind of life. I doubt they realize they’re not soldiers, they’re servants.”
I too had been forged young, but Clay had taken me in hand and taught me to think for myself. The least we could do was put the same tools in theirs and offer them a chance at carving their own futures.
“Where are they now?” I did my best to absorb this latest turn. “What do they do?”
“They provide security for my estate in Hael.” His chin dipped toward his chest. “It keeps them safe and gives them a purpose.” His voice went soft. “It’s a waste of their lives, their talents, but I can’t make them see it no matter how hard I try to convince them otherwise. They were trained for this, raised for this. They don’t know anything else, and they refuse to learn another way.”
Elite fighters left to babysit an empty estate. I bet they were bored out of their skulls.
“Can we trust them?” I wasn’t in a position to turn down help. “How loyal is loyal?”
“They’re blood sworn to me.” His lips twisted in a grimace. “They obey only me.”
“How certain are you of that?” Clay rubbed a hand down his face. “We have to tread carefully here.”
“Father ordered three officers to slit their own throats.” He swallowed. “They did it without hesitation.”
“That means they answer to him too,” I pointed out. “That makes them too dangerous to use.”
“That was before the transference ceremony,” he explained. “He wanted a spectacle, so he created one. He issued the same command after the centuria was bound to me, and they didn’t so much as twitch.”
“How sure are you that wasn’t more theater?” Clay wondered. “He could have staged it ahead of time.”
Y’naimight be Stavros’s preferred spies when it came to Asa, but a centuria his son believed to be within his control was even better for reporting his activities back to his father.
“Grandmother visited me that night. She brought a shawl her mother knitted for her, one that forces the wearer to speak truth.” A faint smile made a brief appearance. “She interrogated them, and after she was satisfied they were earnest, she cast her own binding over them. Any who harm me will die by their own hand.” He cut me a glance from under his lashes. “We can trust them. She made sure of that.”
“Your grandmother sounds amazing.”
“The shawl disintegrated after that.” His grief over its loss twisted his features. “Her one heirloom from her mother, and she spent its magic protecting me.”
“I’ll say it again.” I took his hand. “Your grandmother sounds amazing.”
“She is.” He allowed himself a smile. “She’s going to love you.”
For my sake, I hoped so. I didn’t want to get on her bad side. That much was certain.
“Thank you.” I squeezed his fingers. “I can imagine how much you hate leaning on that connection.”
Maybe life in Samford would agree with the centuria, as it had with me and Aedan, and they would flourish.
“For you,” he said, his jaw tight, “I’m willing to renew those old ties.”
A persistent buzz from Clay’s phone sucked the air from my lungs, aware any moment I might lose my choice and be forced in one direction or another.
“Kerr.” He leaned against the railing. “That sounds like a you problem, Marty.”
The name alone had me rolling my eyes, despite the grim circumstances.
“He needs orders,” Asa told me, eavesdropping on their conversation. “No one can get in touch with Parish.”
“Orders for what?”
“There’s still a case to solve, as far as they know.”