Neither of them spoke, but there was something comforting in the silence. As if what was conveyed unspoken was more powerful than words.
Finally, he said, “I know Teriana gave you a copy of Treatise, so you know that the strength of the Six depends on the belief of the people. It’s not so much belief in their existence, but the belief that the Six will protect their faithful followers. And that protection most visibly comes through those the gods mark, which means that our actions impact the strength of belief.”
Our. Because she was marked, too.
He rubbed his chin, eyes distant. “If the Marked aren’t where they are needed, it damages faith. If they don’t do their duty to the people, it damages faith. If they fail to protect the people, it damages faith. And that is what gives the Corrupter his power.”
It was an incredible burden to bear—more than she’d even realized.
“The only way I can redeem myself is by winning this war. Driving Rufina back. But Serrick forbids me to fight, because he believes Tremon and the rest of the Six have turned their back on me.” He sighed. “I am terrified of what is to come. And I feel helpless to stop it.”
She understood that weight of guilt. To have made a mistake that cost those one loved so very much. That it hadn’t been intentional didn’t matter—the fault was still there. And to be denied the chance at atonement … That she understood equally as well. Reaching out, she took his hand, her heart skipping as her mark took hold. “Hegeria marked me to save your life because Tremon asked her to, Killian. But maybe it wasn’t just to save your life—maybe it was also to bolster your faith.”
“My faith’s just fine.”
She tightened her fingers. “I’m not talking about your faith in them. I’m talking about your faith in the Marked.” In yourself.
A draft gusted through the room, and the candle flickered, sending shadows dancing across the wall. The sensation of being observed made Lydia shiver.
The corner of his mouth turned up and she knew he felt it, too. “They’re always watching. I’d like to tell you that you’ll get used to it, but I never have.” Then he gave a slight shake of his head. “I almost forgot the reason I came here tonight.”
Reaching into his pocket, he extracted a silver chain with something dangling from it. Lydia’s eyes widened at the sight of her ring. “How did you…?”
“Never mind that.” He lifted the chain over her head, the ring falling to hang between her breasts, still warm. “Remember who you’re fighting for.”
Her father. Teriana. All of the Maarin who’d been captured. “I’m afraid I’ll fail them.”
“What would ease that fear?”
Always she’d tried to fight her battles with words, but some people refused to hear her voice. “I want to learn to fight.”
He nodded slowly, then said, “I can’t turn you into a warrior in a few weeks. That’s something that takes months, years, even.”
Her heart skipped. “But you’ll teach me?”
“I will. Every night I can get away until Malahi sets sail. Meet me at the Calorian manor after your day is done tomorrow. Tell the others there’s a girl you fancy and that you’re meeting up with her in the city. They’ll understand—half of them are supporting lovers and family with this job.”
He stood in one smooth motion before reaching down to extract one of the volumes from the shelves. “This one isn’t too bad.”
And without another word, he disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.
37
KILLIAN
Light was already growing in the sky by the time Killian made it back to the palace.
He jumped down from the top of the wall and rolled, coming to his feet in time to see the door to the stables open. One of the boys who cared for the horses led out an agitated pair and turned them loose to graze the grounds, fattening them up for their eventual slaughter, which had been the fate of most of their fellows. Both galloped to the far side of the palace grounds. The boy disappeared inside; then a moment later a shout of dismay cut through the air.
Skin prickling, Killian ran toward the large building. The light was dim inside, but he could hear Surly and Seahawk rustling uneasily about their stalls. And over the smell of horse and manure, his nose picked up the scent of blight.
The stableboy stood with his back against the wall, his face drained of