something tainted. He was on his way to the council chambers when he suddenly—” The soldier broke off, giving a violent shake of his head. “He changed, sir. Turned feral. We were able to restrain him and return him to his rooms. Grand Master Quindor is with him now.”
Killian moved so Gwen could step back into the corridor. “He’s the only one?”
“Yes, sir. The rest of them are convening in the council chambers. They’ve been instructed not to eat or drink anything.”
A vision of Torrington sipping wine during the vote slapped Killian in the face. “It’s the decanter in the council chambers that’s been poisoned. Go! Ensure it’s disposed of.”
Eyes wide, the man bolted in the direction of the council chambers. But the damage was done. High Lord Torrington was a dead man; it was only a matter of time.
Grinding his teeth, Killian debated asking one of the guardswomen to inform Helene about her father before deciding better of it. “Keep Malahi inside until I’m back.”
Striding down the hall, he entered the sitting rooms where Malahi’s ladies were holding on to one another, faces streaked with tears. “The palace is secure,” he said, and all of them sighed with relief. “But I have unfortunate news. High Lord Torrington has been infected with blight.”
Helene clapped a hand against her mouth. “Is he…?”
“Quindor’s with him.” Killian gave a slow shake of his head. “But you need to prepare yourself for the worst. I’m sorry.”
A ragged sob tore from her lips and she doubled over, the other girls trying to comfort her, but she only brushed them away. Climbing to her feet, she demanded, “Where is he? Where is my father?”
“In the other wing, but you don’t want to see him like this, Helene. Trust me on that.”
“I trust you with nothing,” she hissed, then shoved past him into the corridor. Clenching his teeth, Killian motioned to a soldier to follow her. Then his eyes lighted on Malahi’s open door. To the Queen standing in the opening.
“I’m afraid circumstances are even worse than we realized,” she said, holding up the roll of paper. “The Royal Army is abandoning Mudaire. We are on our own.”
* * *
Within an hour of receiving Serrick’s message, everyone had gathered in the council chambers.
Which meant they were all present when Helene entered the room, her eyes red and swollen as she silently circled the table and took the Torrington seat, now High Lady of her house.
“I’m so sorry, Helene,” Malahi said. “May the Six keep and comfort his soul.”
Helene gave a curt nod; then the doors opened once more to admit Quindor. The Grand Master’s face was aged and drawn from using his mark and his white robes were stained with blood and blight.
“I’ll not mince words,” he said, holding on to the edge of the table for balance. “Those infected by blight cannot be saved.”
Murmurs of distress filled the council room, but Killian asked, “Why is the infection taking hold so swiftly? It took days for Malahi’s horse to succumb and she was coated in blight.”
“Most likely because the infected individuals consumed tainted water, allowing the poison to reach the brain more swiftly,” Quindor answered. “Or else the blight has grown more potent; there is no way to say for certain. I can say that once it takes hold, the individual entirely loses their mind, a strange madness taking hold. They feel no pain. Seem to feel nothing at all but the desire to attack those not similarly afflicted.”
A strangled noise exited Helene’s throat, and Killian knew she’d been there in those final moments. That she’d seen. It would take a long time for the haunted expression in her gaze to fade.
If it ever faded at all.
“The city must be evacuated,” Quindor said. “But I expect you already realize that. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are more patients requiring my attention.”
Without a word, he left the room, leaving everyone in muted silence.
“So,” Hacken said. “Which will do the job first: Rufina or the blight?”
“Rufina,” Killian answered. “We’re stockpiling clean water, and more can be retrieved north and south of the city during the daylight hours. Whereas the Derin army will be here”—he looked at the map, considering the math—“in three, possibly four, days.”
“And Serrick’s abandoned us,” High Lord Cavinbern shouted, slamming his fist down on the table. “The Seventh take him, doesn’t he realize half the ruling houses of Mudamora are stuck in this cursed city?”
“He’s not stupid,” Hacken interjected. “He knows we’ll get out before