“It’s not what you think. He’s … we’re…” Lydia trailed off. Telling them Killian was teaching her to fight would only invite more questions, none of which she could answer. Yet as a single tear ran down the Queen’s cheek, Lydia wanted desperately to tell her the truth, because she knew what it was like to be subjected to a speech like Hacken’s.
“Don’t weep, Majesty,” Hacken said, reaching over to wipe the tear from Malahi’s face. “You’ve come too far to debase yourself like that.”
“What do you want?”
“For you to reign as queen, of course.” And when Malahi lifted her head in surprise, he added, “Yet like all things, it will come with a price.”
48
KILLIAN
Killian paced back and forth in front of the closed door, his heart thundering in his chest.
Watch your rear.
His mother’s coded warning repeated through his head, her meaning all too clear. Hacken had been the one reading her correspondence. He was up to something, and whatever it was would be motivated by self-interest, not the good of the realm. Not that Killian could do a damn thing about it out in the hallway.
“You don’t think he’ll try any funny business, do you?” Gwen’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Because if he does, brother or no brother, I’m going to crack his skull.”
Killian gave a sharp shake of his head. “He won’t touch Malahi.”
No, it wasn’t her physical safety that worried him. It was what Hacken was saying to Malahi right now. It was that he was comfortable saying whatever it was in front of Lydia, which meant whatever it was, he didn’t care about Killian finding out after the fact. It was that it had been Lydia, of all the girls standing in the corridor, whom Hacken had chosen to bring in with them.
The door abruptly swung open and his brother exited, Malahi on his arm. Pointedly looking anywhere but at Killian, she said, “My guests will be wondering where I’ve wandered off to. Shall we?”
Killian cast a backward glance into the room. Lydia stood frozen in place, that damnable ring dangling from the broken silver chain in her hand.
Twisting on his heel, he broke into a run in the direction Malahi had gone.
“Killian, wait!” Lydia’s voice called from behind, and part of him wanted to turn back. But Mudamora depended on Malahi and her plan and Killian getting back in front of an army, and if his brother intended to disrupt it then Killian needed to stop him.
Ahead, he heard Malahi’s and Hacken’s titles announced as they entered the Rainbow Ballroom, the nobility clapping and calling well-wishes for Malahi’s coming-of-age.
“Killian!”
He slowed to a walk as he entered the ballroom, but Malahi and Hacken were already deep in the crowd, moving toward the steps leading up to the balcony. Easing his way between the wide skirts of the noblewomen, he pressed after them.
Malahi had reached the top of the steps, Hacken at her elbow. As he turned, he held up a hand for silence. “Without preamble, allow me to announce that I, as well as the other High Lords with us tonight, have cast our votes for a new ruler for Mudamora.”
The room went silent.
“Allow me to present Her Royal Majesty, Queen Malahi Rowenes.”
No one seemed to breathe.
“Thank you, all.” Malahi’s voice streamed out over the crowd. “For the well-wishes and for the risk you took in coming to be with me tonight.”
“Move,” Killian muttered to a nobleman in his way, forcibly shoving the man aside when the word was ignored.
“We stand here”—Malahi’s voice took on a serious tone—“under the guise of celebration. Yet I fear we have little to celebrate. War is on our doorstep. Our countrymen starve. Our very skies turn against us the moment night falls.”
A hand closed on Killian’s wrist, jerking him back. He turned his head to see Lydia behind him, her face devoid of color. “He’s tricked her into believing I’m your mistress.”
“I gathered.” He pulled her along with him through the crowd, his eyes fixed on Malahi. “But he’s after more than just spreading gossip about me.”
“Yet there is hope!” Malahi’s voice rose, clear as a bell. “Thanks to my sworn sword, Killian Calorian.”
What?
“In a moment, I’ll have you all join me on the balcony to watch as the fleet sent by our ally and friend Sultan Kalin of Gamdesh arrives in our harbor. A fleet sent at Killian’s behest.”
