feral and vicious, attacking anyone they crossed paths with who wasn’t likewise afflicted. They didn’t speak. Didn’t seem to feel pain or any emotion beyond rage. But they’d still been his people, and every time he blinked he saw another one fall beneath his sword.
It hurt to breathe.
“We need to convene the High Lords.” Hacken had come up from behind and was eyeing Killian warily. “We don’t have time to waste.”
As if Killian didn’t know that. “Have the High Lords assembled in the council chambers,” he said to the soldier. “Full escorts.”
“May I change my clothes first?” Malahi’s face was drawn and pale, and she hugged herself as though cold.
“Do what you want,” Killian replied, not caring when she flinched. And then immediately feeling guilty for it. What’s wrong with you? This is the girl you’re going to marry.
The reminder was jarring, the knowledge that he was betrothed still feeling like a bad dream from which he needed to wake.
“I’ll meet you in the council chambers,” Hacken said, then headed in that direction, stepping over bodies like they were nothing more than fallen branches on the ground.
Anger bubbled up in Killian’s chest, but he tamped it back down. “Sonia, keep an eye on him. The rest of you with me and the Queen.”
They started up the main staircase, and his gaze went to Lydia, who trailed uncertainly at the rear. She was covered in blood and missing her spectacles, which he knew made her uneasy. You can’t keep her here. You can’t push Malahi any further than you already have.
But that didn’t stop his stomach from souring at the thought of Lydia being out of his sight. What if she ran afoul of some of the infected? Or worse, one of the corrupted? What if she tried to go back to the xenthier?
Your duty is to Malahi. That you’re pissed off at her doesn’t change that. Nothing changes that.
So he fell back. “Wait until the sun’s up, then go into the city,” he said under his breath. “I’ll find you when I know more. Stay safe.”
Nodding, Lydia stopped on the bottom step, and it took every ounce of willpower Killian had to walk away from her, following Malahi up the stairs.
The upper level was broadly untouched, the soldiers who’d defended it having done their duty, but the carpets were marred with dirt and bloody footprints, several plants knocked over and pictures askew. Reaching out, Killian straightened one of them, then bent to right a plant, not knowing why he felt compelled to do so.
What is wrong with me?
They reached the doors to her suite, which were flanked by the soldiers guarding the ladies within. Inside, Malahi went directly to her bedroom, and Killian mechanically swept the chamber to ensure it was empty.
“I need a minute,” she said. “One minute alone.”
“Fine.” Shutting the door behind him, Killian leaned against the wood, barely seeing the comings and goings around him. The stench of blood rose from his clothing, filling his nostrils and making him want to gag. Tearing off his coat, he flung it across the hallway, but it did no good. The blood had soaked into his shirt, coated his hands, crusted under his fingernails.
All of it Mudamorian blood.
“Are you all right?”
Gwen’s voice tore his attention from his hands, and he looked up to see the guardswomen watching him uneasily.
They’re looking to you for strength, he berated himself. You cannot falter. Not now. “I’m fine.”
“What’s going to happen?”
“Sunrise will allow us to determine the state of the Gamdeshian fleet.” It was a concentrated effort to keep his voice steady. “We’ll begin evacuating Mudaire immediately.”
“But the whole sea seemed like it was on fire.” Gwen dabbed at a cut on her cheek, then stared at her sleeve as though she wasn’t sure where the blood had come from. “What if they all burned?”
“That’s unlikely.” But possible. “There is no point speculating now when another hour will give us facts.”
Which was true, but he still needed to come up with plans for every scenario, and his mind was giving him nothing. Nothing but visions of bodies and limbs and—
“Incoming,” one of the girls muttered.
A soldier strode down the hallway, and Killian’s skin prickled with unease. “Message for Her Majesty, sir.” He handed over the tiny roll of paper that had obviously come by pigeon. “And unfortunate news. High Lord Torrington is infected with blight.”
Killian swore, handing off the message to Gwen, who disappeared inside Malahi’s chambers to deliver it. “How?”