triggered the sense of rightness he required to allow them into Malahi’s presence.
There were certain qualities he searched for. The protectiveness Gwen had exhibited when he’d seen her fight on the street. Or the defiance Lena had radiated staring out at him from behind her cell’s bars. Loyalty. Determination. Honesty. Intelligence. Devotion. Few had formal military training, but all he’d trust to fight at his back to protect Malahi’s life. And with Bercola taking to the task of training them like a fish to water, they were swiftly becoming a force to be reckoned with.
His right hand among them was Sonia, the young woman a former member of the Gamdeshian army as well as the former lover of General Kaira, the Sultan of Gamdesh’s marked daughter. It was the dissolution of that relationship that had sent Sonia fleeing north to Mudamora, though as Sonia was fond of telling Killian when she was deep in her cups, one couldn’t outrun heartbreak. Be that as it may, Kaira’s loss was his gain, for Sonia was one of the finest soldiers he’d ever come across, as well as a born leader. That she had a sharp tongue and wit to match had swiftly earned Malahi’s favor, which in turn had allowed Killian more freedom in his comings and goings.
A freedom he took more advantage of than he should.
Next to him, Malahi lifted a hand, calling silence to the room. “Let us give thanks to the Six and to the Marked who protect us in these dark hours.”
Killian dutifully made the sign of the Six against his chest, then picked up a glass of wine and drank deeply. The conversation grew in volume as glasses were drained, then bottles. Plates of food soon followed, the air filling with scents that made Killian’s stomach rumble: the tang of citrus dressings on salads, the spice of fried duck hearts, the savory waft of roasted beef. The table groaned beneath the weight of the food, all of it sailed in from the South at great expense.
We feast while the city starves.
The food he’d eaten abruptly felt heavy in Killian’s stomach, and he pushed away the plate in front of him.
“You should eat your fill,” Malahi said. “Shame for any of it to go to waste, all things considered.”
“It doesn’t go to waste. Your staff eats our scraps.” This was a bone of contention between them.
“Lord Calorian,” said Lady Helene Torrington from where she sat at his right, “I helped at the soup lines yesterday distributing food to the poor.”
She stared at him expectantly, but Killian was in no mood to give accolades to the pampered daughter of a High Lord who’d never had to ration anything in her life. As the silence between them stretched, Helene’s smile grew increasingly forced until she said, “It truly is as you say, my lord: the people suffer. I tasted the soup to ensure it was properly seasoned and”—she leaned closer to him—“it was awful. The worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“That’s because it’s made with rats.”
Her olive skin blanched, her dark eyes widening. “What?”
“You didn’t think it was beef, did you?”
“Killian,” Malahi hissed, but he ignored her.
“All the livestock in the city was slaughtered within a month of the invasion, my lady, and imports such as you see before you cost more than most earn in a year. What do you suppose the poor have been eating?”
“I—”
“When was the last time you saw a cat or a dog other than your own?” he demanded. “I have to keep my own dog locked up inside because he’d be roasting on a spit within moments of being let out the front door. And with the dogs and cats gone, they’ve moved on to the vermin. Pigeons. Mice. Rats. What do you suppose the poor will turn to when those have all been eaten?”
“Killian, enough!”
He turned to glare at Malahi. “What? Is the truth so hard for all of you to hear? Or is it only that you wished for me to applaud Lady Torrington for sparing an hour of her precious time to ladle soup, her effort surely making all the difference to our fair city?” The last he directed at the young woman in question.
Helene recoiled, her nostrils flaring with anger. “I didn’t cause any of this, Lord Calorian. For that we have you to blame. Every single Mudamorian who starves should be laid at your feet so that you never forget that it was you who let the enemy in.”