that knowledge didn’t haunt his every waking moment. “Noted,” he snapped, then shoved back his chair.
“Killian, sit down.” Malahi’s cheeks were flushed with anger. “Finish your dinner.”
He knew he should listen. Knew that he should curb his temper and play nice with his peers. Watch over Malahi like he was supposed to. But he found he couldn’t take another night of this. “I’m not hungry.”
Turning, he caught Sonia’s eye, and she gave a nod of understanding, and without another word Killian strode out of the room.
His boots made soft thuds against the floor as he strode through the halls, making his way to the kitchen, which was still in an uproar of activity when he entered. The head chef, Esme, jumped with a start at the sight of him. “My lord!” she said, fanning herself with a tea towel. “We weren’t expecting you until later, after Her Highness had retired for the night.”
“Thought I might give them something warm for once.”
“Oh, that is a fine idea, my lord! Especially on a cool night like this.” She cracked the towel at the heels of her assistants. “Well? Get him what he needs. Be quick about it, for once!”
Killian leaned against the counter watching the two young girls scurrying about, loading a sack full of what hadn’t been put on the table tonight. Then Esme approached, a steaming tart in one hand. She carefully wrapped it in her tea towel. “For your young friend. I know how fond he is of sweets.”
“Thank you.” He kissed the woman’s cheek, pretending not to hear the giggles of the kitchen girls. The heavy sack of food over one shoulder and the towel-wrapped tart held carefully in his free hand, Killian ventured out into the night.
* * *
It was long past curfew, and beyond the crash of the ocean against the cliffs the city seemed almost devoid of sound. Almost devoid of life. No one in his right mind would be out in the streets now, not with the deimos prowling the night skies.
But Killian had never been one to hide.
Easing out of a side door, he eyed the moon above him. The deimos were warier on well-lit nights, swiftly having grown wise to Killian’s aim with a bow, staying high and out of range unless something worthwhile lured them in. The cursed things were far too canny for his liking, and his skin crawled with apprehension as he skirted around the shadows of the nearly empty stables before sprinting over to the cover of the wall.
The palace was walled and gated from the rest of the city, a fortress within a fortress, and to that end it had a separate sewer system that drained directly into the sea. Ideal for keeping people out, but given the gates weren’t to be opened for any reason after sunset, the palace’s design was also damnably good at keeping most people in.
Killian was not most people.
Using a rope to tie both ends of the sack, he looped it over his shoulder, gripping the tea towel holding the pastry with his teeth so it wouldn’t be crushed. Then he dug his fingers into the narrow grooves between blocks of rock and climbed.
The muscles of his shoulders strained against the fabric of his coat, and he grimaced as a seam split. Reaching the top, he gripped the edge, keeping still within the shadows. The deimos had good eyesight, excellent hearing, and they had their hearts set on him.
Taking one final scan of the night sky, Killian flung the sack over the edge, then swiftly followed suit. Air whistled in his ears as he dropped the fifteen feet, rolling to lessen the impact of the fall, tea towel still clutched in his teeth.
A scream split the night sky, along with the flap of wings.
Snatching up the sack, Killian sprinted across the cobbled span of space between the palace wall and the city, eyes fixed on the opening in the ground ahead.
Fifteen paces.
Another scream.
Ten.
He could feel the damned things converging on him. Death on wings dropping from the sky.
Five.
The air around him stirred, and his skin prickled. Killian threw his legs forward into a slide, skidding across the cobbles even as a shape passed over his head. Twisting, he threw a knife at the shadow; then the ground fell out from underneath him.
He landed on his ass in a river of wet garbage and worse, the sack of food flopping down next to him.
“My Lord Calorian, are you quite certain that you’re marked?”