Free The Reawakened by Jeri Smith-Ready Page B

to the farthest edge of the ridge to their right, a flaming arrow nocked in his longbow. A sheet of parchment fluttered, attached to the shaft.
    The arrow arced across the darkening sky like a meteor, leaving a green afterglow on Lycas’s vision. It would only land halfway to the Ilion soldiers, but they might come to investigate it. When they did, they’d find a note with nothing but Lycas’s initial in bold blue paint next to a Wolverine paw print.
    “Few can resist,” Sirin told Nilik. “Junior officers are so ambitious.” He turned to Lycas. “I can only imagine what reward they’d receive for capturing or killing you.”
    “Or you.”
    “Pah. I’d be a consolation prize.” He shifted his shoulders. “By the way, the bait worked while you were in Tiros, so at least the lower-level Ilion commanders believed you never left the hills.”
    “Good.”
    Lycas had no desire to be a celebrity. But by fixating on him, the Descendants spent all their energy trying to find and defeat one person. He understood what the Ilions did not: that his death would make no difference.
    It wasn’t his revolution, after all. It was everyone’s.

07
    Kalindos
    “F orgive my bluntness, but who died?”
    Dravek didn’t answer right away, which made Sura even more nervous. They were approaching a clearing about an hour’s walk from Kalindos, a clearing filled with hundreds of boulders of all sizes. They looked as if they had rolled there centuries before, gathering for a great boulder meeting that had never adjourned. On the other side of the field loomed the gray-brown ridges of Mount Beros.
    As he walked, Dravek juggled two short torches, which unfortunately were lit. When they reached the edge of the clearing, Dravek stepped out onto the closest boulder, tossed the last torch high in the air and caught it behind his back.
    “No one died,” he said.
    “Then why is your hair so short?”
    “I work with fire.” He shoved the unlit end of one torch into a chest-high hollow post between two boulders. “Prefer to keep the flames from engulfing my head.”
    She stepped onto the flattest stone she could find and set down the pack he’d given her to carry. “You could wear it long, just tie it back.”
    “I think it looks good like this.” He ran a hand over his head in both directions. The short strands sprang back into place. “Don’t you?”
    His smile almost made her lose her balance as she shifted to the next stone.
    “You shouldn’t cut your hair unless someone’s died. It’s a sacred privilege, not a matter of vanity.”
    “Don’t assume you know all about me.” He crossed over several boulders to where the other hollow post stood. He inserted the torch, then pointed to a flat boulder halfway between the two flames. “Let’s sit.”
    She made her way over to join him, stepping carefully to keep her balance so he wouldn’t touch her again. They weren’t wearing gloves today, and the thought of his skin against hers did not enhance her concentration.
    They sat cross-legged on the rock, facing each other.
    “Let’s see if you’re really a Snake.” He nodded at the torch to his left. “Make that one flare.”
    “I can’t. All I can do is snuff.” A nervous laugh escaped her throat. “I’m just a lowly snuffer.”
    He smirked. “Then show me how you snuff.”
    Sura swallowed hard, then with no small effort, tore her gaze from him and stood to face the torch. She cupped her hands around her mouth, forming a tunnel that she aimed at the base of the flame. Her mind brought forth an image of a wet blanket descending, wrapping, smothering.
    She sucked in a hard breath, and the torch snuffed out.
    Sura feigned nonchalance as she turned back to Dravek, her limbs tingling with the torch’s heat.
    “Good,” he said. “Now try it again without looking.”
    The flame burst forth from the end of the torch. She gasped. His eyes had never left her face, nor had he given the slightest twitch.
    “How did you do