Dragon Vs. Unicorn Cut Scene

Author’s Note: I cut this scene to avoid unnecessary drama in the already complicated relationship between Horace and Amba. Besides their argument, this scene explains why Pagat and Tourette are killed in Manx. Also in this section, Horace gives the ring to Amba. But in the final version of the novel, Amba takes the ring from him for their daughter.

Amba Pantera stirred a little. She was vaguely aware of sounds around her from out in the hall.

74th Infantry had been in the tunnels for over two weeks, and everyone was getting antsy. Amba herself craved sunlight. And a long soak in a bath. There were minimal bathing resources in the tunnels, with small groups sneaking topside to wash in lakes whenever it was safe enough to do so.

Sleeping conditions were not much better, so she dozed in a chair while waiting for Kileu Narisse and the commanders to join her.

She moved a little, a blanket rustling over her form. She didn’t remember having the blanket before, but she was thankful for it. The tunnels got dreadfully cold.

Finally, she forced her eyes up and stretched. The chair was uncomfortable, making her already aching back feel worse.

“I’ve got snacks!” Kileu Narisse announced, plopping several baked goods onto the table and drawing a chair across from her. Thee grinned, reminding her how young thee really was.

Perfect timing, Amba thought as she dredged herself from her dream. She was back at Desta Palace, curled up in bed with…

She shut the memory down, surveying the goodies Kileu Narisse brought her. It was rare to find treats, and she wondered where thee got them from.

“Is that apple crisp?” She asked, her mouth-watering.

“Have it,” thee said, sliding the wrapped goody to her. “The baby needs every bit it can get.”

Amba said nothing, but her free hand dipped beneath the blanket to feel her stomach. It had grown exponentially since she learned of her daughter’s presence, and she’d recently given up trying to hide it.

“Hmm,” Amba said quietly. “Where is everyone?”

“Runner came back from Markov,” Kileu Narisse said softly.

“And?”

Thee didn’t look up, just shook thee’s head softly.

She fell back against the chair, pulling the soft gray blanket around herself. She felt defeated, and she wanted to give up. But even if she did surrender, Rawl would never let her live.

Amba wrapped her hands around her stomach protectively, the treat forgotten.

Horace was next to arrive, although the First and Second Infantry Battalion commanders were close on his heels. He tossed Amba a look long enough to become annoyed. The more time he spent with her, the more he became his obnoxious, asinine immortal self. Everything she did lately annoyed him, so she chose to ignore it.

“Another fine battle we lost,” he said, speaking to Amba but looking at Kileu Narisse.

The Ketyen Convent monk groaned, rubbing thee’s head. “Not again,” thee muttered.

Amba said nothing. She just glowered at the back of his head, wanting to chuck her apple crisp at him. She fantasized about it for a moment.

“Could you not be ugly for five minutes?” Commander Stet requested, scooping up a muffin. He cast Horace a warning look.

The undead raised his hands in surrender, then plopped into a chair beside Kileu Narisse. They were still waiting for the Ees Shops to arrive. Most of the remaining forces from the trenches were assisting with the planned relocation of Manx. Mostly, they’d begun moving military property under the tunnels. But the relocation of people would come soon.

“I drew up a list of people to be taken care of before the order goes out,” Amba said, handing the list to the Ees-An when they arrived.

“Prioritizing your friends?” Horace asked, a judgmental smirk on his thin lips.

The Ees-An looked over the list with a frown. “These are people to be executed.”

They all looked at Amba.

“They work for Rawl,” she said dismissively, even though she struggled to put some names on there. “We can’t risk them getting back to him and sharing what we’re doing.”

Horace snatched the list from the Ees-An. “Tourette is on here. He’s been loyal to the empire since he was in diapers.”

“He’s sleeping with Rawl’s girlfriend. He’s compromised,” Amba said simply.

Kileu Narisse took the list next, scanning it. Subdued, thee passed the list around. There were several more startled comments while Horace eyed Amba with disdain. Finally, he leaned over.

“I would have known about Tourette,” he said.

“You wouldn’t,” Amba said without looking at him. “Pagat blocked their relationship from you. She didn’t know about the baby, so she had no reason to hide it from me.”

Horace gave a huff and sat back.

“How’s the relocation going?” Amba asked when there were no further questions about her list. Commander Seiol, who was overseeing the relocation, tucked the information away.

“Jensen Stout has been helpful in that area,” she said, giving Amba a look as if to ask if Jensen was okay with trusting. The basileus just nodded tiredly. “They’re very busy with the baby, but his wife will move soon.”

“You should join her,” Horace interjected, looking at Amba.

“Pregnant doesn’t mean invalid,” Amba ground out, sensing where he was steering the argument.

