Disciples of Chaos by M.K. Lobb

Author:M.K. Lobb [M. K. LOBB]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Published: 2024-02-20T00:00:00+00:00

DAMIAN

When Damian woke the next day, he wished Roz was beside him.

After she’d left him last night, he’d felt bereft. His need for her had always been there, but now it was an overwhelming thing, filling his chest like a too-deep breath. It felt like obsession. He remembered the way he’d knelt before her, gaze lifted like a man worshipping at the shrine of his patron saint. Somehow, Roz tethered him to her in a way he was powerless to resist.

He realized his hands were fisted in the bedsheet, and he relaxed them, frowning up at the ceiling. Light emanated from behind the worn curtains, trickling into the room in a thin beam. Suddenly he sat up. His breath was a tangled thing in his chest. For a moment he couldn’t place the sensation of disquiet, and then he heard the thundering of boots in the stairwell.

It was the clamor on the first floor that had woken him in the first place. The voices must have been absurdly loud because he’d been sleeping like the dead.

He leapt to his feet just as the door flew open.

Brechaan soldiers spilled into the room, the deep green of their uniforms recognizable in a way that had Damian feeling more awake than ever before. His knife was in his hand—he’d slept with it under his pillow—but he wasn’t fool enough to think he could do anything with a half dozen guns pointed in his direction. The soldiers seemed to fill the whole room, but there must have been more still, because Damian could hear footsteps and shouting in the hall. His heart squeezed in his chest. Roz.

“Drop the knife,” a thin man who was clearly in charge barked. Damian let his gaze dart around the room, seeking escape where there was none. He wasn’t close enough to grab any of them the way he had Salvestro at the docks. Besides, Salvestro hadn’t been armed. The Brechaans were.

Lips forming a snarl, Damian let the knife fall.

Two men surged forward, yanking his arms behind his back and shackling his hands together. They weren’t the Patience-made cuffs Damian was accustomed to, but a rough metal that was far too tight. A third soldier—a woman—pointed her archibugio at his head. He could feel the barrel of the weapon as it brushed his hair. They could clearly tell he wanted to fight back and refused to give him the room. Damian didn’t know how their group had been found—couldn’t think of anything other than the ship that indicated they were Ombrazian—but saints, they should have known better. Here they’d been, like fowl waiting to be picked off by a hunter.

The man in charge was all cold suspicion as he took in Damian’s Brechaan clothing. He looked like a typical soldier—his hair was little more than bristles, and he was clean-shaven—but his features were too large for his thin face, and Damian couldn’t help but think he looked very like a boy. Just another child, handed a uniform and forced to grow up too quickly.

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