ranks, his name repeated on a dozen lips. Then on hundreds. Then on thousands. And when it reached the fevered pitch he was waiting for, Killian pulled his sword and held it in the air.
“For Mudamora and the Six,” he shouted, then led the charge toward the battle.
67
LYDIA
Lydia awoke to the feel of a hand gripping her own, and she blinked in the faint light of a glowing lamp. She was in a tent, a pillow beneath her head and a heavy blanket pulled up to her throat. Beneath, her clothes were sticking to her skin and reeking of blood, but that all fell away as she turned her head to see who was next to her.
Killian sat on a stool, half-asleep with his chin resting on the palm of one hand, his elbow balanced next to her. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, his clothes marked with mud, blood, and worse, but he was there.
“Killian,” she whispered, and he blinked, focusing on her face.
“Thank the gods,” he breathed. “I was afraid you’d never wake. That you’d…” His throat convulsed as he swallowed down the rest of his words, and she gripped his hand to prove she was alive and well.
Or at least as well as she could be. “What happened?”
“After the battle, I went in search of you. Found you passed out beneath a wagon and I brought you here. Camp is still in chaos, so no one paid me much attention, thank the Six.”
He straightened, his back popping with the motion. “Army’s flushing out the last pockets of resistance, but the war is done. What remains of the Derin forces are fleeing back to the wall, presumably with Rufina, as she hasn’t been found among the dead. We’ve received word from Mudaire that the city is nearly evacuated. Everyone is safe.”
“You won the war.”
He shrugged a shoulder and looked away. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
But he had. The last thing she remembered was him galloping toward the enemy army, the Mudamorian cavalry rallying behind him, unblinking and unhesitating, as though they knew without a doubt that Killian would lead them to victory.
“Malahi lied to everyone,” she said. “I discovered what she was up to and told the King that she wanted him dead. There was no other way for me to get him to march to your aid, but then it made everything worse.”
Killian was silent for a moment. “Who knows what Malahi sent you to do besides Serrick?”
“His personal healer, Cyntha. He made me swear to tell no one else.” It had been the reason Serrick had kept her next to him from the moment she’d confessed—he hadn’t trusted her to keep her mouth shut.
“This is dire,” Killian said. “I need to get you out of here. There were too many witnesses to you healing me and Serrick himself knows your face. Your description is being circulated and it’s only a matter of time until someone finds you. And with the High Lords having voted to crown Malahi as queen, Serrick needs you as proof that Malahi tried to have him killed. It’s the only chance he has at keeping his crown.”
A chill ran down Lydia’s spine knowing that she was being hunted.
“You need to get back to Celendor to help Teriana.”
“Teriana’s not in Celendor,” she said, watching the color drain from his face as she told him what she’d learned from Bait. “I can’t help her.”
“Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean I’m allowing Quindor to cage you up.” Killian extracted a cloak from beneath the cot. “Put this on. Sonia has horses waiting. I’ll sneak you out of camp and she’ll get you to a small port and on a ship. If you ride fast, they won’t be able to catch you, and they don’t have the pigeons to warn every harbor on the coast. Sonia has connections and Gamdesh is the safest place for you to go. You won’t need to hide your mark.”
She held the clothing in her hands, staring at the fabric. “What about you?”
He looked away. “What about me?”
“They’ll know it was you who helped me escape.”
“They’ll suspect it was me, but I’ll lie through my teeth if they ask. And besides”—he hesitated—“without you, Malahi’s rule is uncontested. And it’s not in her best interest for me to be charged with a crime against the Crown.”
Because he was betrothed to her. Was going to become Malahi’s king or prince consort or whatever sort of nonsense title she forced upon him. Anger