“I don’t mean that at all,” Horace said stiffly.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Commander Stet asked, shaking his head.

“Am I the only one who cares about the baby’s safety?” Horace asked, trying to appear innocent.

“You don’t care,” Amba sneered, harsher than she intended.

“Shut it down,” Commander Stet warned.

“Don’t take it personally, but you’re useless here. You do not know what you’re doing, and we continue to fail because of it. You should leave. Think of what’s best for your child—.”

Before she could think, Amba snatched at his red curls—the same curls she used to admire—winding the strands between her fingers and pulling as hard as she could. He was so startled that he fell into her. She didn’t stop with that. Using her elbow, she put every ounce of force she could muster into pushing between his shoulder blades, forcing his face against the table. The movement silenced all conversation in the room, and the only sound for a moment was her struggling to breathe as she worked to keep him there.

“There it is,” he chuckled, to her annoyance, even though he sounded winded. “There’s your grandfather. I was wondering when he’d show up.”

The hand still wound in his curls smashed his cheek against the table.

“Domestic?” Commander Stet asked.

“Thank the deities you said so,” Commander Seiol exclaimed, throwing her hands around Amba. “Kileu, see if we have any cells.”

“What?” Amba asked as they placed her arms carefully behind her back. Commander Stet did the same to Horace.

“When you took over, you adopted most laws the Eincorne had in place. Domestic assault is against the law,” Commander Seiol explained.

“Leader of the empire or not, you both need a time out,” Commander Stet added, taking the former lovers to the makeshift jail cells.

They fashioned two rooms in the tunnels into temporary cells. The first room was already full of soldiers who were caught fighting or guilty of insubordination. The two commanders ran tight shifts, which left little room for nonsense.

The second room had some soldiers, but given titles, the commanders made accommodations so that Amba and Horace were the only two in there, even though they were in separate cells.

I would prefer the overcrowded room, Amba thought with annoyance. At least that way, I can ignore him.

The snide, undermining comments that chipped away at her confidence didn’t stop just because they were in trouble. If anything, it prompted Horace to be meaner.

“Will you just shut up?” She demanded after almost forty minutes of his berating.

“I’m just trying to make you see reason,” Horace replied, peeling away his overcoat and placing it neatly on the lone chair in the cell.

“Reason,” Amba scoffed. He wore a black and silver vest over the white dress shirt he was neatly rolling up the sleeves of—as if he was just warming up.

Cracking her neck, Amba glanced at the entrance to the jail and wondered when the commanders planned to let them out. Every time Horace opened his mouth, it was like dragging nails across a rock. She physically winced when she heard him speak again.

“Aren’t you growing tired of losing?” Horace continued. “Are you that eager to be in Rawl’s hands? To have your child—.”

“Our child!” Amba finally snapped, jumping off her chair to the bars separating them. She wanted to smash his face between them. “Just because you feel nothing doesn’t absolve you from responsibility.”

“Couldn’t get Hunter to play daddy, so you’re back to me?” Horace taunted, his face just inches from hers. She tried to grab him again but was unsuccessful when he danced back.

“I want nothing to do with either of you,” Amba stated firmly. She pulled away, pacing the floor. Finally, she spun and glared at him. “Why me? You could have picked anyone else in the palace to mess with. Why me?”

“You were a sure thing,” he replied simply.

Hurt and disbelief crossed her face as she stared at him, waiting for an explanation.

Horace walked away; took a seat in his chair. He watched her for a long minute as if debating the cruelest way to phrase it. Amba braced herself.

“I knew from the moment I opened my eyes as a human that you and I would be together. Why waste time with others?”

It hurt worse than anything she expected him to say, and she wasn’t sure why. It was tame.

She slumped into the chair on her end—as far as she could get from him. Her heart pounded in her chest, her gaze lost on her own hands. They were covered with dirt. She wasn’t even sure how that happened.

After shocking silence, she leaned against the bars and looked at the ceiling. There was a small crack in the tunnel, and it was filling slowly with water. She wondered how long the liquid had wandered aimlessly before trickling into that crevice. How long had that water cycled through the dirt?

Cycles, she thought dreamily. It’s all about the cycle. Her process with Hunter—their friendship—had run its course. Both started and ended with her getting into trouble and dragging him into it. Her cycle with Horace began with him detesting her, and here they were again.

The water droplet struggled momentarily, then landed splat on her face.

She wiped it from her forehead and turned to Horace. He was staring absently at the back wall. As angry as she was with his dismissal of her—and she was absolutely furious—she couldn’t help but still feel something at the sight of him. His physical changes helped, but under the changed coloring were the same smile, scowl, and finely wound curls she loved to play with.