Lydia said something into his ear, but whatever it was, the cheers that filled the ballroom drowned it out, all eyes going to the sea, which sparkled with countless lights. Ships. Dozens of them. Except Killian knew it hadn’t been his letter that had brought them here, because this would’ve taken weeks to organize on top of the time to sail the distance. This was Hacken’s doing—he not a pawn in Malahi’s plot, but rather she in his.
“The fleet brings supplies and soldiers,” Malahi shouted. “But of equal importance, the ships will assist with the evacuation of the people of Mudaire, allowing us to turn our full attention to driving our enemy back across the wall.”
The room shook with shouts of delight.
“He’s not spreading gossip,” Lydia hissed, trying to pull him back. “Will you listen to me!”
“In these dark times,” Malahi cried, “unity is what will save us. Faith in the Six and those they’ve marked is what will save us. And to that end, High Lord Hacken Calorian and I are so pleased to announce my betrothal—”
“You gods-damned bastard,” Killian snarled, dropping Lydia’s hand, knowing he needed to stop this. Because the last thing Mudamora needed was his brother as its king. “Malahi!”
Her eyes lighted upon him, and the hurt in them, the defeat, made his feet freeze in place. “Yes, Killian. You should be up here.”
The crowd quieted, stirring to create a path for him. Lydia’s hand dropped from his wrist. Warily, Killian walked toward the steps, ascending them to Malahi’s side. With his back still to the crowd, he glanced first at the arriving fleet and then turned his eyes on his queen. “You don’t need to do this, Malahi. You don’t need him.”
Hacken made a noise of amusement, a false smile on his face as he panned the crowd.
“Except that I do need him.” Her face was smooth and serene, but her eyes glittered with tears, gaze fixed on his chest. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t what you want, but please know that I’m doing it for the sake of Mudamora.”
Catching her hand, he squeezed it, knowing that he had one moment to convince her. One moment to stop this. “The only ruler Mudamora needs is you.”
Her face tilted upward, their eyes locking. Then Hacken’s voice broke the stillness. “It seems Her Majesty finds herself overwhelmed with emotion. Allow me to announce for her, then, that at her behest, I have agreed to her betrothal—”
He broke off, smiling at the crowd, before adding, “To my younger brother, Lord Killian Calorian. May the Six bless their union.”
49
LYDIA
Killian looked like he’d been slapped across the face.
And though Lydia had known it was coming, she still felt gutted. For failing to warn him. For being the tool his brother had used to manipulate Malahi. For falling in …
Lydia forced the last thought from her mind, there being far larger problems facing her now. She’d gotten herself wrapped up in a political web as complex as what she’d left behind in Celendrial and, in doing so, had jeopardized her chance to get free of this place. And Teriana and the Maarin would pay the price. Her father likely already had.
High Lord Calorian said something to Killian, who rigidly leaned down to kiss Malahi’s cheek before taking her arm and facing a crowd who appeared as stunned as Killian, the High Lords glowering with obvious displeasure.
Lydia took one step back. Then two. She needed to be gone from this place. As much as Hacken’s accusations about her and Killian were a lie, it wasn’t a lie she could put to bed, because the truth was far worse. She
needed to slip out and collect her things. With luck, it might be possible to sneak aboard one of the Gamdeshian vessels in the madness of the evacuation.
Then Killian’s face turned in Lydia’s direction, and she found that she could barely breathe, much less move. He swayed, almost imperceptibly, as if he might drop the Queen’s arm and come down the steps, but Lydia gave a violent shake of her head. No.
She took another step back; then motion behind them, beyond the glass and on the balcony, caught her attention. The large torches lining the balcony to repel the deimos were extinguishing, one by one. There were guards out there, and indeed, she could see figures moving. But there was something … wrong about them. The life surrounding them shone with the brilliance of stars that had stolen the light from all else in the universe. Not beautiful, but … terrifying.
“Corrupted.” The word came out strangled, unnoticed in the commotion of those around her, but Killian stiffened. Of its own volition, Lydia’s hand went to the sword at her waist, drawing it out. The weight gave her strength. “Behind you!”
