Killian swallowed, wishing for a glass of something strong. Perhaps an entire bottle of something strong. As he considered his words, blood from his injuries dripped from his fingers.
Splat.
A droplet struck the floor and, finally, his father looked up. “Gods, Killian,” he snapped. “You could have seen the healers first.”
Striding to the door, he leaned out, muttering to the men standing guard, and a few moments later, two white-robed healers appeared.
“Take care not to overexpend yourselves,” Killian’s father warned. “That he’s standing doesn’t mean he’s not half dead.”
Killian said nothing as the pair struggled to remove his chainmail and the blood-soaked garments beneath, but as they began their work erasing the injuries, he said, “One of the corrupted approached the wall yesterday claiming she desired to assist us.”
High Lord Calorian stood in silence as Killian explained what had happened. Both healers were grey and faded when they finished, departing the room right as Killian completed his description of the enemy forces. “You’ll need to call in reinforcements from the North and South,” he said. “Rufina has at least ten thousand men, and her ranks are peppered with corrupted.”
“Stop. Talking.”
Killian’s teeth clicked shut.
“That wall,” his father growled, “hasn’t been breached since it was built a thousand years ago, and yet within three months of you taking command of the fortress defending it we have a Derin army marching across the kingdom. And not because they laid an impressive siege to it. Not because of their manpower. No, the wall fell because they caught you with your trousers down.”
“The fortress’s wall was well manned,” Killian replied, eyeing his father warily. “I’m not stupid enough to leave my rear undefended.”
“And yet the enemy walked in entirely uncontested.”
“It was a ruse.”
“A ruse that shouldn’t have worked! Not on you!” High Lord Calorian snarled the words in Killian’s face, dusky skin red with anger. “Were you drunk? In bed with some girl?”
“No!” Killian scrambled for words. “I was on the wall when—”
“I don’t need to hear it.” His father turned away, resting his hands on a table covered with maps, the indigo wool of his coat straining over his shoulders. Of all High Lord Calorian’s sons, Killian knew he favored his father the most. A head taller than most men and built for combat, the only differences between them that his father’s dark brown hair was laced with grey and his olive skin creased around his eyes.
“You were marked by Tremon himself, Killian.” His father’s voice was low. “Haven’t you realized by now that such a gift came with obligations? Doubly more so, given that you are my son. The god of war gave you the gifts needed to defend Mudamora, but what have you done but squander them?” He turned around. “Gambling, drinking, and chasing girls—those are the only things you use your talents for. This one time you had a chance to use your mark toward its intended purpose and you failed. And our people are dying as a result.” High Lord Calorian shook his head. “Tremon chose poorly when he chose you.”
The blood drained from Killian’s face, his father’s words cutting deeper than a sword. He’d been reprimanded countless times before, but this … this was different.
And perhaps not undeserved.
“You should’ve stayed on the wall and fought until the end,” his father spit. “You should’ve died defending that wall.”
The room felt cold and still. Killian’s pulse roared in his ears. “I’ll march with you, Father. I’ll fight. We’ll push them back—”
“You’ll go to Mudaire.” High Lord Calorian’s voice was frigid. “The King is there and you will hear his judgment on your actions. And in the meantime, I will march west, and you had best pray to all the gods that I’m able to rectify your mistakes.”
High Lord Calorian strode toward the door.
“Father, please!”
Fingers gripping the handle, his father turned, brown eyes fixing on Killian. “You were meant to be my greatest achievement. Instead, you’ve been my greatest disappointment.”
8
LYDIA
If you’re ever in desperate need to reach me, this is how it’s done.… Teriana’s words echoed in Lydia’s ears as she tore down the narrow path toward the sea, casting backward glances at the villa to see if anyone was in pursuit. Her father believed she was brooding in the library, but it wouldn’t be long before he came knocking and found an empty room.
Brambles caught at the silk of her skirts and tiny pebbles worked their way through the mesh of her sandals, digging into her feet. She tried to check