The girl’s eyes widened with recognition. “You’re the Dark Horse!” she blurted out, then blanched and executed an awkward combination of curtsy and bow. “I’m sorry, my lord. Didn’t realize it was you. It’s my job, you see, to—”
“I know what your job is,” Killian interrupted, ignoring his recently earned moniker. “And you clearly have a passion for it. I hope you’re well paid.”
Snorting loudly, the girl spit into the puddle. “Hardly.”
“You come work for me and I’ll double whatever it is this place pays.”
“Work for you?” Her eyes widened.
Killian nodded. “What’s your name?”
“Gwendolyn.”
“Think about it, Gwendolyn. I’m sure you know where to find me.” Pulling his hood back into place, Killian started down the street. He barely managed a half-dozen strides when the girl’s voice stopped him. “I’ll take the job.”
Killian smiled.
“I’ll take the job,” she repeated. “But only if you get my friend out of prison.”
Exhaling a breath of annoyance, he asked, “What’s his name? And what did he do?”
“Her name. It’s Lena.”
Another wave of prickles passed over his skin.
“She … She’s been charged with assault. But it was self-defense, my lord. Truly, it was.”
The prickles intensified, as though fire ants marched across his skin. The sensation faded the moment Killian made his decision.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Gwendolyn,” he said, reversing his path back to the palace. “Don’t be late.”
14
LYDIA
The air was heady with the scent of flowers, the drone of insects and the tinkle of fountains loud as Lydia crept out onto the library balcony and down the iron stairs under the cover of darkness. A faint breeze blew in off the blackness of the sea, whispering through the trees and catching at a lock of her hair. But it wasn’t toward the sea that she ventured, but toward the senatorial homes overlooking the sprawl of the city.
Through the trees, Lydia could make out the gleaming lights filling Celendrial, the echoes of drums and shouts reaching the heights. Supporters of Lucius celebrating a great victory, while those who favored other candidates drowned their sorrows in cheap liquor. Fights would break out soon enough, if they hadn’t already, and the Twenty-Seventh Legion would be kept busy through the night maintaining the peace. The senatorial homes would be filled with a similar behavior, albeit with expensive wine and brawls fought with words.
Lydia made her way down the narrow paths between homes, her sandaled feet silent on the paving stones, though her breath was deafening in her ears. She knew these pathways well, but tonight they felt strange and unfamiliar. Dangerous.
But there was no helping it. Lucius and the legatus were up to something, and if there was a chance it could discredit Lucius, perhaps even disqualify his victory in the elections, then she needed to discover their plans.
She had very nearly reached the entrance to Lucius’s property when the sound of hooves caught her attention. Scuttling into the shadows next to the towering walls Lucius had built along the front of his property, Lydia caught sight of the white coat of a horse and the glint of light on armor as the legatus passed through the gate. The metal clanged shut behind him, and a tall, slender servant padlocked the gate.
Pulse racing, Lydia retreated up the path, pulling her skirts to her waist to climb the wall of the neighboring villa—a wall that was thankfully more for show than security. Trotting through the pathways of the garden, she heaved herself over the similarly ancient wall dividing the two properties, landing in a fountain with a splash.
Lydia held her breath, sitting motionless in the water until she was certain no one intended to investigate, and then she approached Lucius’s home, her sandals squelching with each step. All the villas were laid out in a similar fashion, and Lydia made a swift guess as to where Lucius might be entertaining the soldier. Making her way along the foundation of the villa, she was soon rewarded by the sound of Lucius’s voice.
“What would you say if I offered you the opportunity to lead an army on the most ambitious mission undertaken in the history of the Celendor Empire?”
“I’m listening,” the legatus responded, and then there was a pause before he asked, “How did you come by this? Any Maarin captain would rather lose a hand than give up a map.”
“Let’s just say the captain in question lost more than his hand.”
The blood drained from Lydia’s face, as much from the vicious delight in Lucius’s voice as the words themselves. A