She wanted to cry.

He came to the bar with an unreadable expression.

“Don’t do that,” he said.

“What?” she choked out, embarrassed at the hitch in her voice. She looked up again so that he wouldn’t be able to see her face.

“Stop being a crybaby,” he snapped. “Crying isn’t going to—.”

“Why are you so horrible?” Amba wailed, the sound a strangled pitch torn between anguish and frustration. When she looked at him, the taunting smile on his face as he leaned into the bars, she could feel her eyes blaze.

She stood and snatched his hand from the steel cylinder, pressing it to her stomach. The movement surprised him, his amber eyes flashing fearfully, but he didn’t pull away. After a long second, their daughter kicked playfully against his hand.

“That’s you,” she said in her harshest voice. “That’s me. We existed, whether you want to remember it or not.”

She watched his face, saw the quiver at his lips for a second before he jerked back and paced away from her. He wouldn’t face her, but she saw his fingers shaking at his sides.

“It’s not exactly easy for me, either,” he said over his shoulder after a long, tense moment. He put his hands inside his pocket, twirling something between his long fingers. “I remember all of it. I remember the excitement and disbelief when I realized you were pregnant. I remember being elated for every second we could spend together. I remember longing for you when you were gone. I remember every intention I had for us and where we’d be in five years—ten—twenty. If the war allowed it.”

He glanced back at her.

“I wanted to grow old with you, finally experience old age, and slip soundly into the darkness of the endworld with you by my side. I thought we at least had more time together. Now it’s as if our whole relationship was just a novel I’d been reading—and though I was invested in the characters and their experiences, I can go back to my settee and worry about something else.”

Her mouth hardened. “Did you know this was coming?” She asked. “I always knew there was something you were keeping from me. Something that had to do with how long we could be together.”

Still facing away, Horace plucked the silver band from his pocket and stared down at it in his palm. He’d wanted to marry her—if they survived. Sue Hahn even gave him the family ring, etched with sea turtles and hanahelei flowers that Lec would never use. It was a bland metal, but he could remember the woman he’d known as Mom but called aunt playing with it on rainy days or as she read to him before he could read himself.

“I told you we could end it if you kissed me,” he said distantly, curling his fingers around the ring. “Do you remember? This path was the one I couldn’t see clearly. The one I was afraid of.”

“Did you choose this?” She asked. “Did you decide to become undead to avoid it?”

“No,” Horace said quietly, the word falling limp on his lips. He looked back at Amba. “It was happening before you even left. It’s why my intuition was limited, why you could get pregnant in the first place. At least, that’s what Cama believes. We discussed options to combat it, but…”

He finally turned all the way around; came to her side. “I know I’ve been unfair to you, and I’m sorry for that. But I didn’t know what else to do. Having you around has constantly reminded me of my reckless actions and empty promises. I thought if I was harsh enough, you’d leave.”

He took her hand across the bar, held her palm open, and placed the ring inside, closing her fingers safely around it. “Give this to her for me, will you? I want her to have something to know me—the old me—by.”

“This makes up for nothing,” she said quietly. She could barely look at the circular metal, let alone think about his abandoned intentions. She put it in her pocket. She would put it on a string around her neck later, where she was less likely to lose it.

“There’s nothing I could give you that would make up for what I owe,” he replied.

Amba wiped the tears from her face, determined that this would be the last time she cried over him.

“Be angry with me if you have to—use it to defeat Rawl and his armies. It’s better than being sad, retreating, and eventually letting him win. I’ll see you through this war, but I think it would be best if I leave afterward. Stick with your plan to say I died here. I’ll send for Lec’s advisor. You’d like Kett. She’s almost five-hundred years old and very knowledgeable.”

“So that’s it?” Amba said with bitterness in her tone.

“It cannot be anymore, Amba. As an undead, I don’t love you. At this point, I only feel guilty about how this played out. I know how hard that is to hear—.”

“You really don’t,” Amba murmured.

“Maybe not,” Horace relented. “But it’s the truth. A harsh one that must be faced.”

He glanced at her belly as if forcing himself to muster some interest for her benefit. Or perhaps his question was genuine, but he wasn’t sure how to ask it. “What will you call her?” He finally wondered.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” Amba admitted.

“Well,” Kileu Narisse said. It was unclear how long thee’d been standing there. “This is a refreshing sight. Did you two work through your issues?”

“That would be impossible,” Horace stated, straightening up and grabbing his overcoat. “But I believe things are decent.”

He looked at Amba, waiting for her to confirm. Reluctantly, she gave a nod.

“Good,” Kileu Narisse stated, offering the keys. “Because it’s about time we head out. Rawl’s marching to Antonyn.”