She ran forward, but Killian was already moving, hauling Malahi down the steps, shouting orders. The doors to the balcony exploded inward behind him, and a woman dressed in riding leathers and a hooded cloak strode through, the top half of her face concealed by a black mask. The aura around her was ghastly bright, but even without, Lydia would’ve known what she was, for her eyes were infinite pools of blackness rimmed with flame.
“Such a lovely party, Your Highness. Oh, excuse me. It’s Your Majesty now, isn’t it?” The woman paused at the top of the steps, taking stock of the chaos below her. “I can only assume my invitation was somehow lost. It is so difficult to get a courier through in these troubled times.”
“Rufina, I take it.” Malahi’s voice was steady.
“Not just a pretty face, are you,” the Queen of Derin purred. “Though you’ve already proven your intelligence in abundance.”
Lydia pushed her way next to the other guardswomen, who were being buffeted by the fleeing nobility, soldiers herding lords and ladies out the side exits, under instruction to take them to rooms upstairs where they’d be barricaded in until the fighting was over. Only Killian stood steady, sword out, Malahi slightly behind him with Bercola at her side.
“And you, Lord Calorian. This is the second time I’ve come from behind you—it’s starting to become a pattern.”
He didn’t answer.
Rufina’s gaze shifted beyond them, and she chuckled. “Look at them run. They won’t get far, I’m afraid. I opened the palace gates on my way in. Stood there before that horde of your starving people and I said, ‘Inside is enough food to feed you all. Take it, with my blessing.’” She exhaled a deep breath, then smiled. “Fatten them up healthy before we come for them.”
Rufina’s voice took on a soft lilt as she said the words, her eyes drifting over those who remained as though they were delicacies meant to be consumed. It was sickening. Perverse.
“Barricade the main doors,” Killian ordered, and the soldiers who hadn’t gone with the High Lords rushed to comply. Seconds later, there was a roar of noise outside, then fists hammering against the heavy wood.
“What are you waiting for, Killian?” High Lord Calorian hissed. “Kill her!”
Killian tilted his head, eyeing the Queen. “You didn’t come here tonight just to allow Mudaire’s citizens to ransack the palace, did you, Rufina?”
The corrupted smiled, and it was all teeth.
“Who cares?” Hacken was shaking, his gaze ripping back and forth between Rufina and the shuddering doors. “She’s alone and this is what you’re bloody meant for. Kill her!”
“She’s not alone.” The words tore from Lydia’s throat. “I saw two more of them on the balcony before. And something … something else is out there.”
The corrupted’s gaze shifted to Lydia and one eyebrow rose. “Clever clever, Lord Calorian, to hide a lookout in your midst. It seems you do learn from past mistakes.”
Lydia flinched, knowing that she’d revealed herself as marked to the creature, but Rufina didn’t seem to care. “My followers had other business to attend to. As to the something else…” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug, then whistled.
The deimos walked in from the balcony, the clip-clop of its hooves echoing through the room. The creature had its eyes half-shut against the bright lights of the ballroom, but that wasn’t what stole Lydia’s attention. It was the saddle on its back.
“Bercola, get Malahi to safety!” Killian moved, a knife flying from his hand. Rufina laughed as she knocked it aside, but then her eyes widened when she realized he was already halfway up the stairs, sword in hand. “Go!” he shouted.
Rufina jerked out her own blade and steel sang against steel. Lydia stared, mesmerized by the speed and intensity of the fight; then a hand hauled on her arm.
It was Lena. “We need to go,” she hissed. “Our duty is to protect the Princess. He can take care of himself!”
But she couldn’t go. Couldn’t leave him to fight that … creature.
“Lydia, come on!” Lena screamed the words in her ear. And she knew. Knew that if she didn’t go now, she’d be trapped in here with the corrupted. With the deimos. And, soon enough, with the starving civilians of Mudaire.
Killian sidestepped a swipe of Rufina’s sword, his fist catching her in the face and driving her back. But instead of attacking, he turned, his eyes locking on Lydia’s. “Run!” he screamed.
