Praetorian Rising, стр. 98
"My source tells me what I need to know, and nothing more. He told me to be ready to destroy the village when LeMarc started his search for Ephidra Lily. That is the information I needed and what we prepared for. I can't ask him for more than that."
Vesyon snorted in response, lifting a mug of lukewarm tea to his lips. "I don't see how you can expect me to blindly trust someone I don't even know." The tea leaves were bitter and sharp on his tongue, leaving an unwelcome aftertaste coating his mouth. He craved more of the smooth, earthy tang of his pipe leaves but refrained.
The elderly man glared at Vesyon, green eyes sharply piercing. "I haven't once asked you to trust someone you don't know. I have asked you to trust me."
"It's not the same thing Langhorn, you know that."
One green eye peered at Vesyon from beneath the thick tuft of his shaggy grey brows, but Langhorn didn't respond. He nodded and sipped his tea, knowing that to argue with Vesyon on this account would get him nowhere.
"You need to rest, my boy," he finally said, pushing away the empty mug and shifting his weight to stand.
"I don't even know if it's possible to find sleep tonight."
There would be little rest for all of those within the gates of White Wall. It would be impossible to pretend ignorance of a rebellion now well underfoot. The slow game of waiting was now in the past; the fight for freedom had well and truly sparked flame again.
Langhorn tucked his hands into the wide-billowed ends of his sleeves and bowed slightly to Vesyon in a bid of farewell. "Be at ease Vesyon, for the moment at least. You are here, Camille is here, you're all safe." The old man's lips quirked upward in a smile before his slippered feet shuffled him silently out of the dining hall.
"Safe," Vesyon repeated, his voice sounding hollowed and foreign in his own ears. "For the moment."
Chapter Twenty-One
Demons Within
She was breathing so incredibly slow that it hurt Theo to watch. Her chest rose and fell with slight, almost imperceptible motions. His eyes were beginning to ache as he strained to ensure she was indeed breathing. Langhorn had told him she would be alright. "You better not be incorrect, doc," Theo said, gripping the side of the bed, his fingers white from the pressure.
Despite his terror of her never waking, she appeared in decently good health. Her soft porcelain skin practically glowed in the room’s lamplight, a sheen of pink across the plains of her cheeks and nose, with a spray of freckles where the sun had touched her most. Every surface of her skin that had been marred during the battle at Romeo had healed, which was beyond incredible—even for a Praetorian.
Lifting the tattered sleeve of his grubby tunic, Theo spotted several scabbed wounds, and a couple of deeper cuts still oozing beneath the layers of bandages. Camille didn't have a single mark on her anywhere. It seemed unnatural even to him, but then again Camille had always been faster at everything.
Growing up together she'd been the faster runner, the stronger contender in hand-to-hand combat, and by far the best hunter. She'd been trapping rabbits and shooting down dinner from the sky at the age of six, and it seemed natural to everyone around her because it's Camille. It wasn't until they pledged their loyalty to the crown by taking the bond that he finally felt he was equal to her. The difference had been night and day; one day he could barely keep up and the next he was pushing past her.
Despite his sudden ability to maintain speed with her, there were still so many things in which he fell markedly behind in. Theo healed rather quickly, but he rarely walked away without any scars. His skin was a field of history; any wound deep enough to gush in blood left a mark of his adventures. The worst was the jagged line from his temple down the side of his cheek, a calling card from an angry Asperian unwilling to die because the High King demanded it.
It had been the first time Theo had questioned his actions so thoroughly that he almost hadn't followed through. Vesyon had saved him from making the final decision, and Jesabelle had carried his bleeding body to the closest village to manage the deep gash as best she could. He'd been more than lucky; if the blade had sliced down his face a hairs width closer to his eye, he would have lost it.
The scar remained and never healed completely, although it lessened its ostentatious display over the years. It reminded Theo to take every order he was given with serious intent. If he half-assed his responsibilities, he'd find a blade or a bullet hitting a more permanent mark. He no longer was one to believe in the fight for LeMarc's kingdom though; his honor and sense of duty lay with Vesyon and Langhorn in the rebuilding of the rebellion. He had his doubts, still. Looking down at Camille's body, barely breathing, he felt that perhaps fighting hand to hand combat for freedom against such a powerful king wasn't the smartest option.
"Dear Ma'Nada, let her wake up. Let her be alright, please dear Mother," Theo prayed. He scooted as close to her bedside as he could, gripping her hand like a lifeline of support. There was no way he'd be able to survive without her; he'd never be able to forgive himself for failing to protect her.
His heart paused in his chest as he watched her breathing stop. "Cam?" He tentatively shook her shoulder. Nothing happened. He stood quickly, kicking his chair out as he leaned over her. Placing one finger beneath her nostrils, he waited for the