approached, Malahi rising from her chair and dropping into a curtsy. “High Lord Calorian. We were not expecting you so soon.”
He took Malahi’s hand, raising her up before kissing her knuckles. “I found after your last letter that I could no longer sit idle, Your Highness. You painted a heartbreaking picture of the plight of our capital, though I must say, the reality is far worse.”
“It is dire.” Malahi didn’t pull her hand from his grip. “But the people know that without your continued generosity, it would be far worse.”
Hacken inclined his head, then led her back to her seat. Setting the small box he carried on the table, he said, “A little thing to brighten your day.”
All of the women in the guard collectively leaned forward as Malahi opened the box, a small smile growing on her face. Extracting what looked like some sort of sweet, she popped it in her mouth, sighing deeply as she chewed. “Thank you.”
Hacken Calorian lifted his shoulder in a graceful shrug. “I know you’re fond of them and they took up little space on the ship.”
Malahi straightened. “You brought supplies?”
Hacken sat in the chair Bercola had brought over. “A full ship. My soldiers are already in the process of distributing it throughout the city to those who need it most.”
“Thank you.” Malahi seemed to almost breathe the word, her eyes fixed on the High Lord. “You and your continued generosity are all that’s stood between Mudaire’s people and starvation. But I can hardly bear to think of the cost—”
“What is wealth compared to lives? We have plenty. It is the least I could do.” Then his eyes shifted Killian’s direction. “Brother.”
Having heard there was little love lost between the two, Lydia fully expected a snide comment, but the younger Calorian only bowed. “Your Grace.”
“I set aside some provisions for the orphans you’ve taken such an interest in. I understand many of them are too fearful to venture out of the sewers?”
“They’ve reason to be afraid.”
“Even with you watching over them?” Hacken’s voice was light, but there was a hint of mockery in his eyes that set Lydia’s teeth on edge. He reminded her of the senators who ruled the Empire. And though they looked nothing alike, there was a cunning in his gaze that reminded her of Lucius.
“I do what I can for them, but my duty is to Malahi.”
“Of course. Even in Serlania, we hear that you never leave her side. As always, Killian, your dedication to your duties is admirable.”
There was nothing but sincerity in Hacken’s tone, but next to him Malahi’s brow furrowed.
“As it is,” Hacken continued, “I’ve brought enough that they should be well fed for a few days.”
Killian inclined his head. “Thank you for thinking of them.”
Hacken waved a hand as though it were nothing; then his gaze moved past his brother to Lydia and the other guards. “So these are the women you entrust your life to, Malahi?”
“Some of them,” she answered, but Hacken was already crossing the room. He stopped in front of Brin, whose cheeks colored as she executed a strange combination of bow and curtsy, everything she’d learned in her months of service apparently forgotten.
“What’s your name?”
“It’s Brin, Your Grace. Brin Hammel.”
“And where are you from, Brin?”
“Blackbriar, Your Grace. Though me and my mum have been in Mudaire since—” Her gaze flicked to Killian, then back to High Lord Calorian. “My pa was with the Blackbriar garrison. Was him who taught me about fighting with a sword and such.”
“My condolences on your loss.”
Blackbriar, Lydia had heard, was one of the town garrisons that had been decimated on the wall.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
“And how did you come to be part of Her Highness’s guard?”
“The captain—he knew my pa. We got to talking when he came to see after my mum and saw me swinging a stick in the yard. Offered me a job.”
“From swinging a stick in the yard to protecting a princess,” Hacken murmured. “What a story.”
Then he moved on to the next girl and then the next, asking their names and where they were from. Lena flirted outrageously with him. Gwen gave him one-word answers. Sonia spoke to him in Gamdeshian, in which he proved to be fluent. Lydia he approached last, her skin turning clammy as she dipped her head.
“Last, but not least,” he said. “And what is your name?”
“It’s Lydia, Your Grace. From Axbridge.”
“Lydia from Axbridge.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a