Lydia ran.
50
KILLIAN
Steel met steel with enough force to produce sparks, Killian driving Rufina toward the balcony.
But he couldn’t focus on the fight. Not with Lydia still in the room. Not with every move he made intended to keep himself between her and the demon that stood before him.
“Run!” The word tore from his throat. And out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lena dragging Lydia through the hole in the wall. Safe. And then the world around him fell away, leaving behind only the fight.
Their swords slammed together, hilts locking, and his eyes met Rufina’s between the crossed blades. She hissed, “I’m going to enjoy taking your life, Lord Calorian.”
“You can try.” He swept out a leg, sending the corrupted stumbling back even as he flipped his sword around and lunged.
Rufina deflected the blow, but Killian got past her guard and slammed her into the wall of glass, both of them falling together as razor shards rained down upon them, pain blossoming across his body.
They rolled, losing their blades as they grappled, Killian coming up on top.
He slammed his fist into her face, hearing the crunch of bone; then motion flickered in his periphery as the deimos attacked.
Diving sideways, he felt the heat of the creature’s mouth as he passed under it, coming to his feet in time to see Rufina kick his sword out of reach. Behind them, the main doors to the ballroom burst open, civilians pouring inside, not even the sight of the deimos stopping them from running toward the tables full of food.
“Go play with the rabble,” Rufina told the deimos. “He’s mine.”
The deimos snorted and trotted inside, and a heartbeat later screams echoed from the ballroom.
Her gaze locked on Killian, Rufina tossed her own weapon aside. “Your life is too good to waste on steel.” Then she lunged, as swift and deadly as any snake.
Killian darted back, dodging each swipe of her deadly hands. Hands that reached for his throat. For his face. For any inch of bare skin that might allow her to drain the life from him. Back, step by step, until he reached the balustrade.
And overhead, he could see the flicker of flames carried by riders on the backs of at least a dozen deimos, all of them soaring in the direction of the harbor. And the fleet.
No.
Killian struck with his knife, and the corrupted sidestepped him, only to reach out, her fingers grazing the skin of his throat.
He spun away, but he still felt a tug. Min
utes of his life stolen. Maybe hours. Though if this creature got the better of him, he wouldn’t live long enough to care.
She was too damn fast. And unlike most of her kind, Rufina knew how to fight.
But so did he.
Killian feinted, then slashed at her right side.
Rufina danced out of his reach, leaping onto the balustrade, then using the height to launch herself at him with blinding speed.
His shoulders hit the floor with enough force to rattle his teeth, but he somersaulted backward, slamming his knife into her side even as he flipped her over his head.
On his feet, he pulled another knife and threw it, but Rufina batted it aside. Walking backward into the ballroom, she pulled the knife he’d embedded in her ribs out, inch by inch, coughing up blood.
Attack her now, instinct ordered him, but the deimos was terrorizing the civilians; half a dozen bodies lay still on the ballroom floor. Those inside were trying to flee, but they were met with a sea of starving people unaware of the danger inside. The deimos was slaughtering them, but just as many were dying beneath the feet of their friends, the air loud with screams. So instead of lunging at Rufina, Killian grabbed hold of a lamp and threw it at the curtains.
Glass exploded, spraying oil in all directions, igniting the fabric.
Shouts of “Fire! Fire!” filled the air. The tide of civilians caught sight of the flames rising to the stone ceiling and turned, trying to flee. The deimos shrieked in fear, galloping to the balcony, but Killian didn’t have a chance to see where it went before Rufina slammed into him. His head cracked against a column, agony racing through his skull, but he saw her reaching fingers—
Killian ducked, ignoring the pain as he rolled, retreating until the stars faded from his vision.
Then he attacked, knocking aside her hand and punching her in the face. She reached for a fallen knife, but he kneed her in the gut, then slammed her against the floor, punching her in the still-healing wound in her side, again and again, feeling her ribs break, her blood coating his fingers.
Dark Skies Page 34
