which bore little resemblance to those of the girl he knew. An old woman’s hands. “Malahi doesn’t need me. Bercola and Sonia, plus eight other guards, are watching over her.”
“Wouldn’t she prefer it be you?”
There was curiosity in her voice, the question a larger one than he cared to answer. “Malahi knows I’m in the sewers with the orphans. They’re her people—she understands.”
Except she didn’t understand. Didn’t understand why Killian needed to be down here himself, why he didn’t delegate the responsibility to the girls in her bodyguard, who were just as capable of doing what he did. Didn’t understand that half of his motivation for being down in these sewers was selfish—he needed tangible proof that he was doing something. That he needed to atone for bringing this suffering down upon them.
What about your time spent with Lydia? How do you justify that?
“I’ve heard them call you her sworn sword. What exactly does that mean?”
That was the last thing Killian wanted to talk about with her, but if it meant her taking a few more minutes to recover, then talk he would. “It means I’m sworn to stay by her side and protect her for the rest of my life.”
“Whether you want to or not?”
“Why wouldn’t I want to?” he retorted, then instantly regretted his tone. “I’m sorry. I—”
“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have pried.” She rose to her feet, bracing her hand against the wall. “Bring me the next child.”
She swayed and Killian caught her arm. It felt fragile beneath his grip, his fingers encircling her bicep, but she tugged away with surprising strength. “I’m not stopping until everyone I believe might not make it until tomorrow night has been treated.”
Phrased like that, it was impossible for him to argue.
* * *
It was the darkest hour of the night before Lydia decided they were finished, the children who remained instructed to return to the same place tomorrow night. They slowly filtered away to the narrow side tunnels with their nests of blankets and rags, leaving Killian alone with Lydia and Finn.
“I’ll stay with her until she’s recovered enough to go back to the barracks,” Finn said, gesturing to Lydia, who’d fallen asleep, her head and shoulder resting against the wall of the sewer. Finn himself looked dead on his feet, the shadows beneath his eyes not entirely from the dying flame of the singular candle.
Going back to the palace meant a hot bath. Clean clothes. Something to eat and something expensive to drink. It meant the sofa in Malahi’s bedroom, which would be warm and dry and quiet, and he could sleep until late morning. It was where he was supposed to be. Where he was duty bound to be. “It’s fine. I’ll stay until she’s ready. You get some sleep.”
Sitting on the cold stone next to Lydia, Killian pulled off his coat and stuffed it behind his head, eyes on the shadows moving beyond the sewer grate. The deimos were prowling, their wings a steady drumbeat, their shrieks like shattering glass. But he hardly noticed them as Lydia shifted, her head falling against his shoulder. The hood of her cloak concealed her face, the fur trim tickling his neck. But the slender hand resting against his hip was changing, like the slow bloom of a flower, becoming young again.
Finn flopped down on the floor next to him, and Killian gave him a little shove. “Don’t even think of trying to use me as a pillow.”
The boy shifted a little farther away, but Killian couldn’t help but notice how skinny his arms were, brown wrists bare beneath a threadbare coat that was already too small for him. There was a hole in the toe of his boot, and his curly brown hair was tangled and matted. Finn curled up in a ball, but as the candle flickered out, Killian saw that he was shivering.
Sighing, Killian pulled his coat out from behind his head and tossed it at his young friend. “You pick my pockets again, I’m going to hold you upside down by your ankles and shake you until I get all my coin back.”
“I’ve never picked a pocket in my life,” came the muffled reply, but it was only moments until his breathing took on the rhythm of sleep.
An hour, Killian told himself. You can stay for another hour; then you need to go back. But the minutes ticked by. Then the hours. And he didn’t stir from where he sat until the glow of dawn filtered into