What she should be feeling was anticipation. Eagerness. Even a bit of fear.
Yet all she felt was hollow as she surveyed the young women she’d befriended over the past month, her mind going to all that she’d be leaving behind the moment she boarded a Maarin ship. The life that she’d made for herself. That she’d chosen for herself.
How can I go back to life in Celendor?
At the thought, she viciously bit at the insides of her cheeks until she tasted blood. How selfish can you be, she silently screamed at herself. All of what has happened to the Maarin is the result of your carelessness. Even if you can free them, things will never be the same. You’ll need to spend the rest of your life atoning.
“What is that noise?”
She jumped at Gwen’s voice, but now that she was pulled from her thoughts, she heard exactly what the other girl was speaking about. A growing roar. The sound of hundreds, possibly thousands, of angry voices.
Bercola jerked her chin at Lydia and Gwen. “Go see what that is.”
Elbow to elbow, they hurried down the hallway together toward the main door of the palace. The large foyer had a scattering of party guests, women in elaborate gowns and men dressed in embroidered coats, boots polished to a high shine. All were turned toward the open doors of the palace, silently watching what lay beyond.
Following Gwen, Lydia stepped closer to the door and looked outside, her eyes immediately going to the crowds of civilians beyond the palace gates.
“The Six help us,” Gwen whispered, and Lydia felt her stomach drop.
There were thousands of them, the square and the streets beyond full of faces marked with anger and desperation and fear.
And hunger.
The walls were lined with the soldiers the High Lords had brought with them. Hundreds of trained and hardened men. But they seemed a pittance compared to the crowd, who, despite the sun being only a faint glow in the west, showed no signs of dissipating.
A soldier in a dark uniform with the Calorian horse embroidered on the chest appeared in front of them. “Where is Lord Calorian?”
“In council with the High Lords and the Princess,” Lydia answered.
“Inform him his presence is required,” the soldier said. “We need his order to use force against the mob.”
Which wasn’t an order Killian would ever give. “They’ll go home once the sun sets for fear of the deimos.”
As if on command, there was the flap of wings overhead and a shriek pierced the night. There were shouts of fear from the crowd, people casting their eyes skyward, but instead of being driven to safety they only pressed against the gates, the metal groaning.
The soldier’s jaw tightened. “Fetch Lord Calorian, girl. Now.”
Gwen hauled on her arm, and they hurried through the anxious guests in the direction of the council chambers.
“What in the name of the Six are they talking about in there that’s more important than this?” Gwen asked.
The door to the council chambers opened and the High Lords exited, looking pleased as cats with cream. Behind them, Hacken appeared, Malahi on his arm. And Lydia’s eyes went straight to the tiara on her brow.
The one that hadn’t been there when she’d entered the room.
“They made her queen,” she murmured, but Gwen didn’t hear, too busy weaving her way toward Killian, who was watching his brother with a furrowed brow. But his attention snapped immediately to Gwen when she spoke, listening carefully, then shaking his head.
High Lord Calorian and Malahi set off down the hallway, Killian shadowing their steps as they made their way toward the main staircase.
With Sonia and three other guards in the lead, they started down the wide hallway leading to the ballroom. Glowing lamps hung from the paneled walls, illuminating their progress, the soft laughter and conversation coming through the twin doors at the end in sharp contrast to the sounds coming from outside.
Then High Lord Calorian ground to a halt. “Before we go in, Your Majesty, might I have a word?” His eyes shifted to his younger brother. “Alone.”
“Not a chance,” Killian growled. “We are going to make this announcement, and then this party is over.”
“It won’t take but a moment.”
“No.”
Hacken grimaced. “Do not presume to order your betters about, little brother. The Queen chooses where she goes and with whom, not you.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lydia saw Malahi stiffen.
“What is it that you want, Hacken?” Malahi asked. “Killian is correct that our time is