The Toxicant Throne (Book 2, The Culled Crown Series)

Chapter 3

She looked at me for a long moment, her eyes wide and full of a million questions—ones I didn't want to answer. I turned away and went in search of my clothes. Even with the dying embers of the woodstove, it was still freezing inside of the tent. I dressed quickly, pulling on the borrowed trousers and tunic before shrugging on Ambrose's jacket and lacing my boots.

Swara was already waking Teagan and Alena.

I didn't wait to see if she would tell them about us, I honestly didn't want to know. It hardly mattered anyway. If what Swara said was true, everyone in Third Corps would know in a few hours. I hadn't had time to tell Nadia or Heidi what was going on, and maybe that wasn't fair. Maybe they deserved to know that our secret was soon to be revealed, but I'd run out of time.

And the knowledge wouldn't change anything. We had no control.

When I stepped out of the healer's tent, I found Callahan huddled off to one side of the door, his hood pulled up to shield from the cold wind. He didn't have a lantern, but the moon was still bright enough in the sky to cast everything in a water sort of cool gray light. For a second, I hesitated. It was weird to be standing in the dark in the middle of a foreign country with a man I didn't know.

How had this become my normal?

When I didn't approach, he walked over to me. "What took you so long?"

"I was talking to Swara."

Callahan jerked his head towards the mess hall. "Let's go."

I stayed in step with him, but kept the same space between us we'd had the day before. I waited for him to say something else, to tell me what he'd come to get me to do, but he remained silent.

I got the feeling that this was Callahan's natural state—quiet and brooding.

We walked past darkened tents and the occasional patrolling soldier. They nodded in greeting to Callahan, but he barely acknowledged them. His hands were in his pockets and even with his face flushed from cold, he looked sullen.

We'd almost reached the far side of camp and I was on the verge of losing my patience. Just when I was about to demand he explain things to me, Callahan finally spoke. "You know," he said, "I saw your trial."

I nearly stopped walking in surprise. "Really?"

He nodded. "There was a lot of smoke. But I guess, when your ability is fire, that's a good thing."

I waited for him to say something else but he didn't, he just stopped in the middle of a small opening in the pathway. In that area, the dry grass had been scrapped away and a fire pit had been dug, the outskirts of it molded with tiny pebbles and rough stones no bigger than my fist. All around the pit were makeshift seats, upturned buckets, boxes, and large wooden crates.

Callahan nodded to the steepled logs. "Light it."

I blinked at him. "What?" Surely, he hadn't pulled me out of bed, into the freezing cold, so I could light a bonfire.

The corners of his mouth twitched, almost a half-smile. "You heard me."

I stepped towards the dry logs but paused, it felt like this was some sort of trap. I turned back to Callahan but he still stood exactly as he had been before, hands in his jacket pockets and bored expression plastered on his face.

"And the general says I can use it?"

He said, "M.O. gave me jurisdiction over you. And I say you can use it."

Jurisdiction—good goddess, I hated that word.

I bent down at the edge of the fire pit and pressed a hand to the wood.