“It doesn’t matter. This isn’t jealousy. I know she’s the healer who saved your life and that you were helping her out of obligation.”
If only that was the entire truth.
“Then why her?”
“You don’t know her as well as you seem to think you do, Killian.”
“I know she’s innocent. I know she doesn’t deserve this!”
“She’s not innocent!” Malahi shouted the words in his face before checking herself. “If you knew the truth about her, you might not be so quick to defend her!”
He stared at his queen. “You more than anyone should understand why she’d be trying to evade Quindor’s net.”
“That’s the least of it.” Malahi’s hands balled into fists. “She’s corrupted.”
“Bullshit!” he snarled. “I’ve seen her heal dozens of people with my own eyes.”
“And I saw her almost kill one with her bare hands. The corrupted you beheaded in the tunnels? He tried to take her life and she took it back. And more. She can do what they do.”
His mind raced back to that moment. Of running through the tunnels. Of seeing the corrupted kneeling above Lydia, her eyes wide in what he’d believed was fear. But had it been something else? “It was dark. You were seeing things.”
“Not that dark.”
“It doesn’t make her corrupted. She was desperate.”
Except it did. That was exactly what it meant.
There was pity in Malahi’s eyes. “I sent her to kill my father with her touch so that everyone would believe he was assassinated by Rufina. He’d be a martyr and there would be no chance the Royal Army wouldn’t want to take their revenge. I sent her because she was a life I was willing to sacrifice. If she succeeds, thousands will be saved.”
And potentially thousands more lost. Teriana. Her crew. All the Maarin in captivity in the Celendor Empire. And gods, but he was certain the stakes were even higher than that. “She’s more important than you know. What you’ve done…” Words failed him.
She reached for him again. “She’s one life, Killian. And a tainted one at that.”
“She’s not just one life,” he screamed. “Not to those who are counting on her. And not to me. I’m not allowing her to throw her life away.”
Malahi’s face hardened. “You’re sworn to protect me, Killian Calorian. Not her. You swore to stay by my side.”
The worst decision of his life. It would’ve been better to have let the executioner take his head, because then Lydia would never have met him. Would never have been marked. Would probably be on her way back to Celendor already instead of risking her life, her soul, because of Malahi’s threats.
You swore an oath.
“Fine,” he hissed. “Make me stay with you, Malahi. Make me marry you. And I will be loyal to you and protect your neck for as long as I live, but know that I will hate you every waking minute of it. And that on my dying breath, I’ll curse your gods-damned soul to the underworld for this.”
Malahi’s face blanched; then slowly, she took a step back. “If my father dies, I’ll be High Lady. I’ll have a vote and it won’t matter if Hacken retracts his. You wouldn’t need to marry me and I … I could release you from your oath.”
He’d have his freedom back. But at what cost? Lydia not just a murderer, but corrupted. “I’ll suffer any amount of misery if it means sparing her from the fate you forced upon her.”
“Misery.” She whispered the word.
Neither of them spoke, but outside, shouts filled the air. The enemy was attacking again, but his mark was screaming that something else was wrong. That there was something he was missing. Then it struck him. “Where. Is. Bercola?”
Malahi bit her bottom lip. “She’s on the other side of the Tarn behind the Derin lines. I couldn’t risk Lydia failing and my father arriving at the head of—” She broke off, clenching her teeth hard.
Killian stared at her. Because it would’ve taken hours for Bercola to get into that position undetected. “Until an hour ago, we all believed the Royal Army was marching to Abenharrow. How is it that you had cause to believe otherwise?”
“I…”
“Lied.” The memory of the King’s message arriving flashed through Killian’s mind. Of Malahi being alone in her rooms when she received it. Of him being distracted by the infection of High Lord Torrington. Of the smeared ink on the tiny roll of paper, as though the message had been written in great haste.
Written by her. “You forged a new message. You deceived