stay at your house.” Not that Killian wanted that. It would mean losing his place for training Lydia. He’d had to miss seeing her tonight in favor of this particular task, and he didn’t want to lose his last chances to spend time alone with her. She was both his respite from the world and his ally in saving this corner of it, and the fact that their days together were numbered troubled him more than it should.
“Both the deimos and the threat of squatters make staying at the house rather inconvenient. Now let me in.”
It was tempting to slam the door in his face. But Killian was smart enough to know that Hacken wasn’t here because he couldn’t sleep.
Opening the door enough that his brother could pass, Killian shut and barred it, crossing back over to his abandoned tools.
“What in the underworld … Are you making a hole in the wall of the Rainbow Ballroom?”
Killian grunted an affirmative. “Escape route. Didn’t like the available options, so I decided to make my own.”
Hacken eyed the wall warily. “How do you know the whole wall won’t collapse?”
“I don’t.” Killian hefted his hammer. “But sometimes you need to roll the dice.”
With one block removed, the work was easier, and within the hour Killian had a pile of stone sitting next to him and a hole in the wall leading into the adjoining chamber. Motioning for Hacken to follow, Killian ducked under and, when Hacken was through, pulled up the heavy Gamdeshian carpet to reveal a trapdoor. “This was already here,” he said. “Leads into a storage room in the lower level. Two doors down is the access to the underground tunnels. Tide will be low while the party is underway, so the cave opening will be clear.”
Hacken nodded approvingly. “Boats?”
“Two. Both already supplied. If things sour the night of the ball, stay with Malahi. Bercola knows the plan.”
His brother was silent for a long moment as Killian replaced the carpet. Then he said, “I’m surprised you’re including me in your escape plans.”
It would be tempting to leave Hacken to fend for himself for once, but their mother would never forgive Killian if he let his older brother get killed. “I’ll have plans for all the High Lords. Our lot won’t be improved if all of you are dead.”
“I’m touched by your sentiment.”
Killian snorted, then motioned for Hacken to go back through the hole. Pushing the backless cabinet in front of the opening, Killian climbed through, shutting the doors behind him. He carefully tacked the panel of silk back to the wooden casement, then straightened and turned to the pile of stone. “You going to help or just stand there and watch?”
“That seems like a you job.” Hacken eyed the mess on the floor. “I’ll sweep.”
Sighing, Killian pulled off his already-sweaty shirt and set to carrying the heavy blocks of stone out onto the balcony, where he tossed them over the edge. The cool night air was blissful against his overheated skin, and the wind coming off the sea drove away the stink of the blight. When he went back in, Hacken had finished sweeping up the dust and crumbled mortar and was holding Killian’s sword, the blade glinting in the lamplight. It was a struggle not to snatch it out of his hands.
“His armor and ashes came back to Serlania, but not this.”
Killian shrugged. “He left instructions. I got the sword. Sel got the Serlania house. You got everything else.”
“Father never cared much about everything else.” Hacken’s voice was light, but Killian heard the bitterness. The resentment.
“That’s not true.” Killian bent to pick up his shirt, fiddling with one of the buttons as he added, “He was the sworn sword of Derrick Falorn—it was his duty to be at his side. And when Serrick took the throne, Father swearing to lead the Royal Army was what ended the civil war between the Twelve. What he wanted wasn’t a factor.”
“Except he got exactly what he wanted. His horse and his sword and a tent. An army. You.” Hacken made a noise of irritation, then handed over the sword. “I don’t know why I still care. He’s ash on the wind.”
“Then let it go. We’ve bigger problems.”
“That we’ll all soon be ash on the wind?”
“If you’re going to keep on with such morose topics, I’m going to need you to pour me a drink.”
His older brother laughed, retrieving the bottle and pouring generous measures into both glasses before handing one to Killian. “To Father.”