Page 108 of The Winner's Kiss
An explosion rocked the ground. The stone road shivered under Arin’s boots. Beyond the vanguard, above in the center of the Valorian army’s column, flame shimmered the sunny air.
A Valorian horn blew. The sound curled—too pretty for war, Arin thought.
Stop thinking, said his god. Fall back. Fall to the sides. The trees.
Suddenly, there was a halo of space around Arin. “Not yet,” he murmured.
They are going to charge right up this road, right over you and every one you’re responsible for. Retreat. Now.
But the general, Arin thought.
The god shrugged. It’s your life.
Do you truly care for my life?
A laugh.
Arin called for a retreat.
From the trees on a hill, Arin and what was left of his company watched the Valorians flee. They thundered up the road—as many, at least, as could run. The rearguard, caught between the fire and Roshar’s company, had nowhere to go.
Chapter 29
Later, Arin learned that Roshar had eventually sounded a retreat of his own. The Valorian rearguard had been trapped by the fire, but their numbers still outweighed Roshar’s. Desperation and excellent training made the Valorian rearguard difficult to overwhelm. “I have no particular interest in dying,” Roshar explained when his forces had regrouped with Arin’s on the gunners’ hill. “The loss of so handsome a man would do the world a great disservice.” The rearguard had fled. The road burned.
When Kestrel had staggered up through the trees, a broken arrow shaft in her armor, her face dirty yet white around her wide eyes, Arin caught her to him, exhaling deeply with relief. She reeked of smoke. Her armor was sticky with sirrin sap. He guessed what she had done, and a tremor flickered through him even though she was safe. He pulled away, then saw that he had printed blood on her. Traces here and there. A faint red leaf marked her cheek. He saw her see him. He didn’t like to think about how he must look.
“Your father’s alive,” Arin told her, sure that it was the wrong thing to say even as he was sure that it must be said. An emotion darkened her eyes.
Later, after the fire had burned out and the road was a charred ruin littered with corpses, Roshar’s soldiers had scavenged the remains, and Arin had helped catch riderless war horses, Kestrel finally spoke. “He’ll resupply.” Her voice was flat. “The empire doesn’t lack for black powder. He might have to return to Ithrya Island to get what he needs, but he’ll hit hard when he hits next.”
The stolen supplies and their wounded were loaded in wagons. The army made its way to reunite with the forces left behind at Errilith.
Outside Errilith, in the meadow near where they had first made camp in this region, Arin came to share Roshar’s cooking fire. The sun had just set. The air was still heavy and warm, cast with a honeyed light.
Roshar was smoking. He’d been in a foul mood since they’d left the fire-blackened road, though Arin had reminded him that the battle was a victory. “I know,” Roshar had said, yet looked nettled.
Arin helped himself to warmed flatbread toasted over the fire. Soft bread on a military campaign seemed just short of magic. He ripped off a small piece and chewed slowly. Roshar glanced at him, huffed a little, but said nothing—which was disappointing, since Arin had hoped to provoke the prince by taking his food.
A Herrani soldier passed close to their fire and moved on, though not before Arin noticed that the man’s eyes were rimmed with orange like a Dacran’s.
“That’s nice,” Arin commented to Roshar.
The prince choked on a lungful of smoke. When he stopped coughing, Arin said, “Is it disrespectful that my people wear that paint?”
“Oh, no,” Roshar said, not sarcastically, yet with a bite that suggested that Arin had missed the point. “It’s nice.”
“Say what you mean.”
“I am not nice.”
Arin’s brow furrowed. “True, but we’re not talking about you.”
“We should be. We should absolutely be talking about me.”
Arin wished Roshar wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t slip on false arrogance as if it were mourning garb worn in the service of a joke. He opened his mouth to say so, then saw that Roshar looked genuinely troubled. “What’s wrong?”
Roshar said, “Do you remember how you attacked me in my city, in front of the queen’s guard?”
