“The palace is destroyed. There are bodies everywhere and the Six know what will happen once the sun goes down again.”
His mother leaned back in her chair. “Killian, I stayed with your father through the sack of Serlania during the Giant Wars. Do you honestly believe I’m going to turn tail when faced with hungry civilians?”
“It’s worse than that.”
She made a noise that told him to shut up while he was still ahead. “How many days do we have?”
“If we can beat them to the ford, five.”
“And nine ships in total.” Pulling a sheet of paper in front of her, she picked up a pen, gesturing to the giant. “Ivan here is a summoner. He’ll turn the winds in the favor of our ships. Draw in some rain so those who wait have something to drink that isn’t full of poison.”
The giant spoke. “Eoten Isle stands against the Seventh. So today, that means we stand with Mudamora.” He lifted a huge shoulder in a shrug, his face splitting with a grin. “You are our favorite to cross swords with, and we would not care to see you fall to another foe when we have long wished for you to fall to us.”
“It’s good to have aspirations,” Killian said, and the giant filled the room with his thundering laugh.
Lady Calorian finished her calculations, lifting her head and tapping the pen against her chin.
“Well?” Killian asked her. “Can you find enough seats at the table?”
His mother set down the pen, giving him a look that would’ve sent him running if he were still a child. “If you can give me six days, I can do it.”
57
LYDIA
Lydia sat on her bed in the barracks, staring blankly at the worn wooden floor while she picked blood and grime out from under her fingernails.
The house was silent. Empty. Little more than a day had passed since it had been abandoned, the well contaminated by blight, but already it felt lifeless. As soon the whole city would be.
Coming back here had been a mistake. Or at the very least, lingering had been.
Too many memories.
Too many reminders of what, briefly, she’d had. And what she had lost.
Exhaling a ragged breath, she stood and undressed, her uniform stiff with dried blood and sweat. She left the ruined garments on the floor and retrieved her one dress, the wool smelling like soap, though it wouldn’t for long given how filthy she was. But a bath was out of the question; the bucket of water she’d drawn up from the well was grey and smelled of rot. Her mark might keep her from being poisoned, but she’d rather not tempt fate.
Pulling her hair up into a messy twist, she buckled her sword belt over her dress, put her meager belongings into her satchel, and started downstairs, intent on walking to the harbor and washing up in the ocean. Reaching for the handle, she pulled the door open.
To find a startled Killian standing on the doorstep.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted out even as she took in the pieces of armor and chain mail he wore. His black war-horse stood on the empty street, his saddlebags bulging. “You’re leaving?”
He nodded. “I’ll lead our forces and try to hold back Rufina’s army long enough to evacuate the city.”
“What about the Royal Army?”
“Moving south to protect the rest of the kingdom.”
“Oh,” she said, the realization of what that meant hitting her like a battering ram to the stomach. “I see.”
It wasn’t a march to victory. It was a march to die so that the people of Mudaire might have a chance to live.
A tremor shook her hands, hundreds of words rising to her lips. A thousand words. All of them designed to keep him from going. To keep him alive, no matter the cost.
She said none of them.
He cleared his throat, eyes shifting up the street before moving back to her. “My mother, of all people, is organizing the evacuation. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to get on one of those ships, but if anyone gives you trouble, you find her and give her this.” He handed her a letter. “They are going to be unloading the ships at Abenharrow, and from there people will travel to Serlania on foot. But you should be able to hire passage from another vessel in one of the port towns and get there sooner.”