spot west of Mudaire. “The only place suitable for an army to cross the river Tarn is here at Alder’s Ford. It’s narrow and steep, and we’ll have the high ground. We should be able to hold them back for a couple of days before we’re overrun. Which should give you five days, at least, to evacuate.”
Not nearly enough time, and everyone knew it.
“I’ve drafted a document detailing that we’ve voted to put Malahi on the throne.” Hacken’s voice cut through the noise. “We’ll sign it and have it dispatched immediately to the Royal Army.” Picking up a pen, he signed his name, passing the document on to Cavinbern, who signed it as well. The document circled the table, finally landing in front of Helene Torrington, who sat silent and red-eyed at the far end of the table. The vote they needed for a majority. The vote Malahi needed to remain queen.
Slowly, she lifted her face. “You want me to support the girl who caused all of this? Whose meddling and scheming got my father killed? Resulted in the sacking of the royal palace and the burning of an entire fleet?” She laughed, the sound piercing and shrill. “And for what? To save those Mudamora is better off without at the risk of the good and hardworking souls of the South who depend on our army to keep them safe?”
Killian shook his head, having known this was coming. But he still twitched as Helene rose in a flurry of motion, her eyes full of fury. “You want me vote for the girl who intends to marry him?”
“Helene, enough,” Malahi said. “You’ve made your point.”
“Shut up, Malahi. You no longer have the privilege of telling me what to do.” Helene leaned her hands on the table. “And neither do the rest of you. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go retrieve my things, and then I’m going to go board one of those ships.” Without another word, she stormed out of the room.
Hacken turned a dark glare on Killian, tempting him to point out that his conflict with Helene wouldn’t matter if Hacken and Malahi hadn’t forced this bloody betrothal down his throat without asking. Not that it was looking likely that he’d live long enough to attend his pending nuptials.
“We need to get word to Serrick!” One of the High Lords banged his fist on the table. “Advise him that we have forces on the way to hold the ford.”
“I’ve sent word to Abenharrow already,” Killian answered. “They’ll send riders to meet the Royal Army, but by the time they reach them it’s likely going to be too late. And anyone we send will have to find their way through the Derin army and its scouts. We must plan for the reality that we are on our—”
“Where are my boys?”
At the sound of the familiar female voice, Killian broke off, his head whipping to the doors right as they swung open and his mother strode in, a grey-haired giant at her heels.
Everyone, including Malahi, rose at the sight of Lady Calorian, who surveyed them all with a glower. “Well, haven’t you all managed to botch things right up.”
No one answered. No one, Killian was quite certain, dared.
His mother circled the table until she stood in front of him. Reaching up, she took hold of his chin and pulled him down to her level, brow furrowing as she inspected his swollen eye. “This the worst of it?”
“I’m fine, Mother.”
She huffed out an exasperated breath. “You could be run through and bleeding everywhere and you’d still say the same thing.”
Not waiting for an answer, she continued in her progress around the table until she reached Hacken. “Well?”
He blinked at her.
“Move, Hacken. I’ve just walked all the way up from the harbor and my feet hurt.”
Color rising to his cheeks, Hacken rose from the Calorian seat and pushed it under their mother while she smoothed her black skirts. “I’ve brought five vessels with me, all full of horses, weapons, and supplies, which my crews are in the process of unloading. I will, of course, be taking full control of the evacuation. It’s a matter that requires organization, which makes me best suited.”
“Mother—” Hacken said even as Malahi blurted out, “Lady Calorian, surely—”
“I believe you have other matters requiring your attention, Your Highness,” Lady Calorian interrupted. “And Hacken, you couldn’t organize a closet without somehow making it political.”
Killian cleared his throat. “Mother, it would be safer for you to leave with the