received just prior to departing the palace to meet Lydia.
Lydia. He stared up at the moon overhead, barely seeing it. Time and again, he’d lost his train of thought when those upturned green eyes fixed upon him, and whenever she spoke the low, lilting tone of her voice drowned out the shrieks of the deimos. Even sweating and red-faced, she was pretty. More than pretty, if he was being honest with himself—
“You are an idiot, Killian,” he told himself, shoving away those particular thoughts. “A gods-damned idiot. What are you even doing?”
Because preparing her wasn’t the whole truth. Yes, she needed to be able to protect herself while watching over Malahi. And yes, she needed to be able to hold her own against those who’d wish her harm once she’d returned to Celendor. Not only did Teriana and the rest of the Maarin depend on it; his gut told him the stakes were even higher than that. But he could’ve asked Bercola to teach her—she was a better, more patient instructor than him. Yet the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, not when teaching Lydia to fight would give him the opportunity to spend more time with her himself.
“Idiot,” he repeated, but the admonition did nothing to temper the sudden wave of bitterness that passed over him. He’d never taken up with a girl—it had never felt like the right thing to do, not when he had so little control over his own future. He’d been deployed throughout the kingdom, never knowing where or when he’d be moved next. His life was spent in army camps or fortresses or sleeping in the dirt, never with any respite. And now … Now he was sworn to Malahi for life. His whole reason for being was to keep her safe, and what girl in her right mind would be content with always playing second fiddle to the Princess?
“Lydia’s leaving anyway,” he muttered. “So get your head on straight and focus on your damned duties.”
Lifting the paper he still held in his hand, Killian scanned the note, which was from his mother.
Killian,
Seldrid has conveyed to me your deep distress over the plight of the orphans of Mudaire. While your brothers and their fellows seem of the belief that the navy ships sitting in our docks cannot be adequately crewed, Adra and I suffer from no such limited thinking. Three naval vessels will depart for Mudaire, albeit a day after Hacken leaves for Her Highness’s ball. One of them will be under strict instruction to take aboard all of your young charges, and I will personally take control of ensuring their welfare once they arrive.
Mother
The image of his mother in one of her fancy gowns waving at Hacken as he sailed north only to turn around, commandeer three royal ships, and crew them with women filled his mind, and Killian smiled. Then he squinted at the note, picking out the hidden message. He’d struggled with learning codes when he was young, and it had been his mother who’d instructed him for hours until he’d grown fluent in their use.
Watch your rear.
His first reaction was to flinch at the reference to his defeat at the wall, but that passed as he considered the warning. An attack that she didn’t believe he’d anticipate. Trickery. But too bloody vague for him to do anything about.
Bad news all around, for though he now had a way to get Finn’s orphans out of Mudaire, he wasn’t certain they’d last that long. Food he might be able to scrounge up, but if plague struck there was nothing he’d be able to do to save them. The ships his mother was sending would sail back next to empty.
The sound of footfalls echoed through the tunnel, snatching him away from his thoughts. Someone was running this way.
“Lord Calorian! Lord Calorian! Wait!”
Finn’s voice.
The boy careened around the corner, nearly colliding with Killian. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s the girl!” Finn’s eyes were wide with panic. “Your new girl. I think she’s dead!”
40
LYDIA
“You insane, idiot, fool of a girl.” Killian’s voice sounded distant, but fabric pressed against her cheek, her nose full of the familiar scent of soap and steel. She felt strong arms holding her close.
“Can’t breathe,” she whispered, her chest aching as her heart skipped and faltered.
“Hold on.” His breath came in fast little pants. He is running, she realized. Carrying me and running.
And she couldn’t hold on. She was fading, the few remaining wisps of life drifting away no matter how hard she clung