“You can’t wear what you’re wearing,” Killian muttered, rooting through the wardrobe. “The last thing we need is anyone figuring out who you are.”
Lydia stood a pace behind him, holding up the lamp. “Whose clothes are these?”
“Adra’s, I think.” He pulled out a bright pink gown trimmed with gold. “Definitely hers. She’s married to my middle brother, Seldrid, but she’s Gamdeshian—niece to the Sultan. Which is why her closet looks like a gods-damned rainbow.”
Slamming the wardrobe shut, he motioned for Lydia to follow him out of the room, trying not to notice the faint smell of scented soap that hung in the air around her. As he’d been trying to ignore it all evening. How she managed to smell so clean after an entire day of work plus two hours of training was a mystery to him.
“You didn’t spend much time here growing up, did you?”
There was something about Lydia’s voice that he liked. A purposefulness that suggested she only spoke when she had something to say. Or, more often, there was something she wanted to know.
“Why do you say that?”
“You don’t treat it like home.”
“I don’t really have a home. I’ve never spent more than six months in the same place since I was a child.” Stopping outside a pair of doors, he rested his hands on the knobs, reluctant to open them. “Though I suppose if I had to name a place, it would be Teradale.”
“Where is that?”
“On the southern coast, about a dozen leagues north of Serlania.” He scowled at the doors, annoyed at his own reluctance to go inside. “It’s my family’s estate and where our horse-breeding farm is located. My mother lives there, and it’s where I lived until I was seven.”
Turning the knobs, Killian shoved open the doors and stepped inside.
The drapes in his parents’ rooms were drawn, Lydia’s lamp casting shadows over the heavy furniture and thick carpets, the air stale after months of being left undisturbed. He’d expected to feel echoes of his father’s presence. But the room only felt empty. Lifeless.
Going into the adjoining chamber, Killian opened up the long series of doors to reveal his mother’s garments. “After this, I’m hoping that squatters take over this house,” he said, “because otherwise she’ll know I was in her things.” He shook his head. “She’ll know I was in here even if I don’t touch a damn thing.”
Lydia stepped forward, her elbow brushing against his sleeve as she ran her finger along the hanging dresses. “I don’t remember my mother.” Her hand paused on a velvet gown, rubbing the fabric between her fingers before moving on. “She was murdered. My father found her dead outside the gates to his home with me in her arms.”
“I’m sorry.”
She gave the slightest shake of her head. “I was two, so I have no memory of the event. And who my real father was is of equal mystery.”
Her fingers paused on a white wool cloak that Killian had never known his mother to wear, she being fond of darker colors. Reaching up, he unhooked it from the hanger, draping it over Lydia’s shoulders. It had a deep hood trimmed with ermine, the buttons running up the chest polished silver disks. It sparked a memory, and he pulled open drawers of accessories until he found what he was looking for.
Extracting the mask, he held it up. “You won’t be able to wear your spectacles, but this should solve the problem of anyone recognizing you.”
Lydia’s brow furrowed; then she nodded. “Everything I need to see will be up close, so I should be fine. Will you put it on for me?”
Pulling off her spectacles, she tucked them in the pocket of the cloak and turned her back to him. With her holding the mask in place, Killian looped the laces behind her head, her hair like silk beneath his fingers. This close, the scent of her was strong in his nose, making him fumble tying the knot. “Please don’t tell me you’re spending coin on special soap.”
Why in the name of all the gods did you just say that?
“I haven’t.” Turning her head, she looked up at him, and even with the top half of her face concealed by white satin and sparkling crystals, she was more beautiful than he felt comfortable admitting about a subordinate. “I use the same soap as the other girls.”
“Oh.” His face felt like it was on fire. “You smell different, is all.”
She bit her bottom lip and looked down at his boots.