His blade sang through the air, slicing through flesh and bone, and the corrupted’s head landed with a soft thud in the blood-soaked snow. As the body toppled to join it, Killian turned and strode toward the gate.
“Send three riders on our fastest horses to the garrisons at Blackbriar, Harid, and Tarn,” he ordered. “Inform them the wall is in need of reinforcements, no delays. Tell them to bring their healers.”
“Reinforcements against what, sir? She’s dead.”
Killian turned back to the mountain range, the fiery orb of the setting sun casting long shadows through the empty pass. Nothing moved, but his skin crawled as though he were being watched. “I think we’re about to find out.”
4
LYDIA
Lydia sipped from a glass of well-watered wine, listening to the Bardenese musicians playing softly in the corner of the room while she attempted to calm her still rattled nerves by reading a book.
Within the hour, six of her father’s friends would descend on her home, along with their families, and the servants were still rushing about ensuring the night would be perfection. Every surface was laden with vases of flowers from the gardens, the mosaic floors were polished to a high shine, the pillows on the couches had been fluffed, and the marble sculptures resting in the wall niches were devoid of even a speck of dust.
Now that the sun was setting, the doors to the gardens were cast open, but the trees blocked the breeze from the sea, the air between the columns stagnant. Lydia had checked thrice to ensure all was in order, but in truth her duties wouldn’t truly begin until the guests arrived and the gossiping ensued.
Pressing her damp palms against the red-and-gold-striped upholstery, she smoothed the thin silk of her dress, admiring the brilliant green. High-waisted, it was ruched at the bodice to give volume to her bust, the singular shoulder strap a mesh of golden wire woven through with silk. On her feet were delicate sandals with thin leather straps that wrapped around her calves up to her knees. Her wrists and throat were encircled with emerald, her fingers gleaming with tiny bands of gold, the large black diamond she habitually wore gracing her right hand.
Her black hair had been styled in ringlets by the servants at the very last minute. It was the fashion, but her hair was not suited to it. Already it was losing its curl, her locks fighting their way toward their natural poker-straight state. Lydia glared at a limp curl in frustration, but there was no time to do anything about it.
The thud of sandals against tile filled the air, and Lydia’s father entered the room with one hand behind his back. He looked healthier than he had earlier, no longer dripping with sweat from the pain of his illness. Even still, Lydia gestured to the servant with the fan to put more vigor into his motions, the crimson plumage sending gusts of air across the room.
“I trust the jeweler I had dispatched to the house departed with fewer wares,” her father said, perching on the couch next to her, arm still behind his back. “It was the least I could do after what you endured today.”
Lydia’s jaw tightened at mention of the tragedy in the Forum. “I’m afraid I was a disappointment to them.”
“I sent you the finest jeweler in Celendrial, yet within his chests you were unable to find a single hair ornament you liked?”
“Not one worthy of Teriana’s hair. It needs to be something special.”
She expected her father to make some jest about her grasping for an excuse to have her accounts increased, but instead he sighed, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Perhaps you might consider spending more time with your other friends.”
He meant the daughters of his fellow senators, though it had been years since Lydia had thought of any of them as friends. When they’d all been children, no one had cared much about her questionable heritage. That had changed when her friends began to heed the deeply classist nature of patrician society, where friendship had little to do with affection and everything to do with the advantages the relationship might bring. And while a relationship with her father’s name was of enormous value to anyone in the Empire, Lydia’s less than perfect pedigree ensured that she’d marry far below her current station, if she married at all. And none of her friends saw any advantage